Tis like living in a cube.
Such is the life of solitude.
May have something to do with the mood of attitude,
Maybe aptitude.
Tis neither negetive nor positive
Crisis defies it.
Meditation requires  it.
At birth, we are born solo.
Even twins have singular-individual intervals at birth.
The life we live is individually-singularly solo.
At death, tis a personal departure.
Some of us have made solitude a culture,
However there being no culture in solitude.
As i recall cupid.
When in solitude some of us are mistaken to be stupid,
I guess a magnitude of attitude is requested for one not be lonely when alone.
In solitude many have claimed to achieve self-realisation and greatness,
Perhaps this dimensional cube is to resolve mystery or create new ones.

small thing  ragged who knows all of it

pieces torn away

or

is it a moth here in the dark?

triangles bring mystery

a new mathematics



the rooms were swept yesterday

bones hidden

teeth implied



yet the shape remains embedded

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.c­om
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com

                                      The ‘Way-Cool Coffee Shop

                    Down in the street little eddies of wind were whirling
                    dust and torn paper into spirals, and though the sun
                    was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed to
                    be no colour in anything…

                                    -George Orwell, 1984

***** windows glare out onto the parking lot
Where debris is blown by the sour winter wind
While worn-out Mardi Gras decorations
Slap against old awnings and creaking poles

The get-it-yourself coffee is cold
Every pump: the purported French Roast
Vienna Nights, Istanbul Breakfast Blend
Jamaican Mountain Select, American Road

They go well with the rubbery croissant
And its greasy smear of farm-fresh spread

I know this woman well
from the curl of days
each day I write
a love letter to life
I strive to allow anything as
it is unfolds emerges
aliveness deadness blindness
foolishness fright ignite
the gloaming of thought
the expiration date for
the hade of dreams
I welcome every pain with a smile,
white hair and a glass of wine

this kind of love nested
in the voicelessness
of uncanny zoons
hues tunes lagoons
in the silence of soles
when you step so carrefully
not to disturb the unformed truths

pain love, neighbours
in the flow of synonyms
they taught myself to me -
the density of ribs
the depth of skin
the electricity of muscles
the tautology of heart
the logorrhea of thought
the temptation of beauty

moon is to blame
it hid its unforseen tales
inside the blueprints of
songs under the skin

Our connection
is a pale moon above
and stars that shine
they are yours as much as ever they were mine
we feel the grey of falling rain
the warmth of joy and the chill of pain
we live and we love, we laugh and die
under a yellow sun and the same blue sky

I can see the drops drip
permanent, soluble.
disappointment, glory
it speaks volumes
of a journey in solitude.