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Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                A Lust-Crazed Darwinian

                                           Isaiah 11:6-9

Outside the window I see in the autumn oak
A face-off between a squirrel and a cat
Small cat. Large squirrel. Insults given and received
They would **** each other, just like humans

The Romantic wants to see them at play
The Darwinian wants to see who wins
And if the squirrel would eat the brains of the cat
Just as the cat would eat the brains of the squirrel

And leave little headless corpses on my porch
Which is why I am a hopeful Romantic
Squirrel!
Lawrence Hall Oct 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          The Unfashion of the Romantics

                    …the romance of intellectual adventure.

                      -Daisy Hay, preface to Young Romantics

Thesis:

The Romantics are simply demode, my dear
Those structured paleo-colonialists
Who rattle on about flowers and love
And craft blank verse about walks in the wood

Antithesis:

Oh, but note, if you will, young lovers who
Thoughtlessly put their sunlit heads together
Over an open Keats, reading to each other
Among the unwritten leaves of their youth

And now note, if you will, young thinkers who
Thoughtfully put their sunlit words together
Over an open Byron, arguing for freedom
Among and for the peoples of the earth

Synthesis:

The young are lines of iambic pentameter
New lines, new lives, discovered in each other
A poem is itself.
A Alexander Nov 2019
A hand on your face
Lips wet to the touch
Smudging you with kisses
I love you so much..
Short but fun, outside of my spectrum of writing! Feel free to add on! Love to collab!
Outcast and outlaw and wild Romantic
May I rest my heart in thine gentle hands
Let it beat naked, open, and frantic
Will you pluck its strings, kiss these shiv’ring strands?

I pray, will thee guide my wandering pen
Across the page, through the spectral divide
Help find the words that evade me again
Trying to make sense of the mess inside

A desperate plea from a kindred soul
Seeking anyone who can understand
To find the words that make me feel whole
And sink teeth into the life I had planned

Find me, my lost flame and distant lover
Together, what worlds can we uncover?
Afia May 2019
The melodies I hear are filling the void
And the golden stardust is slipping in my veins
What secrets you hold, Oh mighty being?
Your valleys are green and the air serene
So i listen more
The cluster of trees is whispering to me
Fly, fly you jester
Your hour is near now wake up
Go no more into the wheels and machines
Let alone the heels and soar through the winds.
Colm Feb 2019
When you ask or beg saying "please never leave"

Let it not be out of fear or weakness

But out of a desire to have no such other eternity
Mhm
gracie Feb 2019
here’s to the thrift store sweaters,
well-worn, wooly and warm,
meant for curling up
with a book and hot tea
as the snow comes
twinkling down.

here’s to the little stray cat
street-smart, striped, and shy,
tossed to the curb
but somehow still grateful
for the touch of a stranger
passing by.

here’s to the weary lovers
run-down, restless romantics who've
learned to stitch up their hearts
and put on their smiles
because life is too short
to waste it
alone.
we've got this
Haifsa Oct 2018
Fading sunlight in the horizon
Falling leaves in breezy autumn
While nature paves way for hope
I wish this self to be lost and forgotten
Similar to tides, uncontrolled and heightened
A lone wolf yowling at her sight
Adjoined by the constant urge to be isolated
Fervent to cut loose the rope of gloom
Like a lost traveler in search of dwelling
A barren land thirsty for rain
Tired of this skin and mind
To devastation this heart is intertwined
What is lost darkens my soul
Your voice and memories cut deep through
Your brown hair blowing in wind
Hazel eyes sparkling in the sun
Echoes of your footsteps,
Deepness of your voice
Still surrounded by your existence
Harmed and scarred, I want to leave
Fragile lives and untamed hearts
Filled with fiery of desert storm
I want to run, away from your hue
Before I turn into an emotional massacre
Did I really deserve? Did you really want?
Let the leaves of our memory fall
And the blossoming florets wilt
Clinging to hope with intemperate self
Permit yourself to grow vines by own
Ashen and burnt, bury us in ground
Let youraelf grow either as roses or thorns
Amongst all this I realize what Rumi said
Nostalgia is a powerful witch indeed.
To new beginnings and old life, memories i have made and all the people i have loved, when the decision of moving on hits you feel nostalgic, a little hope that your past could have been better dies hard
Aa Harvey Jul 2018
Revolution: Part Two.


William Blake saw a New World Order.
A revolution, a new way forward.
To feel is to exist and our feelings come before our thoughts;
But anarchy is illegal, you must follow the cardinal rules.


You need a God, to live your lives,
To make you believe, it will turn out alright;
To let you believe, what you think is right.
Well do what you must and release me from life.
Lay me down under the guillotine,
Then let me say goodbye to my wife.
I simply stare into the basket,
Before I float up to the light.


Sacrifice your life, to gain the freedom you should have;
Lay down your life, to make a stand.
Stand in front of the tanks, to stop the armies drones
And hurl the tyrant off of his throne.


Killed for free thinking, they say it's illegal;
Emotion will set you free, but were not allowed to feel.
So we must leave Paris and head for America,
The next big thing; the country of the future.


The beast at the door, must be stopped from entering,
The wolf at your tail will make you keep moving.
A time for a pilgrimage and an end to the Empire.
It's time to leave Europe and head to America.


Poetry is expression of thought,
So who are you to tell me I'm wrong?
Every man’s taste is different
And our tastes are not acquirable;
They’re our natural instincts, that are written in our souls.


The great romantics saw life as it should be.
A simpler place where we need not disagree.
Let man speak his mind; let his words become free.
Not silenced under dictatorship; it's not a cardinal sin.


Free thinkers, will lead to your destruction.
They simply won’t follow your every instruction.
The Parisians revolt, because the power has gone to your head;
So they burn down your world and leave you for dead.


Leave France behind, but don't dwell on the past.
Will you sell out?  Or think for yourself?
Write what is in your soul, don't be a cog in the system.
In America they will not sentence you to life in prison,
For writing your thoughts and going against the grain.
The revolution must begin; it is time for a change.


The stench of dead French filled the streets with blood.
Don't let their deaths be worthless; only we can free us.
You imprison yourself by accepting the norm:
The Guillotine, The Executioner, The orders from above.


The French revolution gave writers a voice.
Gave us freedom of speech; gave us freedom of choice.
Gave us freedom of expression and impressionist art.
To revolt is to begin again; to make a new start.


El Liberte, a statue of such a scale.
The light house in the distance; the direction in which to sail.
At last we are free; at last we are home.
Freedom of speech must become the norm.


For you to simply say, Wordsworth is worthless,
Is to simply admit your own ignorance.
To say the encyclopedia is down-right blasphemous,
Is to simply admit your own incompetence.
To execute a writer for saying what he thinks.
To condemn him to death, to execute him;
Is to show how wrong you are
And that a new leader is needed.
The revolutionaries knew the price,
It would take to get our freedom.

But Wordsworth’s 'Mariner' has stood the test of time
And even today, it's still a favorite of mine.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
As for my only issue with poetry,
it encourages people to join the
next generation of romantics. Loving the beauty of love and all those sighs.
Never
to
experience
love
with
their toiling hands, rubbing the poetic flesh
of their lover. During the exchanges of poetry.
(knowledge variable)
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