The flute
evokes the rites
The pipes the pain
Long standings
in a winters rain
so ends
his reign

Some people
are buried
some are flamed
Some we raise
our glass unto
and drink to fame

We sink
our hopes
and shed our tears
and like little children
we face our fears

auld lang syne

He left at 67.

No one knew
he caught the first light
through the window glass

smelled dew when autumn came
was joyous at the trills of birds
caught all the blue in his eyes
and smiled the sky was his.

No one knows
if it was too early to go.

He knew
he was briefly happy.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                  On the Events of 13 July 2024

                                                  …that we but teach
****** instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice
Commends th’ ingredience of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips.

                                    -Macbeth I.vii.8-12

An autobiography in prose and poetry
by Catherine Jarvis aka invisible ink

This is not a peaceful, easy read
A bedtime story soft and mild
It rends the breast and makes it bleed
Brings savagery out of a child.

Who is this woman, you may ask.
This changeling growing up unseen
She drank out of a drugg'd flask
Who, from breast of poison, weaned.

The paper ochre, the ink blood red
It vanishes in the brown and yellow
A bloodbath which is blank instead
It could nev'r be mild or mellow.

Growing wild, Wednesday's child
Her veins flow arsenic and lace
Web of tattoos artwork styled
Growing weirdly on her face

Now she has small wings of gold
Rusted silver, which is odd
Jesus' blood now courses bold
Purified by our Great God

Invisible ink
aka Catherine Jarvis

~
"Why is there only one chair in this room?"

"This once was an island." She replied.

"You favor this place then, I take it?"

"How can I not," said she. "The dawn here is quiet."

"Not on this floor, you are much mistaken! The stairs are like an avalanche."

Looking down at herself, she quickly changed the subject. "There are barcodes on each breast now."

"I see. Were you nervous?"

"Only when focusing on the morning break," She confessed. "Otherwise I was much like you--killing what keeps us alive."

"Is that so bad?"

"I wonder. Sometimes I still feel the bruises." She stated. "But I am told this is normal."

"What else did they tell you?"

"To quit worrying about not being built to scale," she stated in displeasure.

"...and?"

"For me to prepare to fall again for the apocalyptic things written in the sky," She admitted with a wicked smile.

"What's so funny?"

"I recognized your handwriting long ago," She uttered into the centrifuge.
~

I don't think I like what I see on T.V.
The daily drivel bombarding me
Purposely designed to forever keep
The masses on the edges of their seats

One catastrophe leads another
Brothers in battle against each other
Continually tightening the lid to not blow their cover
Throwing the baby out, with the bath water

This constant spin is doing me in
Burning both ends of the candle
Remove all the dents and begin again
Could we possibly change the channel

All the things I see on my T.V.
Guaranteed to bring me to my knees
Can you explain to me how we think we are free
With everything my T.V. is telling

Raising fists in fits of anger
All of this looks so familiar
A few know the truth but really don't care
With that attitude you'll get us nowhere

I hear them say those were the good old days
Past generations would call us numbskulls
With brains half-baked during the commercial break
Could we possibly change the channel

My ultimate goal is to change the channel...

But now everything’s changed,
So much ice
In the veins
In the air
In the room
In the gloom
It contains
Hurting you
Hurting me
Is now all that remains
And we don’t feel the same
As we used to before
When I open the door
It’s like bracing for war
And I see us still trying
To desperately cling
But we keep going back
To the same exact thing
Such irreparable harm
Such appalling disgrace
Can’t erase
The betrayal
Just watch as it breaks
Us down further
In fervor
In heartache
Inveigh
When no terms of endearment
We have left to say

1965
she was 15
and I was 5

The reclining sun tanned her face
her eyes hidden in 60s goggles
and the vast wheat field behind
colored her brown.

Can't remember if it was Agfa or Orwo
the tint was of distant land
and Virginia came to mind.

It wasn't the girl
standing on a rice field
eyes lowered blushing
the colours of her glass bangles
irrecognizable in black and white
that I could easily fall in love with.

But I cried to be with the Virginia Girl
and I was only 5.

She is still 15 in the timeless print
and I'm 5.