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 Jul 2017 Anna
Abby Carpenter
There are coffee stains on my notebook.
soft brown plots colonize the corners,
Smearing the ink into almost unreadable scratches.
I love my daily coffee so much that I let it ruin my note book.
And like my morning coffee you have become a staple in my life.
A part of my routine,
Coffee, class, and then you.

And I do not write love poems.
The words never fit into my mouth right,
talking about love always felt like tossing marbles in my mouth,
blurry and unbalanced.
They never came out how I wanted.
But for you I'm willing to try,
I will fight my own tongue until I can tell you what I mean.
Until I can say that I haven't gone a day without coffee since the sixth grade,
and that the idea of going a day without you makes me sick.
Until you know that I will hold your hand like the handle of my favorite mug,
that I'll love any chip or crack you have.
And if you ever feel bitter,
Please know that I will be right here,
because I take my coffee black
And I'm not scared of being burned
But like my morning coffee you’ve started to leave stains on my sleeves,
my hands are tinted from all the times I’ve held yours,
and when I look down and see the small blotches,
I smile,
Because I think of you.

I may not leave your soul
My LOVE will always
Resonate in your soul
You will ******* LOVE in your mouth
And my sweet juices on your lips

I hand over to you my LOVE deeds
Those acts of LOVE, I left in YOU
In the coffers of your heart
LOVE - nailed and sealed forever
Those precious gems of LOVE

One day those gentle and tender LOVE
Realized in most delicate manner
Will help you to bring out
The same LOVE to love
The way I LOVE YOU

Thus everyday I try to take
A peel of your learning from life
And swallow it within my tears
So that you retain the same illuminations
You were born with...
The same illuminating light
With which you fetched out my LOVE
From the dark well of my LIFE

You became eternally
My light, my sparkle
My illuminating LOVE
Here, now, past, present, future & forever

I rise in your thoughts
Like sun every morning
Like stars every night
Every day & every night
Just look at me in stars, moon & sun
I retain your illuminating LOVE

I've become YOU
I've become everything you wear
The blood that runs in your body
The smell & fragrance you emit
The breathe you inhale & exhale
See I've left my heart within yours
My soul merges yours
YOU walk around with my essence
I think...
You've imprisoned me within YOU
I'll never leave YOUR soul ever

 May 2017 Anna
Lawrence Hall
Bad Morning, Viet-Nam

No music calls a teenager to war;
There is no American Bandstand of death,
No bugles sound a glorious John Wayne charge
For corpses floating down the Vam Co Tay

No rockin’ sounds for all the bodies bagged
No “Gerry Owen” to accompany
Obscene screams in the hot, rain-rotting night.
Bullets do not ****.  Mortars do not crump.

There is no thin rattle of musketry.
The racket and the horror are concussive.
Men – boys, really – do not choose to die,
“Willingly sacrifice their lives,” that lie;

They just writhe in blood, on a gunboat deck
Painted to Navy specifications.
 May 2017 Anna
Lawrence Hall
Memorial Day III: Something about Life

“Live.  Just live.”

-Yuri in Doctor Zhivago

The plane lifted, and the cheering was wild
And then pretty quickly the pilot said
“We are now clear of Vietnamese
Territorial waters.”  There was joy,
Even wilder cheering for most, and quiet
Joy for a few.  For one, Karamazov
To hand, peace, and infinite gratitude.
“I’m alive,” he said to himself and to God,
“Alive.  I will live, after all.”  To read, to write,
Simply to live.  Not for revolution,
Whose smoke poisons the air, not for the war,
Not to withdraw into that crippling self-pity
Which is the most evil lotus of all,
But to live.  To read, to write.
                                            But death does come,
Then on the Vam Co Tay, or now in bed,
Or bleeding in a frozen February ditch;
Death comes, scorning our frail, feeble, failing flesh,
But silent then at the edge of the grave,
For all graves will be empty, not in the end,
But in the very beginning of all.
 May 2017 Anna
Lawrence Hall
The Road to Magdalena, New Mexico

The wind is cold, a Colorado cold,
Blowing the summer back to Mexico
From whence it came; it sat upon this land
For dreary months of heavy, lifeless heat.
But now the desert dawn is blue; the stars
Make one last show before withdrawing to
The Caves of Night beyond the timberline,
Where no man walks, for fear of ancient gods.

This desert dawn is blue with promises;
The road to Magdalena creeps beneath
The ridges where the Watchers of the night
Seem now content to still their thunderstorms,
And grant a grateful pilgrim sunlit hours.
There will be coffee in Magdalena,
And not much else.  The cattle drives have ceased,
And the railroad is gone; the school is closed,
As are the saloons, but there should be coffee.
During the Great Depression my father served with the Civilian Conservation Corps in Horse Springs, New Mexico, and helped build the Magdalena Driveway, a fenced cattle trail to the railhead at Magdalena.  

Magdalena is much smaller now, but is such a good place for seeing a bit of New Mexico that has not yet been prettified. As late as 1970 Horse Springs had a post office, but now there is not even a road sign to mark it.
 May 2017 Anna
Mara W Kayh
 May 2017 Anna
Mara W Kayh
What is it about you
that makes my desire
an open wound

sealed with
compassionate touch alone..

Why is it
I  wince,
haunted by thoughts
adorned and quelled only by you.

Paint me like a master
With traces of  your stained hands
along my gaping silhouette.
Heal me with finger tips tainted by mine own blood.

Draw me into your murderous self,
Love me back to life.
Spontaneous write from a heavily beating heart
 May 2017 Anna
Mara W Kayh
 May 2017 Anna
Mara W Kayh
As my eye catches the glimmer
of the coming dusk of my life,
I thank you for reminding me how it feels to love,
and be rejected,
One more time.
I mean this most sincerely, with a slight smile of resignation and satisfaction
 May 2017 Anna
Mara W Kayh
And today
Let us remember
That of all the illusions
Death is the deepest
This is almost a repost of an earlier shorter version which simply read "Of All the illusions, death is the deepest" . Today, to acknowledge Easter ( though I don't assosicate with or distinguish between religions) , this is what I have to say :)
 May 2017 Anna
Mara W Kayh
I am your bird of prey

Caught between 2 posts
And a glistening fence.

Neck broken,
beak to the ground,
Half way trapped inside
your field of green.

I am your bird of prey,

Wings on a wire,
Still soft and light,
with feathers gleaming
where promise of flight,
newly broken, fell to earth.

'Twas passion that lured me to your
nest, where the cloud kissed Sun
with time
turned ashen my listless frame.

A testament to nature's seduction,
there was no escaping
your embrace
As the warmth
slowly left
my still
Inspired by a beautiful Robin I found yesterday, stuck in a fence I had put up around a field of garlic.. it must have fluttered to death, trying to escape.
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