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

        Everyone Writes a Drivelly Poem about the Winter Solstice
                                           And entitles it
                                         “Winter Solstice,”
                           And yet Somehow the World Goes On

The sun seems to stand still, and too, the world
An Ouroboros of lockdowns and masks
And the increasing divisions of partisans
In yet another republic devouring itself

There is an insubstantial Christmas truce
Undeclared, a catching of breath and will
In hopes that two-faced Janus will close his doors
Against the failings of the coming year

The sun seems to stand still, and too, the world
We also wait, and search the skies for a Star

At the voting booth
We do the symbolic act
A pointless gesture

Icarus cradled himself as the
Surface roared closer and closer,
Screaming like a siren in his ear

For a brief moment he looked and saw
That tower which had kept him and all
That surrounded it. It used to be ugly
But now with death approaching, all that was
ordinary became too beautiful to bare.

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

              The Rural Electric Co-Op’s Giant Christmas Tree

Christmas trees are a delight to a child
On the farm, situational poverty
In muck and filth, old coat against the cold
Finishing the milking long hours after dark

But to the east a Christmas tree, a hope
The electric co-op’s radio mast
Its guy wires strung with multi-colored lights
The North Pole must be something like that

Christmas trees are a delight to a child
And even more when the child becomes a man

Let There be Barbies

          Let the children have their night of fun and laughter.
          Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play.

                   -Churchill, Christmas Eve radio address, 1941

Some young mothers ban Barbies and Santa Claus
And all such trinkets and dolls and mummeries
Sacrificing childhood to fashionable gossip -
In obedience to the Holy Internet

A toy Cochise must never ride again
Or little plastic soldiers defend their forts
Or Maid Marian roam with Robin Hood –
Barbie must never be dressed for success

Little children can now sit on the floor
On Christmas morn to play with ideologies

Los suspiros son aire y van al aire.
Las lágrimas son agua y van al mar.
Dime, mujer, cuando el amor se olvida,
        ¿sabes tú adónde va?