Confirmation gently settles, deep in your heart,
an acceptance wholly in your mind says 'yes'
Nailed to the cross, the personal road of love
seeing clearly the present travelling the long past
its all a gift, and you offer it up daily, back to God.

love bids you welcome
to the feast

all things ready
your place set

some
float
up

slowly

the wind taking his hair
the wind blowing through him
skin and bone
the wind whistling through his teeth

some ride into the abyss

some are bounded
to cling to the earth,
rock and soil

some hang on to the edge

some ride the wild wind
into the Abyss

some see the river and fish

some rise up
when the lonely one asks for the them

does the abyss wait for you,
or did an angel come for you, brother

and if the earth is but a grain of sand
in the vastness of all the grains of sand
on all the beaches of an unfolding soul
drifting into the ripples of time,

I need to know, Lord?

the box

my brother on the dining room table.
ashes and memories.

The Sycamores are close to full Summer array
beautiful green reaching into the beautiful blue
planted as seed some fourteen or so years ago
My own small copse of eight trees, sentinels,
in Orkneys sparse landscape looking out to sea.

tripped, fell, fallen
rose up fighting

invincible spirit
cascade of colour

a breath of Ocean
sail of sky

star shine daytime
night for lovers.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  Shakespeare Didn’t Drive a Clapped-Out MGA

                                  Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 49

A time will come when you will audit me:
My prospects as a husband and provider
The possibilities of a comfortable home
And maybe the Mercedes you deserve

I amuse you now, but not for long:
A studio apartment with a rabbit-ears TV
A hideaway bed for frolics in the afternoon
Sale-table wine and Bugler-rolled joints

Not quite Rod McKuen, to my dismay:
It’s not if but when you go away

By his side, the devout chant God's glory
in a life so brittle and fragile
yet not lacking in strength to navigate
on the river of chaotic turbulence.

Some are tearlessly silent,
a few are about to embrace a cry
and there is one whose wails
reverberate and pound the walls.

The ascent to the greater kingdom
is adorned with white lotus
and incense that smell of heaven.

Filled with the finality
there is no point denying,
the atheist sleeps on peacefully.

I saved our photographs
for days like this when the
nights are cold and solitary.
Hard to believe that I
was loved by some,
and above all,
by you.