You were my little snowdrop,
but with every howl
to become a
of transparent strength.
I do not know how many years I was terrified of the Titan
It spit in my face the stink of ancient beer
Clogged my nostrils with smoke and massive fingers
As if to rip off my nose
As if to crush my bendy bones in its fists
All the while hollering
I only know that now
I have seen other
Things with far more power than it
Things that howl louder than
I have risen to meet them
I have looked in their eyes
As I brought
To kneel before
Have brought them
To know fear
Soon I shall make battle again
With the great beast from some hell of its own
It does not yet know
To be afraid
Written around 7:00 AM, 4/19/20.
Edits around 10:00 AM.
The wind howls louder
than a wolf to the moon.
But don't worry.
Spring is coming soon
and will stay until June.
Instead of stepping forward.
Her steps retreated.
Fading away with darkened clouds.
Without answering ferral howls.
Maybe I can
Howl once again.
It seems, you’re far more damaged…
I’ve been a fool.
If it’s easier
I’ll stand for you.
Tell me when you can howl once more.
If I were you
And I could see the moon,
Maybe I’d understand why you weep.
I’ve been a fool, but I’ll make amends.
I’ll learn how to see.
Tell me if you can’t...see...no more.
Don’t abandon your light.
These nights will always come.
You’ll sing again and...
I’ll be the freak
That keeps you company.
I love you,
When you tease me,
Play pranks on me,
Burst out in laughter with me,
You look adorable.
I love you when when you sleep,
With one arm and leg on me,
You look way cute,
With your curls on your face too.
I love you when howl in the shower,
Sing songs we both love,
Care free, content.
I love you when you look into my eyes,
Hug me tight,
Kiss me long,
Whisper in my ears,"I love you too."
Let's grow old together and have fun,
My heart you have won.
“I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed…”
No. He didn’t.
He helped mediocrities self-destruct
Through formless howlings in their lonely minds
He pushed them to their deaths with obscene smirks
No more connected than foul faeces flung
Against the good, the beautiful, the true
He pitied himself, and called it rebellion
He squealed out his pimply scatologies
He destroyed the weaklings he could have helped
The best minds of his generation pitied him
But kept their children far away from it
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.
Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree: The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.