It’s my memory
so I guess no one would understand
what that gesture
meant
to me.

All those years ago.
1975?
The prairies.
Grandpa and Grandma’s house
We congregated
Kids left to their own devices but sometimes
Grandpa would walk us to the park and sit with us in the knee-high grass.
We’d talk and play and he would say-go pick  those yellow flowers
I will pick them too
and bring them back to  me.

I did. I was so intrigued. The rest ran off to play

I dutifully brought my bounty back to him.
He took those dandelions
And braided them into a crown
and put them gently on my head and said, you are a princess now.

He said I could be a princess
For just a moment
With a smile and a lot of love he made me a princess for just a
Moment
In time.

And for that, Grandpa,
I’ll always be grateful.

I miss you

UP IN THE SKY( for W. W. )

Daddy was a pilotman
went to work in the sky
where bombs came from

he went  to bash the bad men
who mashed all the houses up
made big holes in the road

he told me not to be
frightened but I was and
so was teddy

I didn't like the war
it was too noisy and
kept on too long

the world shook
like an invisible giant
stomping on the ground

Mummy always said
never mind
it will be over soon

but it never was
I prayed it was
God wasn't listening

the black out
ate all the light]
teddy kept his eyes shut tight

next door went away
one morning it was
just not there

a milk bottle
stood on a doorstep
that has no house

Daddy went to work
high above the clouds
one day he never came back

Daddy had to stay
up in the sky
Mummy said he lost his way

I still think of him
living up in the sky dead
not able to come home

being dead means
you can't see someone
and they can't see you

the sky was too high
the ground was too low
so he is always up in the air

I was five
when the bombs fell
breaking the world

now I am 65
but the war still lives
on inside my head

I am older than
my daddy
could ever be

I still don't cry because
Daddy said I mustn't
I tell myself I mustn't

teddy doesn't cry because
he lost both his eyes
so he couldn't

that world now
only lives in photographs
Daddy always smiling

Someday soon
He's gonna ride up
On a hog; it was a Norton,

Actually.

I will jump on the back.
Away we will ride into
Our history.

Actually. . .

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                            Schrodinger’s Lover

                                      Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 48

I have always kept things carefully hidden
Especially the secrets of my heart
But a lover cannot be secreted away
Nor would anyone want this to be so

And because you are no one’s possession
You cannot be kept from the gaze of the world
Locked away in a metaphorical box
Because of anyone’s inappropriate fears

I have always kept things carefully hidden
But you, brave happy spirit, will not be bidden

with one eye at the end of a telescope
and the other the end of a microscope
the science of distance comes into view

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                    After a Night of Thunderstorms

The zinnias are rich with the works of the bee
Meanwhile the mosquitoes are working on me!

Some poems don't
work.
No amount of
tweaking will
fix it.
You can't finger it until
it comes.

Push the delete
button and
start over.
You write because
you have to.
It's in your cells.

You're a salmon,
swimming up
stream to stay
alive.
You write because
the nuthouse yawns,
and beckons.
It waits.

The cage door is
open, and the
water is
tainted with
mercury.
Fly away, or die.

If the writing
isn't working,
go fishing,
eat a tangerine or
some brussel sprouts.
Be livid
Be silly.
Study the *****
and the orchid.

Think about what the
color black tastes like, or if
pink whispers or yells.
And write until
the trivialities take
flight from your
life.
In the surrendering,
triumph will come.

When I’m in the dark
All I want is him,

Blurred silhouette warm to the touch,
Skin to skin in the dim.

When the contours in the corners loom,
Hold me without sight.

In the dark, and nothing else,
We are one shadow, slight.

When the lights come on,
Unfortunate details grow.

Like a **** from a crack,
A blemish in the snow.

In the savage of the day,
The barriers of our skin discrete,

We just can’t make sense,
When light and eyes meet.