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(A poem for the map that burns)

In just three days, the sky grew teeth,
and bit six nations into grief.
Palestine, already ash and ache,
was struck again, as if to break
what’s already broken.

Six Names in Three Days

Lebanon’s hills, where cedars pray,
shuddered under warplanes’ sway.
Syria’s night turned siren-red,
its wounded cities counting dead
in silence, again.

Six Names in Three Days

Tunisia’s coast, where boats set sail
with hope and aid, now tells the tale
of fire on deck, of drone and flame,
a flotilla struck, without a name
for peace betrayed.

Six Names in Three Days

Qatar, the voice of ceasefire talks,
was bombed mid-sentence, mid-diplomats’ walks.
Smoke rose over Doha’s glass,
where leaders met to end the past,
but war arrived first.

Six Names in Three Days

And Yemen, long a battered drum,
was struck anew, its people numb.
The desert weeps, the mountains moan,
as missiles find another home
in hunger’s cradle.

Six names in three days.
Six wounds on the map.
Each one a prayer interrupted,
a child’s sleep shattered,
a border crossed without consent.

And still, the world spins.
And still, the ink dries.
And still, we write poems
because silence is complicity
and memory is resistance.
This is
Listening to my sister sob in the next room
This is
Flinching at every noise I hear through my door
This is
Watching YouTube on my computer, mouse hovering over the X on the screen, ready to hide
This is
Heart-pounding, fight-or-flight-inducing terror
This is
Mind racing, preparing excuses in my head for any possible attack
This is
Counting the minutes until I can escape
This is
A normal Sunday in the redacted house
 Sep 3 The Blue Bottles
RH
Swirls across my vision sway,
Violent hues of greens and grays.
And from the splitting vision comes;
Waves of solace that wash out the glum.
Even as the time ticks by;
Nothing could hurt us; You and I.
Not while we are
Green.
I wrote this one day while I was alone and high in my bedroom, dreaming of love and beauty. One of my more inspired works. Enjoy!
“My car crash was intentional.”
“I’ve never told anyone that.”

And my heart sank
And I froze
And I stared at the words
Pain filled my head

How could you try to leave
When I see how wonderful
How hard you try
How misunderstood

I love you
I’m glad it failed
I’m glad you are alive
Because you are the reason

Im still breathing
As of yet I haven’t received enough information to make an assessment on the ingrained craziness in this beautiful world.
It’s the continual attention to the chaos that distorts pure love.
So I close my eyes for just a moment and send a prayer out to the suffering universe.
Then I’m on my merry way!
Traveler Tim

I am a typo!
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                            In a Better America

In a better America this would be the first day of school -
Labor Day is for swimming in the creek
For a sunburn, for a catfish spine in your heel
For sandwiches and sand and ants and fun

The day after is the first day of autumn
As hot as it is, it can’t be a summer day
For now there are cedar pencils, new shoes
New notebooks in the latest ‘way-cool style

A school bus rattling down a dusty country road
Stops not at school, but at your dreams far-way

Someday
School traditionally began on the first day of Labor Day, which is the first Monday in September.
Suddenly, the 502s were back
those unexpected disconnects
that make posting whack
and my nerves a wreck

Like blank spots in time
that made me backtrack
unable to use rhymes
I felt trapped and  highjacked

Did the server choke on a bone?
Was 5G stalling me, wordless and postponed?
Did the firewall collapse, did DNS lapse?
Was it my laptop, was it my phone?

People watched me, on the metro,
as I frowned and moaned at my useless iPhone.
The issues seemed flagrant, I was becoming impatient
Was I some kind of nut? I was showing emotion.
We don’t DO that in Paris - have public implosions.

Did it happen to you?
Or was I one of a few.
What were the chances
that it only happened to poets in France?
.
.
Song for this:
Alone Again (Naturally) by Gilbert O'Sullivan
La Vie en Rose by Allison Adams Tucker
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08/23/25:
flagrant = obvious, conspicuously bad—too bad to ignore.
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