I watched my father
take his last breath
Drugged , deprive of food and water
slipping away into death

Yet he resisted ,
he struggle to say .
But the drugs
prevented him
as they held him
in sway

The memorial crossed
my thoughts tonight
Then spread to the history
of my life by the light

From the earliest beginning when I was just
child
Death was stalking me
following me around all of the while

A neighbor from tornado
Crib death of a child
plane crash , polio
Mile after mile

Death became second nature
A fiend always that be
That shadow always standing there next to me

I used to joke and call him my friend
But I never saw him smile or attempt to grin

So as the wheels of life continue to spin
I'm left here standing next to him

I tell death I'm moving on beyond his grasp
Entering a new dimension
where he cannot pass

There are no emotions
in his vacuous eyes
And I wonder if he believes it's just more of those lies

on the same side of morning
we walked toward each other

we did not share a common language
but there did not seem to be any fear  

we all wear our scars for the world to see
what did you make of mine?

at the very last minute
just a foot or so away

your orangeblack body disappeared
into the tall grass

all day i have thought of your death
and how you are now through

to the next truth

In the winter of
My darkest sadness
A candle glows,
Tiny and so far away.
It gives the darkness
A focal point and I
Struggle my way towards it.

Another candle lights my way.
I don’t know where it came from
But it makes a fearful journey
So much easier to manage,
And I eventually will dance
On thistledown to
The music of the Skylarks
In a sun-filled, cloudless sky.
  ljm

Beneath the boughs where twilight spills its gold,
The whispering winds through blooming meadows glide.
A river sings where silent secrets fold,
And daisies nod with grace the hills can't hide.

The sky, a canvas brushed in fading flame,
Reflects in pools where dragonflies alight.
The lark ascends and calls the sun by name,
While shadows dance beneath the birch’s light.

In Nature’s hush, the soul is softly stirred—
A truth more pure than ever man has heard.

I am a mother without a child
Who comes to me for comfort.
I am a mother with a child
Who walked away from loving care
And chose to be a distant friend
Instead of a loving daughter

I am a mother with only one
Who really wanted to have two,
And wouldn’t have been sad at three.
But never won the right to choose
And had to make the best of what
Was offered as my portion.

Fifty years have come and gone
Plus two more for good measure.
The gap has narrowed not a whit
And my path still skirts the chasm.
I reach with practiced carefulness
To read the card that is my lot
As a mother with no daughter.
ljm

the trees
the powerlines

and the crows
are all silhouetted

stone heavy
and tethered gray

we pull ourselves along
seeking the sun

or the stars
do you ever miss

your wild life?
washed in light

and rinsed in wind?
don’t you wish

to hear your name
whispered once more

in the crashing waves?

I am not The Last Spring Overture
My birth name was Spring, not Greig
And I am not the last of us
Although I soon may sadly be.
I gave my violin away
To someone who abused it
And died with it still in its case
And unavailable to me.
I loaned my autoharp to one
Who never gave it back to me.
My mandolin was somehow stolen
Off my wall during a party.
Years have brought me dolorosa
For the music I’ve not made
On instruments I never learned to play,
The voice that wouldn’t do my will.
My mind can play that Overture
And does it almost once a week
So maybe what I said was wrong
I am The Last Spring Overture
ljm

Small on the skyline,
This beautiful ship I’ve launched-
Testing the waters and her seaworthiness.
I stand on shore and strain to see
The sun glint off her sails as they unfurl,
It won’t be long before the horizon
Reaches out and takes her from my sight.

And yet she circles back again,
To the safety of this harbor
Where the ocean gathers calm and still.
But I know the tide is freshening
And the wind is for adventure.
I long to let her glide away but
It hurts too much to open up my fingers,
So I heave and pull on the mooring rope
Striving to keep her next to the pier-
Proud of the way she rides the swells-
Thrilled with the cut of her mainmast-
Excited with visions of where she can go-
Still I’m reluctant to bid her bon voyage.

For I have no ticket - this isn’t my trip,
I’ll have to be happy with postcards
From places mundane and wildly exotic-
Hoping she’s not out at sea too long and
That killer squalls don’t find her.

I’ve built her well - she’s sound and good.
There’s great common sense on the rudder.
The maps are laid out in orderly rows
And her spirit holds steady the sextant.

The tugs on the rope are outdoing my fingers
And I’ve had to begin to let go.
I must save some strength to lift hands in farewell
And keep vision clear through the teardrops.
        ljm