Patriot

Were I God, I’d think to define, “win”
When creatures, injured, question lover’s sin

“Do hollow smiles somehow qualify?
Or emptiness so plain behind those eyes?”

“A hardened heart, absent a joy-filled beat
Make clear to me he re-mains incomplete”

“Your love, be sure it lingers on his soul
He dreads the days without you he grows old”

“He tallies daily losing you again
Discarded Darling, You were his sole “win””

(America has a birthday coming up.

I’m never one to want to miss a birthday — but how to offer celebratory wishes, given our current state of disunity?

The child of God in me has the utmost hope that Our Nation will heal and become unified. And, the child of God in me sees, too, that what America is holding right now is an over-rated, wrinkly, old flag.

But, Happy Birthday, America.

I love you.

-Lisa Mae

Photo Credit: Lisa Rosier;

American flag flying aboard the USS Lexington when Japan surrendered in 1945; On display at the National Naval Aviation Museum, Alabama)

Fix-it Man

I tried, I swear I tried
To stop loving the Blue Mountains you swept me away to
To stop seeing them through your grey-green eyes

I prayed endlessly
Extend your hand once more to me down those towered hiking trails
Let me see heaven in your saunter again

I allowed foreign kisses
Fill this Orion-shaped wound, I vowed — still I stand, hollow
Waiting for your fix, for our paths to merge as you promised

Bring on The Day

Sometimes pre-dawn feels like a SOS
An awakening, born out of distress

It is said back pain and a broken heart
Are the tools with which we turn life to art

If the angst you carry feels as though it’ll kill you
Then for certain, baby, morning holds your breakthrough

Melanin in Me

Don’t be sad for my curves where there often aren’t
They feel fine on my long German bones

The Irish-ilked will in me fist-fights eternally
With my most straightforward Grecian nose

Would that it be soon my silvery strands, earned with my Norwegian blood
Make merry with my Polka feet

Low Barometer

You’ve bored me
Made me headachy

Your hostility
Posing as humid tranquility

Asking here anonymously
What everyone else, unafraid to make themselves known
Already knows

But I answer thee
I’m still fit to garden and be poetry
Though you’ve pained me

A pain in my ass, a pain in my joints
Merely temporarily

Creeping, wrinkled, you’ll continue
Pettily