A Declaration



This is a piece I keep coming back to year after year, changing and adding to. I’m getting to the point where I kind of like it now, but who knows, next year I may pick at it again.

Sorry, it’s quite a bit late for the old V.D. I thought I had posted it, but alas, it got stuck in the drafts box.


I love you all

Well, okay
Not every single one of you
But….uh you know.

Most of you
Let’s just say
The lion’s share
And leave it at that

Or not

There’s a wee handful of folks that
While I wouldn’t leave them to die in the street
Or throw them into a woodchipper if no one was looking
I might wish for a moment that
I could
Lack compassion and……

But it’s just as well
They are stuck with themselves
What worse punishment could I wish upon them?

So for them,
I will work to give compassion
But not love
Because they aren’t wired that way anyway
And they wouldn’t have the first idea
What to do with love if it curled up in their lap
And started making biscuits

Those born or becoming
Shortly thereafter
Incapable of feeling love
Or empathy
Remorse or gratitude
Kabuki Theater played out
In the shallow end of the pool

And while that makes me sad
And sometimes afraid
I won’t waste my love on narcissists
Or psychopaths
Empty children
With incessant appetites

But to the rest of you
I do
Give my devotion

I love you all
Even if we haven’t met


Your bright balloons setting out across the sky

In contrast
The timid
The hopeless

Lovers of falling leaves and moonlit snow

The tender nurturers
The truth seekers
And guardians

Earthbound angels
Falling through the cracks
Wanderers at will

I can see that not all tricksters are wicked
I can see that mourners are not always sorrowful
I believe that almost all are redeemable


What’s not to love?

Even if you doubt
Your worth
Challenge me
I will find it

-LM 2015 /2016/2018




There may be more to this someday, but I think I am pretty happy with just four lines.
Blue is generally something I associate more with happiness than depressions.



Are you blue?
The bluest sky I ever knew, and twice as true
I watch the galaxies go by spinning at your feet
I marvel when the stars bend down to kiss your cheek.

As Deep As The Sea


Here’s a short poem I just unearthed that I wrote a few years ago.

As Deep As the Sea

It took some searching, but I believe the artist who did this is: Emerald De Leeuw

As Deep As The Sea

Dive into my eyes
As deep as the sea
If I promise not to drown you, will you come play with me?
I’ll teach you the dance
Put your hand ’round my back
I’ll share my pearls, luminous. I will give you the map
To all my hidden treasures
And all my sacred songs
If you want to, dive in, for I may not be here long

-LM 2013

Swamp Thing


Here is another thing I never got around to posting here. The year my brother killed himself, I’ll admit to writing a lot of dark and brooding stuff. Dark and brooding stuff is kind of my jam anyway which is hard for some people to grok because they often characterize me as a funny person. I do laugh a LOT. There is a whole lot wrapped up in it and there are some spots that could use a little tweaking. I’m not really sure if it’s a song or a poem. Perhaps it’s both. If  you have ever had addicts in your life and loved them whether it’s a friend, family member or lover this may articulate a lot of feelings for you.

the swamp


Trudging through this swamp that you have made
Moss you’ve hung like tinsel, miles and miles of ghostly trees
A million buzzing stinging things and quicksand at my feet
I’ll concede I’m lost and I just don’t believe
That even you can find the way out anymore

I see the fear you’ve woven into this charade
I know it when you falter, see the sweat pool upon your oar
I know you hear me talking, still you pretend to ignore
Even if you sacrifice the prospects of your joy
You seem so damn determined to leave me here alone

When a song could have been your compass
Now the notes have all gone out
And it really doesn’t matter
You’ve made the air so thick and hot
So here we are sinking with your dreams
And everything is exactly what it seems

Wading through this mess that you have made
You’ve opened all your presents, did you get everything
You wanted, did it make up for all the years of needs
Pardon me, If I say you don’t look satisfied
Sometimes we don’t know what we really need or want

You’ve convinced yourself of what you don’t yet know
A state of endless discontent, to which you’ve attached my light
As if I am instead the darkness, absence of all that’s bright
Up my hands, I surrender and I forfeit
You have told yourself a story who am I to unravel it

When a song could have been your lighthouse
Now the words have all gone black
And it really doesn’t matter
You’ve made the code too hard to crack
So here we are sinking with your dreams
And everything is exactly what it seems

-LM 2014

Lost On You



Lost On You

Sometimes I’m sure
All of my goodness is lost on you

You seem so much more comfortable
When I stick to your game
The one where we pretend
To poke our eyes out
Then spend all of our time rolling around in the mud
Until the mud obscures everything

It would be so much easier to stop telling you the truth
So, what would you like to hear today?

I am aware of all these months
Where so much time was spent and wasted
You seemed to enjoy reeling me in
With the sound of your voice
My patience and love have never been so sorely tested
And we failed the test that was US

It would be so much smarter to walk away
I try but I slip, I fall harder

You laid a carpet of fear
And you keep tugging at it
You want me to keep falling
Yet you want me to get up and walk away
It will never be a stable foundation no matter how you dress it up
But I want to try, I always want to try

It’s my nature
To hope and believe rain can fall from a cloudless sky and quench my thirst
I want to love, I always give you love
I think it’s my purpose
To hope and to know that every heart that’s been starved for love
Can be full and be free
Just as I would like us to be

I may dream, but I should know better
It is all lost on you

All of my goodness
All of the world’s goodness
Is lost on you, it’s lost to you
Because you enjoy the game
Of self deprecating, of saying you try to be a good person
When deep down you revel in being a shit

-LM 2013/2016*

*Since I haven’t been posting in some time I am combing through things I wrote and didn’t post and expanding on them a bit. This post was just a few lines in 2013. I’ve fleshed it out into a draft of a  full poem

Cutie Pie



My experiences with both online dating in general and especially younger men is that they get way too personal and familiar, way too quickly. Sometimes this is demeaning, or seems possessive. How can I be your “Baby” or “Sweetie” when we haven’t even met? it’s just annoying. Men may think it shows they are affectionate or complimentary, when they open with, Hey, Hot Stuff or Cutie or call me, Honey (unless they are from the South) after mere minutes of typing it doesn’t feel genuine. After many conversations about this with friends who have shared these experiences, this is my response.



I’m not your pie
I’m not your cake
I am not the dessert
Or your main course

I am not your just reward
Your sweet thing
I am not your anything

I am complete
Not at your feet
Nor a step behind

I do not compliment
Lift you up
Or bring you down

I may inspire
But I am no mere muse
And no mere amusement

I am a gift, not given
But shared of my own volition
I am equal to the task
And will not be

In the name of affection

Why do I give such weight
To these little words
Why do they grate on me
When you swear this wasn’t your intent
Just a sweet little term of endearment

Because years and years of these dear little terms
Have aimed to “put me in my place”
So I’ve had to assert myself
Make a place of my own

And if you’d like to stand beside me
On this hill
in the sun
You’re going to have to put down your fork
And all the frosting
And let me shine
Because I’m nobody’s, Honey
Or Baby
Or Sweet Cheeks
When they don’t even know me

How dare they
Get so familiar
So fast

I’m not your Pie
I’m not your Cake
I’m not good enough to eat
I don’t have to be good enough for anything

How about starting off 
With some respect
You can show your appreciation
Without the, Baby, talk
Thank you very much

All I need
Is to be taken seriously
Laughed with
And loved honestly
With all my strengths
And imperfections

When someone lets one of these cute little names
Roll casually off their tongue
It often sounds like a one size fits all

All girls they want to fuck are, “doll”
Or Angel
Or Darling

Hey, Gorgeous
Or Sexy
So Hot, off the griddle

So, if I’m the woman
You want to get to know
Why not wait
Until you get to know me
And the affection is genuine

To find a pet name more appropriate
For how you really feel about me
Then I might not feel like I could be just anyone

When you call me Sugar
Or Cutie Pie
Or Baby Cakes

Oh, I still might cringe at the association
With some sweet nothing
Designed only for consumption

But I’ll know it comes from the heart
And not just the side of your mouth
That wants something from me.

-LM 2015

That Foolhardy Muscle


Here is a bit from a newer story I have been writing, working title, The Elixir. I will tag any new segments under The Elixir as I post them.
TheFool-sacred isle tarot
Isadore loved Henry. Not a moment passed that this ever made her happy. Even at the height of his most ardent attentions she would imagine the freedom that would come if she could switch her feelings off like a light, or engineer a sudden course adjustment sending her heart careening down tracks to a more fruitful destination. The blissful glaze had turned into a fervent wish that she wouldn’t care enough to blink should karma cause his head roll to a bloody stop at her feet.  

She had stumbled so willingly into the trap as he professed his uncontrollable obsessions, his unworthiness, his vice. The confessions of his unsuitable nature were the gleam of truth in Henry’s lies. It was true, he did not deserve her affections. It was true, he was not a good person. Isadore had crumpled his declaration and discarded it, jumping headlong into his arms because she wanted to believe that everyone deserves to be loved. She wanted to believe he couldn’t hurt her. Now she knew better.

No, the man who had yanked her chain for two shameful years had never deserved or appreciated her. Henry was a bad man wrapped up like a good one; a package of deceit, wrapped up in plain brown paper, then tied with a sincere bow. After a great deal of time and effort, the layers of wrapping were still thick enough to obscure the contents but one started to suspect, that the package contained no gift, as the distinct smell of rotting fish wafted up from the folds. By then it was too late because Isadore’s gullible little heart had convinced her that to love someone, one accepts them as they are. It never even occurred to her that you can love someone as they are and yet walk away.

Love can be foolish like that.  You can kick it, gore it and throttle it. Still, it will wag its tail then roll over to show you it’s bleeding belly. When the steel jaws have snapped on its tender foot it will  calmly wait for the hunter to set it free. If there is a cliff, love will step off of it every single time, because someone will be there to catch the falling imbecile just often enough to convince it that impulsively stepping off cliffs is a reasonably safe, even sensible plan. Isadore’s foolish heart, perhaps the victim of too many shock treatments, stared blankly past the likely future, oblivious to the creeping gangrene that wound it’s way up her leg like a stocking, the noxious lingerie held in place by a delusion that love would conquer all. That delusion carried her deep into trouble and it kept her there. For Isadore it had started as a mission and ended as a sentence that could not be commuted. She loved Henry. Done. Finite.

And now she found herself sitting in the dark, silently seething, Isadore willed her foolish heart to stop, just STOP! She had walked away. She had cut him out of her life cleanly. When that didn’t work, she had been messy and brutal. She reclaimed her heart in words but her chest felt hollow.  If she couldn’t stop dreaming, thinking and breathing Henry perhaps she needed to stop dreaming, thinking and breathing. But she knew he wasn’t worth it and she knew she couldn’t go through with something so final. She still hoped her heart could heal and find it’s way to someone more deserving, someone who would actually love her back.

The months went on unnoticed, Isadore pushed her pen over paper, spilled her voice into the phone, sat in traffic, punched the clock and met social obligations in a fugue state. Her friend Tina took on the role of fearless motivational coach, making sure that Isadore vented and didn’t spend too many of her days retreating to her cave. Tina also dragged her to their ritual theater group for which Isadora was grateful. They were in full swing, preparing for the annual DramaCon and there was much to plan for. Isadore was more than a little thrilled that she wouldn’t risk running into her ex. Henry had been to DramaCon once, dragged there by some girl he fancied and he had made it pretty clear he had no interest in returning. They weren’t his kind of  people, they were hers. Isadore found herself perking up. Sometimes her chest felt less hollow, as if a bird was building a nest, filling in the space with expectation. It was good to be clear headed, to feel like she was finally making decisions without being manipulated!

Henry was a masterful manipulator with a pout that would put the high school prom queen to shame and a smile that could oil the most stubborn gear into motion. There were moments of cruelty no one had witnessed or lived to tell about. However, when the right people were looking he could be exceedingly charitable and generous with his time. Image was important to Henry. It was imperative that he be perceived as a good man with a good heart. He must be a good friend. A good boyfriend. A good employee. All good.

Yet despite needing to maintain and even believe in that good image, he would confess his ills to certain people, usually women, as a sort of disclaimer before seducing and mistreating them. When he felt the first pangs of what he perceived must be guilt, generally after he had milked all the validation and sex he needed from them, he would declare himself the victim and work that angle so deftly he would convince his friends to dismiss the injured party and comfort him. He often bamboozled the woman into questioning and scapegoating herself in the process. He was such a good guy, how could he be an abusive one?

But that didn’t work with Isadore. He was under her skin, but she knew he was evil. She called him on it. And people liked Isadore as much as they liked Henry, even more in some cases. It was a complicated break up, but in the end Henry managed to escape with most of his secrets intact  while Isadore  nursed a hole in her chest and wished she could be angrier. He wallowed in paranoia while she prepped meaningful dialogue for workshops and skits, painted props and filled her suitcase with costume bits. Henry made grand declarations to his friends that he would be single and celibate for a year. This meant he would be keeping up appearances while cruising online for someone with low enough self esteem that he would be guaranteed his debauchery  without the risk of discovery.Meanwhile,  Isadore happened upon Winston who was handsome, funny and genuinely delighted to have her on his arm in public. Every time Winston made her laugh, she longed to regain custody of her heart long enough to give it to him. After a few months she let Winston slip away, a kindness she told herself, but it felt like she had dropped a ruby down an elevator shaft and she hated herself for letting a truly good man get away, for pushing him away.