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

                                      The Seven Seeing-Stones

Good Tolkien writes of spring far better than we
With layered allusions to Celtic and Nordic myths
His Fairy Folk sing clearly in rainbow rhymes
Among the crocuses abloom ‘round ancient trees

My crocuses bloom ‘round a shaggy lawn
With garden furniture in need of paint
And morning coffee in a Tupperware cup
To serve as a greeting to the rising sun

Friend Tolkien writes of spring for you and me
And through his Seven Seeing-Stones – we see!

A spring poem
I try to write a poem since it is the first of Mars
The spring sun was looking huge, but not for long
A black cloud bigger than the sun muscled in
Stop! You are trying to write a poem, not tell us
About the weather, but since you are at it
did the cloud shed cold rain
I can’t say, I was indoors in my bedroom looking out
a poet never arises before noon

I know a God, almost
too lovely to behold, his soft touch
stirs in me multiple wonders.

I’m stirred and I gaze into his face
and I gauge his embracing grace
in the way his body moves.

His graceful body moves
into mine and embraces
me whole, bone and soul.

His gentle, generous whispers
suffuse my soul as he strokes
my fragile spirit back to life.

Then at my dawn in his arms
I’m turned and immersed,
sated by in his gifted innocence.

I’m turned and I’m sated
by the flow of his thick breast milk
and the sweet fruit of his vine.

Together, we sway to slow angel-song
while he tutors me in timeless arts,
in his long-lost sweeping steps.

His timeless arts arouse in me
long aches of ancient senses,
not least the thrill of love’s touch.

And so, hand touching hand
I’m released, liberated
to love him and to run.

I run, released into him
sinking into him, to dance
in step for an eternity.

A gentle shadow emerges
from the horizon’s edge—
God,
unfolding in infinite
obscurations.

Above the swamp,
Isis Trismegistus gazes,
where poetry is born
in the quiet glow of revelation.

Golden radiance fastened to the table,
fate shimmering before the divine.
Curled in stillness,
the cosmos unveils itself—
awe before the mystery,
quantum possibilities cascading
in spectral waves
from the mermaids’ tails.

A water-laden womb
sings in harmony,
rising and swaying
to the Sun’s
unfathomable whims.

Time bends,
a spiral of echoes and forgotten tenses,
where longing dissolves
into the trembling silence
of a dream.

You always know
When the birds feel
Spring is near

They fly in loopty-loops
In a sky filled with swirls
Of wispy clouds

They play tag with mates
Look for the best nest spots
Fights for territory break out

As I watch with glee
Joy is plain to see
In their every hopeful motion.