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

        It Became Necessary to Destroy the Constitution to Save It

             -as an unnamed army major in Viet-Nam did not say


When old Rip Van Me wakes up each morning he finds
A world unlike the one when his nap began -
Who are these angry faces on great screens?
Why are there cracks in the Capitol dome?

Arrests and deportations, mobs with clench’ed fists
Grim armored vehicles patrolling our city streets
A presidential advisor hurling **** salutes
Personal loyalty checks within our surveillance state

When old Rip Van Me wakes up each morning he finds
A nation of madmen who have lost their minds
Is tomorrow enough?
It has to be,
Today is almost gone you see,
Yet here I linger,
Alone at last,
My memories repeat the past,
The moon does rise,
Still I am inspired,
Embracing my muse,
Thou I am tired,
In the dark
I smoke,
I wait for the day
I will meet tomorrow….
Unafraid
©B L Costello 2016
Exhausted from breathing,
He's still believing,
He has some place to be,
He just can’t focus,
And never noticed,
The way he used to be,
Sometimes he obsesses
But all too soon forgets
Before he had the oxygen,
He loved his cigarettes,
Smiling he remembers...
His walks to the corner store,
Before he got his scooter,
He does not walk no more,
Time just passed so quickly,
It’s harder to believe,
He should of took up jogging,
He’s only 63
Maybe I’m too simple
or too shallow
but I’m not angry.
What’s wrong with me?

I was trying to think
of someone I hate,
Jews, CIS guys, republicans,
palestinians, blacks, democrats,
the left handed, authority figures,
central americans, parents, vagrants,
the usual suspects, but I’m coming up empty

Things aren’t perfect
don’t get me wrong
I’ve got a pug nose
a flat chest
a giant forehead
and too much work to do
but I’m trying my best—

Worse yet, I’ve no plummeting anxieties
no obvious neurosis
—that one could be a misdiagnosis
no painful hangnails
no sad life tales
no addictions to defend
or hated ex-boyfriends
I have no emo hooks to pin my verse.
no current melodramas to cozen and coerce
between you and me, I think I’m off the rails
It’s really no wonder my poetry pales.

Yeah, that’s what’s wrong with me.
.
.
Songs for this:
Gee, Doctor by Dimie Cat
Sweet Lovin' (feat. Anna-Luca & Iain Mackenzie) by Club des Belugas
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 01/11/25:
Cozen = to win over, or coax.
Here comes another
classic case of
writer's block.
**** soft,
I spew
across the
white pages.
Maybe age is
catching up
with me.
Time has been
a friend,
but I'm only as
good as my last poem.
I long for the days
when songs filled
my heart, where every
part of me smelled
the rain and the
wet dogs, and the
streets of Spain.
The pain was always
fodder, the joy, the sadness
the madness of love and
*** and passion.
The rancid anger and rage
became the words of
a sage when I broke
out the notebook.

Not tonight, though,
I will wait for the
******* and the blood
to simmer in
the red dot on the
white snow.
Patiently waiting for
the hemorrhaging of
the soul.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ciod7laprVU
Here's a link to my you tube channel and a brand new poetry reading of this poem and more from my book, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, available on Amazon.com
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

        Forming a Committee Around a Car That Wouldn’t Start

The engine wouldn’t turn over; the electrics were dead
We stood around the open hood, each scratching his head

1st Member:

“It appears to me it’s the dead battery
There’s no indication of a charge, you see”

2nd Member:

“I’m a college graduate, so I am smarter
Obviously the problem is with the starter”

3rd Member:

“There’s a smell in the engine, something tannic
And I should know; I’m a certified mechanic”

4th Member:

“I’m a knight of the road; I drive a freighter
Just let me at that broken alternator”


But none of our skilled efforts came to pass
Because no one had bothered to check

                                                                                                        the gas
This poem was mused by:
"Shakespeare won't look at me" by ThomasW.Case
-----------------------------------  -------------­-------------------

We fill our lives with work and stress
in the lust for new possessions
we're taught that this is called success
and it makes for good impressions

But pleasures we’re taught to suppress
so our souls will fly up to the heavens
but this flesh that god has gifted us
are our only true possessions

If we find ourselves casually undressed
which is frankly, our natural condition
and if ****** needs should be addressed
there’s no need for ****** confessions

for pleasure is something to be expressed
if we’re alone or in a marvelous coalition
So I wish you satisfaction in elations quest
as you work the knobs, slants and levers
because this isn’t some kind of competition

P.S. Will Shakespeare was familiar with *******'s guilty thrills.
"The expense of spirit, in a waste of shame is lust in action"
.
.
A song for this:
Flowers by Miley Cyrus
For a contest. This poem was mused by:
"Shakespeare won't look at me" by Thomas_W._Case © Anais Vionet
To quit smoking, I took to the skies,
Five floors up where temptation now dies.
But each craving, alas,
Leaves me gasping en masse,
As I curse both my lungs and my thighs!
Not quite the 'breath of fresh air' from the heavier stuff I have been writing but, you pick up what I am laying down.

Take care of yourself, we only got one of you!
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                     Late January is a Time of Grey

I read a little in Billy Collins just now
Because Tolkien is in the other room
Along with the laundry and an unmade bed
Late January is a time of grey

I just want to sit with my coffee awhile
And then I’ll stow the laundry and make the bed
The dishwasher can remain silent until tomorrow
Late January is a time of grey

I was nibbled to death by ducks today
Because
Late January is a time of grey
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