Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      A Midnight Appointment of Shame

                 “Where greed is an ape and pride is an ***”

                 -Chesterton, The Ballad of the White Horse

You poor man –

You are not the first to use Truth as a *****
With which to dig for yourself mouth-honors and wealth
A tyrant piped, and now you dance for him
His toy, his poppet, his puppet, his pet

You poor man –

Who pottage-messed stout honesty for toys
To descend in a brazen elevator
To an evil that didn’t even have to try
For you were so eager to go to it

You poor man –

You poor, poor man: the **** will not crow for you -
You have betrayed only your wretched self


https:///www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/President Donald J. Trump Announces Intent to Appoint the Following Individuals to Key Administration Posts | The White House-120320/

A calendar knows little of a day,
Of any day; its arbitrary squares
Mark seasons as they amble on their way
From holy Advent ‘til the harvest fairs

When summer’s crops, all red and gold and blue
Along with piglets, ducks, some well-fed hens
Are carted squeaking, squealing, creaking to
Saint Michael’s fields in the Anglian fens

Old Father William lifts a pint (no less!)
With farmers selling cows and chicks and corn
For he is merry too, and quick to bless
The laboring marsh-folk on this autumn morn

Earth, sky, and air mark seasons as they fall,
And soon comes Martinmas, joyfully, for all

Harvest Time in the Fens

St. Michael’s Church, Chesterton

A calendar knows little of a day,
Of any day; its arbitrary squares
Mark seasons as they amble on their way
From holy Advent ‘til the harvest fairs,

When summer’s crops, all red and gold and blue,
Along with piglets, ducks, some well-fed hens,
Are carted squeaking, squealing, creaking to
Saint Michael’s fields in the Anglian fens.

Old Father William lifts a pint (no less!)
With farmers selling cows and chicks and corn,
For he is merry too, and quick to bless
The laboring marsh-folk on this autumn morn.

Earth, sky, and air mark seasons as they fall,
And now comes Martinmas, joyfully, for all.

Donde está el hombre que nunca fue niño, el que nació sin la ayuda de llantos, con la educación ya cosechada y con los pies que caminan hacia atrás de donde el vino la luz.

Los años me han cambian preciosos fragmentos de la cara, con la suavidez y delicadez de un hoja en el agua.

Mano que toca la blancura de camas.

Ojos echos de lluvias de luz, un sol que me llama, mas cerca, yo siempre con el pero lejos, parado en mi tierra con brazos estrechos un arbol de ayer.