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‘Man’s Search for Meaning’
rests upon the garden table
Neon yellow highlights drawn almost to the last word
but leaving it, dangling

Two cups of coffee accompanied
She talks and talks unceasing
Not a breath to inspire
Not a pause
Not a subject
Not a point
Nor conclusion

KAW keh KAW KAW!!!!
KAW KAW!!!!!
The chin never stops.

He looks away
Returning her a brief glance
One Banana, Two Banana
Barely looking her in the eye
His earbuds resting down below his shoulders
But close enough and ready
To block out the sound
And yet
He won’t stick them in
and shut out
mania
A maniac

Nodding
on the rare occasion
However briefly
He looks away
Turning his head politely to
Drag one more time on that joint
A morning joint that won’t survive her onslaught of words

There’s just not enough time what with him pulling away on me like that?!

He drags on his ****
Making sure he’s alive
Are you still there buddy?
Luckily you don’t have ears, eh!

He drags again
More attentive to the filter and the
Slim
White
Stretch between his fingers
Just like the other one
The one in his pants
Close enough to the side pocket

He picks at the lint on his Adidas
And examines his fingernails
Pulls at his ****** hair
Stealing a suspicious
Narrow eyes glance back at her
She leans in and stare at the earthen floor
The leaves have been swept away

She wears little
Blessed with an ample ***** but no brain
She keep her robes open
She can cook and sweep the floors
And talk and talk and talk

But will this keep him?
He’s smiling now
Laughing, ******.
He’ll make it through to lunchtime
She’s off to the kitchen ‘for a sec’
And look, he’s on his phone
To another one so far undetetected
He’s grinning
Maybe there a pictures!

I know someone in Mexico
who keeps hers
in very fine high quality cigars
He knows about such things
And there used to be one up the street
who sported very short shorts
In hopes of keep him distracted
or preoccupied
The space filled alongside her
In her bed at night

In the distance,
The Spanish Evangelicals Sing!
And Sing!
Endless!
Rejoicing!

It’s been hours!

Sometimes there really is
no excuse to wear yoga pants
But the vaccine is here
And things could get shaky
Unstable
The eyes having begun their wandering
in advance of the Summer Solstice
And it’s very nearly time to advertise.

Leaving their outdoor table
He makes a quick exit
To another assignation
And alone
He’s run away!
She opens the book again
Just a few pages left
She’s almost done
Yellow pen in hand
mouth closed
Lawrence Hall Mar 17
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                        A Song of the Lord in a Foreign Land

          “How could we sing a song of the Lord in a foreign land?

                                             -Psalm 137

By the waters of the common sinks and stinks
They sat and wept, remembering their homes
Upon the razor wire they hung their hopes
          (Let my tongue be silent during roll call)

Their captors asked of them throughout the hours
Straight lines to the chow hall, well made-up bunks
On time to their classes and work details
          (Let my tongue be silent during roll call)

The lyrics of their songs were written by night
The notes and tones well-tuned to concrete walls
How could they sing songs of the Lord?
                                              How not?
          (Let my tongue be silent during roll call)

We all are exiles in a foreign land
          (Let our tongues sing praise after roll call)


(After over a year of lockdowns, volunteers are allowed back into Texas prisons today, Wednesday, Saint Patrick’s Day, 17 March 2021. Saint Patrick, too, was a prisoner.)
Saint Patrick, ora pro nos.
Sally A Bayan Aug 2020
<~>

People become
prisoners
in diff'rent ways,
lucky ones
free themselves,

exhaling lumps
from their throats,
getting out
of their prisons

sharing their
life experiences
via prose and poetry,
metamorphosing
into,

diverse poets,
ranting...narrating,
gathered in one
common space...like,

Hello Poetry,
a Home
to a huge
republic of letters...

<~>

Sally

© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
Poetic T Feb 2020
We are neither boundaries or fields,
           for both even though seem to be free,

keep us confided,  
                              even though we don't realise it.

We may be able to walk afar,
but if we are stalled by others,

we are still prisoners
                           of a further field of consciousness.
hazem al jaber Aug 2019
Prisoner's love ...


Fulfill my character ...
it's my nature ...
never ever to cheat ...
the heart ...
if i loved ...

Fulfill my character ...
and inside my heart ...
those feelings ...
which it never die ...
lives within me ...
day by day ...
years by years ...
and still as i am , me ...
as i wrote all my poems ...
and it have same what i said ...
never to change hearts ...
it's a one hear ...
the heart that i love ...
never to cheat ...

prisoner i am ...
to one heart ...
to whom i gave ...
my heart ...
as the prisoner in his jail ...
has no rights ...
to change his jail ...

as the sun ...
as the moon ..
and it's stars ...
could it changes it's place ...

sure and not ...
it never could change ...
as me sweetheart ...
i fell into your love ...
got that prisoner ...
into your jail ...
and happy to be there ...
there into your heart ...
as prisoner's love ...
only for you ...

would you accept me ...
as a prisoner ...
if yes ...
come in with me ...
and close after you ...
the door ...

hazem al ...
Masha Yurkevich Mar 2019
I finally realized
that people are prisoners
of their phones.
That's why it's called a
"cell" phone.
Wow! I just realized this! And it actually makes sense! :)
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
Gears screeching against each other.
Chains rattling and clinking.
Bony, skinny fingers claw at steel bars.
The smell of metal and blood mixing into an intoxicating stench.
The quiet groans of struggling bodies resonate in the dark cell.
Freedom no more than a legend.
No more.
The cackle of an eagle and
The raspy cry of a vulture
sound the same
to someone who isn't brainwashed with the lies of false freedom.
Brainwashed by the idea of control.
The clanking of a ball and chain against the concrete
is one of the loudest
clearest
sound to someone who isn't brainwashed with the lies of everything.
The sound of a key turning inside a lock
is the loudest and the clearest
sound to a prisoner
martin murray Aug 2017
We are free!
We live in the land of opportunity,
With multicultural integrated communities,
Thank you elders for preaches, speeches of unity;

But now............;
I am sad, sad, sad, sad, sad;

The innocent live in a electronic prison,
And worst, some are slaves to the nation;

2017 the clink of the chain is replaced with a silent hum,
Even the whir of the brain computer interface machine disappears in the atmosphere glum;

We don't hear or see chains drag and clink,
As the imprisoned human's walk in sync,
The mainstream public unaware do not have a chance to bethink,

A spokes person will arise through the new generation,
With peaceful preaches, speeches to each Royal monarch,
And member's of Parliament to abolish electronic restraint's.
This is what cannot be seen, but is happening.
Angel Feb 2016
School is like a prison.
not in the traditional sense,

Students must do as the warden says,
completing work or receiving a penalty,
act a certain way or be punished.

And if they don't complete their sentence,
they are doomed to a life that could be better
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