My hand held tightly and that kiss on the brow
tells me time is leaving me right about now

My eyes are closed tightly and my heart rate so fast
I remember the day I met you, seems like the night before last
We'd party till midnight then party some more
Like lovers we'd walk barefoot on the sandy sea shore

I remember our big day watching you walk down the aisle
your eyes shining brightly over that wicked infectious smile
We made promises for ever our sacred wedding vow
sadly coming to fruition just about now

So don't be sad when I leave you when my hand turns cold
it's the beauty of living that we get to be old
Our life was made whole by that great ebb and flow
I loved you forever, now its time to let go

My hand held tightly and that kiss on the brow
tells me time is leaving me right about now

Attraction is a small and fragile thing.
We started with stolen glances,
in crowded halls, across a coffee shop.
I was glancing (I hoped he was glancing).

It was hard, we lived in a rushed way.
We were on schedules, we had routines.
I had doubts about having a boyfriend
but they fell away, like leaves fall off trees.

I’d been warned, "don’t saddle trouble."

But finally, feeling that we were
deserving of love’s rich value,
we came together,
as marble-hearted sinners
with the serpent's contempt
for God’s stable order.

Where In the crates of

song

notes and of

lyrics

Is the one, the singular
The Q of Stephen

to find among the

Beer bars.

Release Me

The song lay
unyellowed.

Then the growl

A finger width away.

But it was the

jazz then, the windows
thrown open

And you left

your song

without

pity.



Caroline Shank
3.10.2024

I'm listening to the house ,
the popping of the joists ,
the groans from years of delapidation . The arguing
with local foundations .

Age has its benefits in the forms of doors as they no longer stay moored to the walls but swing in indecision like the fools who stand in perpetual obsolesence .

Where then do my thoughts propel my rudderless oblivion ?
My angst , the thumb in many dikes , leaves me as powerless before the mass of my desperation .

How dare the Ghosts of daylight leave me marooned in the shadow of shadows .

I am confused and challenged by the hidden agendas and secret subpoenas of an alien race of thought .

And were I capable of burying the haunting images , would they not
sprout from my seeds of discontent and flourish
yet greater than before ?

. . . evidently so .

From the walls
photos of long dead
stare at you.

In the old house
the living keeps space
to hang a frame
with his name.

Ice melts on the Lake.
Fish will move into shore soon.
Please bring back the dock.

Anxiously waiting.
I just bought some more tackle.
March, please be a lamb.

Walleyes taste the best.
Get the hot Cajun batter.
I feel a slight tug.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                                  Gaslighting

Am I being gaslighted?
Or am I being gas lit?
Whichever way the verb might be
The gaslighter is full of (it)

Eyes hold tales untold.
Melancholy image stays.
Life's frailty revealed vividly.