Follow us naked Moon
Follow us to the North
Where your soft light
Be caressing pinnacle of pain
Be easing sun beaten breast
Or to the South to redeem our sins
Bestowed upon us by our fathers
Sins rooted deeply in our purpose
Naked Moon your silver spears
Don't care much for East and West
A routine you been ditching inch by inch
So we just move up and down
Like a yo-yo played by Sun
We shall play the role of a pawn
Plotting ways to become a queen
To break the insensible System
And protect the King of dreams
Naked Moon you are a globe of salt
A cobalt of crystallinity
Orbiting in a near perfect circle
Give us a portion of your dark stuff
Give us our daily doubt
Enrich our curious character
Give us the magic we deserve
Follow us to the end of curve
Leading us from behind
Protecting our impressionable minds.

The fog was a cheek to cheek slow dance--

in step with the promise that no one

knows anyone.

It derived intimacy through lifting from

what it was never in place to reveal--

but like plight.

Having been as close as it'll ever be, there

is nothing that doesn't hold back as it

strives for the opposite.

Who's lingering on what it drew in?

So close that it's gone.

Bellbird,
purple cloaked
soaked, in sweetly echoed tones,
these days you are rarely heard
above the din of mobile phones

There once was a martian from Mars
Named Alfț'drônþopo'gorgg'glìån'nars:
     He constructed a spaceship
     And went on a spacetrip
To the farthest, most alien stars.

Perhaps the words weren't meant to be,
Touched, soft, by serendipity?
Perhaps enough's enough, my friend,
Where excess risked a blemished end?
Take solace in your secret smile
Knowing it's all been reconciled...
Like ripples on a calming sea,
What's meant to be...is meant to be.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                         Short Flippy Skirts


                       Yes, autumn is really the best of seasons…

                                -Lewis, Letters of C. S. Lewis


Given my age I should not be given to notice
Short flippy skirts and Bambi-deer long legs
That flutter by like summer butterflies
Joyful in the innocence of youth

Then sighs, custody of the eyes, look up
Look back to our summers long ago
When we were the coolest of the cool
Bell-bottoms against the Establishment

Ever-young and maxing out Peter Max
We owned beauty and truth (and those are the facts!)