More, more, more . . .
     How do like it, how do you like it?
                               70's Disco Song

That KC Sunshine cowbell;
That True Connection from Andrea;
That hollow knock
On America's coked-up disco skull
In the summer of seventy-six:

Who’s there . . . ?

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

                      A Meditation on Caspar David Friedrich’s
                                   “Wanderer above the Mist”

For victory alone he chooses to exist
He takes a triumphant and well-earned breath
But what if that wanderer above the mist
Slips on a banana peel to his death!

Neurotic liberals need a faith,
Because they're unprepared to die.
Their church: fake news. So Fauci sayeth--
They trust that Science cannot lie.

So in that place where God should dwell
within their barren prideful souls,
they substitute, for fear of Hell,
their useless data-driven goals.

But what is true today may change . . .
Like Darwin's creed (and other lies)
and Truth has power to derange
beheld by Christ-rejecting eyes.

Possessed by departed saints

Convulsing in celibacy

Speaking and freaking for the Lord,

Like a cherub covering His throne

All that great furniture

Assembled in forced community

That holy Do-Si-Do

Prophetic tongues, groanings . . .


I doubt you, Mother Ann.

I doubt your revelation.

All you left are scattered souls,

Fading bonnets, empty meeting-halls,

Old innovations

In the stillness of Sabbathday.


Simple and rustic empty chairs

Awaiting the next

False prophet.