Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                  When in Babylon
                       Don’t Do as the Babylonians Do

King Nebuchadnezzar died young, and that’s
From a lifetime of smoking those ziggurats

Dolorous and pale-faced
Mountain peaks of barren waste
Create the raging winds that blast
The adamant, eternal past.

Yet here a happy sylph resides
Within the fabric of the sky
Whereat she blows her breath of change
To warm again the mountain range.

plastic cups and bottles
cigarette stubs and ash
and scattered powder
heaped as white as snow
amid bunched and ***** bank notes
and piles of wine washed cash

Upon a cracked and half-full crystal glass
A smear of lipstick flashed as red as rubies
and there, upon the littered, dusty floor
lay banana peels and half-eaten apple cores

The blonde girl, with the ashen face
painted nails, and scarlet bee-stung lips
lay there amid the crushed potato crisps
and the flattened curry sauce smeared chips

Her eyes, dilated pupils shrouding grey
stared upward at the rain washed light
of Wintery day, filtering through each
hand -smeared cobwebbed window pane
at light that she would never see again

That morning, after the party, the room was quiet as death
disturbed by a black moth that flew from behind the curtain
settling upon her face, brushing lips parted with her final breath

On the whole kindness equals weakness thing,
I question any ****-nettle licking bulldog
who with merry abandon will slobber, chase and
bark bark bark at tired rabbits
to hide the bare patch where real ***** should be

Glorious, true strength comes from settling into
another’s shoes and sadness
and making both a little lighter
while still achieving arbitrary, stunted targets
set by dim witted stumps getting paid way too much

I heard you like to sing
In broken, barren places
Well, I have found us a mansion
Old and rotten
And, say,
Will you not come over for a cup of moonlight?
I have built us a garden
With twigs and weeds
And hung up a swing
From the black, velvet sky
Will you not come by
In your wildest gown and brightest jewels
Bring along the gossips
Bring along the feathers
And all other abandoned things

Spare me the news of Palestinian wails
Or how a young girl was stolen
From a loud street
Put aside the talks of rising waters
Or how the things that are legal
Aren’t always moral
Do not bring along the laughs of explosions
That are known to bloom in
most arid of places

Tell me about the stars
Tell me the talk of the sparrows and doves
Or did that slender lady
Finally dye her hair green?
How are the dolphins?
Sing me the songs you wrote for fire
Sing of the ocean
And her fluttering veils
Make me forget I am not a gust

Will you not come by?
I have sought out a trapdoor
That leads to the purple forest
We will play hide-and-seek
In our frail, little world

They say the place
Was home to a lady who,
One day, washed her body
And hung it to dry
Will you not help me wake the dust
That sleeps all around?
We will hold a slow dance
With scared spiders and rats
Bring along the tired stars
and all other extinguished things

Bring along the debris
And maybe a ****** shoe or two
But do not bring the stories of still children
Or the shivering ones
Leave behind all the prayer mats
All of the prayers

We will swim in the shadows
And feast upon wilted blooms
Sing me the ballads of the clouds
I’ll sing you those in my head
And when, in the morning
The town’s folks will talk of the dead lady’s ghost
Swaying and singing
I will pretend the mansion
Never knew of us.