Nine dreams
Eight hopes
Seven moons
No nightmares
to darken silent hours.
Six letters
Five wishes
Four mockingbirds
to joy a weary soul.
Three rings
Two hands
And a bouquet of roses.
He thinks that she is crazy.
She thinks that he is silly.
Jiggling words to fill silent spaces.
© 2013 Lynn Marshall-Linnemeier
With my eyes wide open I stare
directly into the headlights.
I am tired of all this wrangling,
but not afraid.
Roll around, get tossed around
like old clothes being sorted,
by color, texture and smell.
Something is rotten in the
State of Denmark, but it feels
like it’s coming from the Bushes-again.
A jailbird waving a Bible repents,
his mistress does too,
but the guy in the pink and purple dress,
and the girl in Levis, both sporting Swiss Army Knives,
and Doc Martin boots
are labeled “Queer.”
All this sorting and categorizing is weird.
So what happens if the labels fall off?
©2013 Lynn Marshall-Linnemeier
Behind the Red Door 