Walking thru my new old suburbia
on this quiet June eve, it's in the air and
I'm at ease. Its chill frisson has me so captive;
A sunset vespers some comfortable views,
I feel it fade as peaceful night sets in.
I am wandering the streets again.
I scope about these estates.
That indigo hue
in the sky

the snail shells lie empty
they dried up and burnt
on the longest day
while limestone bathing lovers
chipped by fleshy hands
with great intention
don’t miss slimy snails

they are still in embrace
in stony waves
stopped and gazing
the light empties even
on the longest day
lovers and shells alike
eventually take storms
on their cheeks

Dear Venus of my Heart,

The Solstice of blue, once flourishing with fiery flowers red, the petals of our garden froze. The chimney of our cabin of dreams, ambitious as Alexander's attainments, pops with the fog of the remnants of heat. We used to defy the now frozen roaring raging river of time and drink from the abstract notion of forever. For me, it felt like years embracing the elation of our entangled hearts, despite the days that went by. But reality is a grey mirror, and, in a hoard of wretched ways, I wronged you. Our Ecstasy, even extremely enlivening, was fleeting in behalf of my secret despair.

Imagine I a long-lasting love, a motto that guards me of any break. An unpierceable vowel, a couple for life, to live like lions loyal, bold and courageous yet entwined. So, to pour my emotions akin to the biblical flood and undergo an Ophelia, or even a Mimì, to subversion it distresses me. The motivations of mine may map me as an adamant, but I am a romantic, a believer of one true love. I just worry my machine shall yield to the snap of the edge and the ever yearly youthful yearning of restless consummation repels me. While passion is the feeling of the flesh, love is the feeling of the soul; one mate shall be fate. And my soul longs for you in spite of the lonely length that loosens our bonds.

Thus, out of my outrageous offense, I repent. I lament my vanity, this vividly voracious scruple of kissing way before and tragically after the priest's last words without a care for the bride. I apologize for this erroneous early enamor and the ceaseless insistence to the raw departure, leaving echoes of you in pictures of us. But now alas is time for my final parting, to let go because move on I shall. Heart breaks for heart's sake.

Forever and always,
H

PS: The fog shrouded our cabin of dreams. I feared going back to our place. But doubt no longer clouds my view, so I cleared the mist. Still, the chimney's black stains cannot be cleaned. Hope for this house rests on its grave. However, a new home is just around the corner. It is up to you to build it with me. I will be waiting.

Two lovebirds snuggle
in the shade of a weeping willow,
oblivious to chastising honks
of Canadian geese.

Blushing buds begin to bloom,
swollen with anticipation
as the solstice draws near
and blood boils beneath the skin.

Weathered voyeurs train watchful eyes
on the short-lived marriage of the flesh,
scoffing at the consummation of seasons,
knowing the fickle nature of the sun.

When the geese fly south, so will he.

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

                                    Christmas Eve Eve Eve

Winter arrives, they say, at 8:31
And how do they know? The light doesn’t change
The soft pale light filtering through the fog
Upon the grey-brown fields who have fallen asleep

While we speak of lockdowns and rollbacks and deaths
And plan for the least-attended Christmas Mass
The fields and forests hardly speak at all
Only in their prayerful whispers of the Eternal

Time is  told to us by the sun, moon, and stars -
And all the seasons arrive in God’s good time

Summer rains and pleasant breeze
Gracious shade from reaching trees.

Balmy days and mild nights
Charming smells and vibrant sights.

A solstice born to a lover's June
Heralds Fall that comes too soon.

Summer solstice
when our souls
touched
And as your
silver spoon
has fed you good
My mornings
will remain
your bedtime
Just like
we knew
it would.

Upon the deathbed of Old Man Winter
Autumn placed her golden crown,
and as his heart began to thaw
he helped Spring lace her morning gown.