I am not The Last Spring Overture
My birth name was Spring, not Greig
And I am not the last of us
Although I soon may sadly be.
I gave my violin away
To someone who abused it
And died with it still in its case
And unavailable to me.
I loaned my autoharp to one
Who never gave it back to me.
My mandolin was somehow stolen
Off my wall during a party.
Years have brought me dolorosa
For the music I’ve not made
On instruments I never learned to play,
The voice that wouldn’t do my will.
My mind can play that Overture
And does it almost once a week
So maybe what I said was wrong
I am The Last Spring Overture
ljm

As I tiptoe towards our bed,
you lie — snuggled,
beneath the covers.

Gently, I place a kiss
upon your warm cheek,
whispering
sweet nothings.

Those beautiful Southern eyes
open with a soft and
deliberate smile.

Together,
our bodies embrace.

We are blessed —
for this is pure love.

there was little shark he lived in the sea
he swam around the ocean as happy as can be
one day when he was swimming he heard a little yell
where the noise was coming from he really couldnt tell
he swam a little closer to try and find the sound
there he saw a lobster *** stuck into the ground
inside he saw  the lobster locked inside the ***
and to free the lobster it would take a lot
the shark he used his teeth to open door
then realeased the lobster who was free once more
lobster he got wise and kept away from pots
then he thanked the shark thanked him lots and lots

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

                            Your Poems as Love-Letters to God


          Gregariousness is always the refuge of mediocrities, whether
          they swear by Soloviev or Kant or Marx. Only individuals
          seek the truth, and they break with those who don’t love it
          sufficiently.

                 -Doctor Zhivago, p. 9 in the Pantheon edition


You live, you have lived, and you will live
And because you live you will engrave your life
In elegant scansion, in noble lines
That shape chaos into beauty and truth

Not into metal or rocks or wood
But flung into Creation in gratitude
For the sacred life you have been given
For the strength of your love and thoughts

Each little line is a gathering-gift to God
Baptized in the Jordan and in the Hippocrene
To God, and to the Muses who smile on you
And to great Mysteries beyond the stars

Each little line is a gathering-gift to all
To read in the light of seven sacred lamps
The wisdom of patience and pilgrimage
Beside the banks of the river you know

You live, and so you write, you must, you must:
For there is meaning in tumbling in the grass
On a summer day that will live forever
Helped along in your written remembrancing

You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of laughter and puppy-kissings and grass-stained jeans
And that is why you must write it all down
For others in intellectually-sharpened rhythms

You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of love, of deeper kissings in the dark
Emotional confusions gone crazy-wild
Until they are sensed through crafted verse

You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of recruit training and sometimes war
The joys of learning wisdom from great books
Tentatively shaping your own new knowledge worthily

You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of leafy springs and apple-green summers
Golden autumns and winters of blue
Writing them as hymns of gratitude

You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of children in a home modest in wealth
But rich and layered in love, work, and prayer
“Is this poem about me?!” Oh, yes, child

You live an eternal meaning in the why
Of lonely nights, hospital stays, mistakes
Disappearing dreams, disappointed hopes
Memories of friends buried in the dust

You live, you have lived, and you will live
And because you live you will engrave your life
Love-letters as your gift to Creation
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti

When you open a tap,
And you get water,
You take it for granted.
But if you have to carry your own water,
Say from the river to your village,
You learn to value every drop of it.
Water is precious like your jewels.
8/4/2025

The Sun
A silver note
That sings like your fingers
Spilling light across my ribcage
Curling out skyward

We float in the blue whispers
Of the sea
How your lips taste of salt
And the breeze
Twists your hair

When you speak
It unbuttons my day -
Stretched over the warm sand
Naming the tide
With each heartbeat
Till the hammock of evening
Crushes our flirt over drinks
Sealing this sweet tongue
Into your grooves

Our silhouettes drift into orbit
Like intimate boats on the horizon
A comma, pause
Following the thread of your voice
(quiet as the moon)
Pulling me closer
Swaying the palms
Between what we can know
And all that we haven't said

_________