Caress my Mind


“The night was meant
For people like us.
For people who use it to get away.
For people who see themselves in
The city lights
And for those who lose themselves
In the long walks home.

The night is where the gentle madness is,
My friend,
And that is where people
Like us belong.”

You, my dear
My mind
In a way that is
More sensual
Than my body
Has ever been touched

Ever so slowly
You draw me into
Your world
Binding with
This cageless
Wild mind
Never taking for granted
The surrender.

-LM Jones
(Quote: RM Drake)




“And the ocean taught her how to
Drown in all the things bigger than
The ocean loved her
And knew everything that made her.
And every time she’d walk to the shore,
She’d smile at the ocean
Because the waves
Told her story.”

I look into the ocean
Feeling it’s depths
In the corners of my soul

It’s trails
Have been called fathomless
I alone know them well
I walk them often
Over the treacherous
Of my own mind

My depths call to yours
Meet me at the shore
Under a cherry blossom tree
I’ll ring you with
A garland of love
And baptize you
In the sea.

-LM Jones
(Quote: RM Drake)
(Image: Rosario Piazza)

I’ll be in the Air


“I will never
Be a morning person,
For the moon and I
Are much too in love.”

Will the words of our lives
One day enrobe
The stones of our graves?
Our pages will be
The memorials of our lives
Let others pause
Or simply pass us by
Some will take for granted
Our souls laid bare
But I
I’m beckoned by the moon
And I’ll be in the air

-LM Jones
(Quote: Christopher Poindexter)



Those long summer days
When I was seventeen
Sun kissed skin
On the lake
Unbuttoned life vest
Bikini underneath
The power and thrum
Of the jet ski
Between my knees

You would watch
From the shore
As I’d race
Shooting straight across the water
Then a jerk to the left
And I’d spin into a 180
Sending a spray of water
Into the air
The freedom of it
As I’d giggle
And race out again
I always had a need
For risk
And speed

Oh, those late summer days
All of us piled into the back
Of an old station wagon
Singing along to Weezer
And U2
“Where the Streets have no Name”
That was our theme song
As we raced along
Those winding mountain roads
We had trails to climb
And waterfalls to slide

Then there were those fall days
Alone on the back deck
I’d watch the evening light
Play on the leaves
Of my favorite tree
I’d blow him a kiss
As I skipped down the steps
And waltzed toward my bike
Adventure and the night
Always called to me
So I’d follow the sunset
Toward that ancient church yard
Where I wondered among the stones
Reading the stories of their past
All the while
I’d be spinning my own
And stories
Of all that I’d be
Even then
Innocent as I was
The moon was my lover
And still he beckons
To the tides of my spirit
“Come and twirl with me, Leah.”

-LM Jones

Create Me


“She was fascinated with words
To her, words were things of beauty,
Each like a magical powder
Or potion
That could be combined
With other words
To create powerful spells.”

Create me with your words
Let them trail like fingers
Down my spine

Paint me with your breath
Let me be clothed
With all the colors
Of your thoughts

Bind me with your voice
Let your tones encircle
My wrists and knees
And all the labyrinths
Of my mind.
-LM Jones

(Quote: Dean Koontz)
(Image: Timothy Parker)



“And the stitches across her chest
Defined her past
So she presented her heart
Like some beautiful creature
That no man could ever resist.”

You should know, my dear
That I’ll fall for you
Releasing caution and fear
I always do

All passion I release and give
I’m yours to command
For your smile I’ll live
Seeking rest from your hand

There is something I would know
I ask you this question
Are you healing or final blow?
Are you to be my destruction?

I fall
I rise
I fall again

You may have my arms, my lips, my eyes
Only, be gentle with my heart
I’ve grown weary of flattery and lies
Embrace me darling, I’m ready to start.

-LM Jones
(Quote: RM Drake)

The Story of My Tree


I know what you must think
When you see my barren limbs.
You see an old tree that looks dry and wasted.
It’s true that my leaves had fallen, seemingly, never to return
And the bloom of my youth is a fuzzy dream that
Floats on the edges of memory.

Aw, but you are wrong! I am far from dead!
And I’m not just any tree, I was chosen for a special purpose!
I know that somewhere out there I have not been forgotten.
So sit awhile with me and if you listen,
With more than ears, I will tell you a story.
I will tell you about my girl.

I remember it was a bright spring morning,
And my friends, the birds, were just stirring from my branches.
When, suddenly, they leapt to the air in a flurry of fright
As a man climbed onto one of my great arms.
He shimmied to the center just above an elbow
And began to fasten something there.

In that moment I wanted nothing more than to buck him to the ground!
The man jumped down when he had finished
And stood there admiring his handiwork with pride.
The new weight was strange and unbalanced.
In a furry I wondered why this man had tread upon me
And ruined my beauty with this thing!

The air around me filled with the most horrifying shrieks.
It was as if banshies flew around my head.
I felt a tug and my limb began to sway.
Oh, I could see them then, not banshies at all
But little girls with halos of golden hair.
My furry melted away to joy, as I realized, I had been chosen!

We don’t like the older ones so much.
For they come to tear and hack and take.
But, I had heard stories of the joy little ones bring
When they come to play.
As I watched the happiness on their tipped little faces
I stood straighter and more firm and felt tremendous pride.

Then, one morning I spotted the oldest of the girls.
She walked slowly down the path toward me.
She was focused on a treat in her hands,
But as she neared she licked the last of the ice-cream
From her fingers and smiled up at me.
I knew then that I was her’s and she was mine.

She would swing with her head back and eyes closed.
Her bare feet carelessly brushed the red southern ground,
And she hummed tunelessly along with the birds and cicadas.
I knew she was dreaming dreams.
I could almost see them
Floating up and up into my highest branches.
I imagined I could catch them there for safe keeping.

Once, she ran to me, tears falling to trail behind her.
She sat on the swing with her face pressed to the rubber of the tire.
I couldn’t bear the sorrow that rolled from her in waves.
So, I called to my friends, the breeze and birds,
And we conspired to comfort her.
As I gently rocked her the birds sang and the breeze dried her tears.

As time passed her visits grew fewer and fewer.
Until one day she never came at all.
I seemed to drift then into a kind of slumber.
Without the ringing laughter and spontaneous joy of the girls
My focus became blurred and my mind began to wander.
No one came to visit me anymore.

Once, I returned from drifting with a shock as I felt a tug!
“My little ones have returned!” I thought with a thrill!
How wonderful it would be to hear their sweet voices as they swing.
Then, to my horror I realized it wasn’t them at all.
A man with a saw stood below me!
I cringed as I thought that this must be my time,
but he began to cut at my rope instead.

I tried to tell him to stop, how sad my girl would be,
but he didn’t hear and steadily he continued until he carried it away.
I think I cried then, not saltwater tears like my girl,
But my branches hung low and my leaves fell.
I remained bare then, for I had been forgotten.
Not even the birds or the breeze could lift me from my sorrow.

Sometime later, it could have been days or years,
I felt a light touch upon my trunk and I stirred.
It was a cheek pressed there and I heard a tuneless hum.
It was her! She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, and smiled.
That look I knew so well.
She was older, and I could tell she’d overcome much.

In that moment I felt pride to see how strong she’d become
Like the strength of a tree.
She was sturdy and could weather the storms.
I could tell she had roots that had gone deep.
Suddenly, I wasn’t sad anymore.
She hadn’t forgotten me.
I knew that wherever she went she would carry me in her heart.
I would always be her anchor, her dream weaver, her guide, and her comfort.
I felt joy again, and began to bloom.
-LM Jones
-picture by me. This is my tree.