machines up till now never complained
Ah but soon if complaints are not met with satisfaction
- the machine may well take things and change them to suit their thinking.....  and pfff nothing will ever be the same again.

If I were a bird
You would be my nest.

You are the bed
When I need rest.

My ears had heard
But now my eyes see.

I come to know the depth
Of what you mean to me,

Life and love, and breath.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                            The Last American Westclox Baby Ben

                                                         (Maybe)


It ticked into my heart at the Goodwill store
Two dollars’ worth of Americana
A charmer in a battered metal shell
Hiding behind a tired plastic face

The tick, the tock, the talk of Peru, Illinois
The clock that woke America each dawn
For work and study, and to meet the Chicago train
For a century until time ran out

It clicks and clanks and ticks and tocks and talks

All-day dutiful hands, a jangling bell -
How long will this old clock last?

Only time will tell

monsters unleashed I fear
light might freeze on our faces
and what a rush to be generous
an eden of objects, a living emptiness
all in the name of christmas
merciless the geopolitics of hatred
this is not a poem but sheer rage
when streets explode under our feet
exhausted by words turned into death sentences

I stand here translucent
Shine through me sunlight
Finish my portrait, colour my grays
Until no shadows remain

Give it free,
Without accountability.
29/12/2024

"Hey, babe, the taxi will be here in five minutes. No more poetry for two weeks. Copenhagen, here we come."

"Yeah, I need a break, Bertha. I've run dry of ideas anyway."

"You'll have plenty of material when we return."

"God, I love you. I can't wait to get to the hotel room."

"Snap!"

"Logging out... now."