Ballooner, blink in the hot air.
Wink, O noonday sun.
On the brink, is life unfair?
Drink and be as one!
Supreme being, I imbibe!
Above god and man!
Dervish, deus, diatribe!
Lengthen, every span!
Grim-faced, O my spectres?
Well, that's the way it goes.
Singulars and hectares!
Core cone, thy carrion crows!
Trammell the enameling?
O nightingale, sing sweet.
O sky above, thy paneling!
O lion, at thy feet!
Yellow priestess, ritual.
Of this what knoweth ye?
Barrel out the brazen bull!
Fling out, fancy-free!
Rhyme and riddle, rill on roll.
Drums, thy wargods beat.
Goddess of the asherah pole!
Chosen to complete!
Tyrant of tomorrow?
An image wrought in spark.
Brindle, bindle, broken bow!
Gold, fluoresce in dark!
Hone thy skill, O warrior!
Dare not to drop thy tools!
Skyscraper, art free and sure?
Toss away thy rules...
(Cabin Sunset, summer 2025)
The Heat of the Moment
Settling into our new mountain cabin,
Dogs and humans equally overheated
In the shadeless August afternoon,
The only way to be is naked.
Stuff strewn around
Bed to one side, kitchen the other,
Camp chairs with panting dogs
On an old Persian rug in-between.
Cabin with unfinished interior
Waits for insulation, paneling and flooring,
But in this moment nothing is missing
Except maybe a fan.
No water we haven’t brought,
Nor power not in some kind of rechargeable battery,
Yet we find a strong signal FM station
Playing one classic rock song after another.
And it takes me back to another time
Living as a 70’s teen in the suburbs when FM was king,
Then in the 80’s as a young man off grid in the hills
When a stack of cassettes was all we had or wanted.
Those youthful times, family and friends are long gone
And yet here I am in old age,
Living the good life again with new family and friends
Still rocking on, out of time, out mind.
(8/10/25)
My church is gothic, ancient, and smells like wax.
Many business dealings here, all kinds of pacts.
The daddies are sleeping, or pretending, at least.
The mommies are fawning at the cute youngish priest.
We children dare not squirm on these hard little pews.
Our bodies all squashed up, our freedoms are few.
The beautiful stained glass shows us a giant Biblical scene.
I never tire of looking at Jesus in the pasture of green.
Sunlight streams through, it is like God is anointing this place.
The priest sneezes, and he gets really red in the face.
We kids stifle our laughter, and shuffle our feet on the floor.
Mom gives us a look that says “not one time more.”
My church has dark paneling that is ten miles thick.
It is pretty to look at, and the candles lit by alter boy’s wick.
This place is where people have prayed for a hundred years.
There is a sanctity about it, which eliminates my weekly fears.
i hit my brother’s dab pen and got high so i could play guitar better
instead i saw jesus’s face in wood paneling
like what a god might see before he dies, immortally of course
if i didn’t have ADD i’d probably do outrageous like my homework or keeping a
conversation or something and maybe i’d actually finally breathe so i could do
stuff like everyone (else) just to lose my breath again
but for now i’ll continue bowing down to worship my own personal god
then turn around to pop more pills hoping he’ll go away
i wake up every morning, quickly kill myself, brush my teeth, then go off to work and get in a car accident and lose my car and laugh
rusty blood, the color of the dream i had
maybe i’ll meet jimi hendrix in heaven and i could wear his headband
maybe i’ll look down and notice myself waving in the mirror this time
make sure there’s one in my coffin, thanks
i forgot my pizza rolls in the microwave
Emotions are like a storm rolling in, I prefer my mood to be like happy weather
When I say happy weather I mean a beautiful sunny day
I look outside the glass window paneling and I see the birds chirping
And the trees lively and green
Not a cloud in sight but a lovely beam of sunlight piercing through the living room of glorious light
I noticed one of my dogs as he lay, while the others frolic and play
And I enjoy the peace and quiet alone
I might want to enjoy this happy weather without a care
My heart is filled with this happy weather mood
In the regal modesty
of a Nubian queen,
there she sat
at the edge of the water;
her legs hanging over.
In the wet softness thereof,
her feet rested. Yet her stare over the pool
was as if staring over the ocean—
A centuries old innate yearning—to a distant
motherland; a stoic pose of freedom…
But not at last.
Life and living still had its hidden shackles.
Muffled hidden shackles…jingling
in the ‘land of the free and the home of the brave’.
Despite the ‘white washing’,
the cleansing of the ‘shocking
bottoms’ and the paneling
of the old quarters,
the land of ‘first sails’ and cardinals,
remained a mess.
What a strange equality?
Though the past had gone—as had time—
it remains. And the future waits
a distant reality—lingering. Lingering in the land
‘…for lovers’—where true justice remained jilted.
Sin
What is sin?
Is it when you raped me over and over again
as I would scream and cry begging you to stop.
Is it when you tied me to the basement floor
asking me if I wanted more.
Is it when you burned my flesh with red hot spoons,
or is it when you smashed my head with the broom.
Is it when you took fish hooks every time you were mad
Stuck them in so very bad.
Is it when you took the paneling boards across my back
which turned ever so black.
Is it the bruise's you leave, the scars you make
This is only my fate.
Is it the lies you tell, my body has become so frail.
Sin is all around, I wont make a sound.
I promise I'll die and never be found.
Your Sanctuary Ruins
O, these everlasting ruins,
In the place where you did meet.
The enemy set up their standards;
Smashed the carved paneling, so sweet.
They defiled Your dwelling place—
Burnt it to the ground;
Said in their hearts, “We’ll destroy them.”
Planned no more Jews be found.
How long will the enemy mock You?
Will your name be reviled forever?
Why do You hold back Your hand—
You, Lord, possess all power?
Remember the people You purchased—
The sheep of Your pasture land.
It was You who split open the sea;
Broke the heads of the monster by hand.
We know you judge uprightly
And at the appointed time,
But how long will the horns against heaven,
Be allowed to continue in crime?
Your four kingdoms are at an end;
The last kingdom reigns again;
raises its standards toward heaven;
determines to control the hearts of men.
As we look upon the ruins,
We think of Your sanctuary above;
Dream of the heavenly Zion,
Where all is bound by Your love.
Where the enemy is silent;
Laid finally to rest;
Peace reigns for the righteous,
Who’ve passed the earthly test.
Copyright © 2009-2012 Maureen LeFanue
www.maureenlefanue.com
Picture this… Her 1st memory
Backward Garfield underwear and a t-shirt
A body beneath her completely bare
Jerry curls in his hair
Into his eyes she stared…
Picture this…
She jumps up as the front door opens
Scurries into the bathroom
Dark wood paneling all around her
No light; everything is a blur
A light fixture with a long string dangling
Metal tip on the end hanging…
Picture this…
A hook latch on the door
Clothes on the floor
She can’t reach… stands on the bleach
On her tippy toes
Frightened as the wind blows
She has to lock it; she must; but she froze…
Picture this…
She hears the voices
The tap on the bathroom door
She’s still trying… her body’s sore
The door opens and she asks
“Panties on backward?”
“Why aren’t you dressed; this place is a mess?”
She looks up; fear on her face
Her heart continues to race...
Picture this…
In he walks in only boxer shorts
"I told her she could get undressed.”
“Hurry up and go clean up your mess.”
She just stood there and didn’t say a word
Her voice was never ever heard
She was just 5 years old
Her secret she never told...
Lay
Ancient forests
Old before man walked the Earth
Trees that watched wars and peace
Men died in their roots
Looking up at the sky through empty branches
Lovers kissed
Fell in love beneath their budding leafs
New lives formed in the cradle of nature
Birds and animals never seen
Live their lives in their eternal shade
Tribes unchanged for millenniums
Hunt and forage in the undergrowth
The ancient forests are dying
Cut down for progress
Killed to make room for a road
For oil
For gold
For diamonds
To make man’s life richer
More convenient
Uncaring man sees them only as trees
Not as another world
To be protected…saved
Not be used as a coffee table
Or paneling in a rich man’s den
They are already a home
The tribes live there
The birds live there
Man’s history lives there
Are their deaths worth the loss?
Because the ancient forests
The lives
The history
Cannot
Once destroyed
Never, ever be replaced