Everything you do-
Turn it into poem food
See the world anew

Spiky cables hanging from the wall
Disappear beneath the floor
Let me try to figure out
What they all are for

Eventually we connect the lot
Turn on the power and hear-
A pop

Of course the colours have all changed
From red and black
To brown and blue
Then the blue turned back (to black)
In an effort to confuse

After lunch I see my mistake
Just take this off and use this one
Flick the switch, and oh be joyful
All the lights come on

Mind of mine, you alien child.
I spoon-fed you for many years.
I pretended it was a plane in some cases
and the things you spat out
I fed to you again.

Mind of mine, you shadow of a melody.
Homeless drifter on the A41
with a 5 stringed guitar and no common sense.
Begging for a shoelace to tie on
whilst you go hungry.

Mind of mine, you nervous gun clip.
You know you’re unloaded
so your barrel droops like a snowdrop.
No hippie can put a flower in you.
and your shakes are breaking my wrist.

Mind of mine, you scar butterfly-collector.
Snatching red admirals with a chameleon tongue
and when you stitch them in
their red eyes close on dusty wings.
I know you’re lying when you can’t feel a thing.

Mind of mine, You’re a ****** full of love
and a belly full of drugs.
Positive negative flip, as love is in electrics
and you’re still such a bad liar
to tell me it’s anything else.

Mind of mine,
I can be such a bad parent to you
and an even worse child.

If I could do anything
I would be controlling clocks
And go right back to that mouldy box
With the broken locks
And the electrics off
Those days when I would sold me socks for cake and drops
Whist cooking rocks
***** this K detox
I feel like a baby fox
Thats I been ***** by all 3 bears and goldilocks
But day by day with my tool box and theese building blocks
I'll build my very own fort knox
Il see the light shine when I stike the  fire from my matchbox
Listening to my old jukebox

sometimes i can't trust myself not
to buckle under the weight of
your near enough's and almost
words you can't quite force out from
between my teeth. like the accusatory
cutlery your eyes never fail to
reflect this would look better with
the lights off and between sheets but
then again i always have had trouble
with the twin tormentors dark
and sleeping. sometimes i feel as
though red is the only colour i know
and you insist on inhabiting it you have
ruined sunsets and arsenal and jelly
for me. like i was not made to walk
through fire just as well as ocean i have
merely forgotten the way spoon fed
on ashes and bad pennies glinting
off the electrics i refuse to give you
my spectrum. sometimes my
ribcage admirably lives up to its
name and i find myself choking
on thoughts i'd sworn not to
inhale. like non newtonian fluid
i have inherited your sudden cusps
and contradictions lit up momentarily
only to be put out when i am around you  
i find myself craving cigarettes.

In the midst of midnight air,
stood a man who didn't care.
For he was a man who made world's collide
and every bit of earth bore his stride.
He was the key, the door to realities thick, slick and uncertain
beyond realities curtains
however there was one thing he didn't have and that was a wife
to free him from his darkness his strife.
He searched in coffee shops and in bars,
he looked for answers in the stars,
until he found his equal a woman beyond others,
Sophia the woman in the fire the object of his desire
her wisdom burned bright forged in fiery Stars of eternal unrest
with a beauty that cant be bested
but his love for her was yet untested.
She told him to win her heart he'd have to become mortal
and so would she for in mortality
you see there are lessons that can be learned.
Her heart burned for him so much in the transition
that it became a birth mark above her chest,
he would have to find her to pass the test.
However when they met for the first time
she had met him in a timeline before,
she warned him of tragedies of a life if he stood alone,
a king with a crown but an empty throne.
Although he hadn't put it together
what she was meaning that without her he'd be dead
but his mind had a needle but not a thread
and although he had a good heart he was easily led
so at 16 he lost his mind.
Believing in heavenly things rather than science
which all people believed to be true.
Sectioned under the mental health act 1983
Seeing into the distant reality,
he saw a girl lost her mascara ran down her face,
she was a girl who had lost her place in the scheme of life's dream,
her silence was a scream.
She told him things about his future but as he reached out for her she was taken away
for she was his Sophia and they both were going to pay,
for in making themselves mortal their only way out was to marry or love without doubt.
He had many doubts, that had found their way out and into his life.
While she was trying to save him through many lives lost,he was struggling with his own.
Returning home from the mental hospital he was told his life was a lie
he felt that the only way to heal was to cry
and cry he did amid his friends who lost patience with him in the end.
He could not pretend to be happy, everyday he looked for an answer to his unhappiness,
in fear there is no hope and he became broken.
One day though he was walking down the town he saw a girl she smiled it lit up his day.
So he asked her if it was ok to know her name?
She said it was Grace.
After chatting for awhile she said "you should have a coffee round my place"?
So he said "yes" and popped round there.
Soon after a few weeks he fell in love he felt like it was a answer from the gods of above
but soon doubts crept into his head whether he should settle down or find a career instead or first. He had made his life into a headache a curse
and much more complicated than it should be.
So he broke up with her, it felt like his spur to create the life he dreamed before it was too late.
So he had a car a house but no wife, no spouse.
Meanwhile he missed Grace missed her soft touch her face
after years of working hard, he found a woman crying in a builders yard,
he remembered who she was because of the birthmark above chest
and the smile to which she was blessed.
Grace now old and heartbroken she told him she had many lovers since him but none who could match.
He still loved her so they went to hers.
But that night electrics in the house caught fire there was a fault.
So they both awoke to the smell of burning with a jolt.
He tried to get her out but the place was full of smoke thick and dense.
Now a voice spoke "I am the fire your heart lies with me.
Do you choose to be with Grace and love her avidly or do you choose the path of fear,
to run away and leave her here with me".
Realising that Grace had passed out,
he lifted her over shoulder as the fire began to get worse he got her out.
But he collapsed a heart attack ripped through his chest,
he died they laid his body to rest.
But as he walked through the white door of heaven .
There stood Grace as Sophia his wife.
Every time you doubted,I lost you,
you see, every time you ran I loved thee,
for you have passed the test.

meeting
in the chapel,
house to pray on
small birds, charcoal
drifts. in air, in words.

symbols of poetry,
cut and pasted.

literally.

naturally .

the talk
came back to electrics
and ironing, side effect of
the tabernacle machynlleth.



drawing.

sbm.

My grandfather is the reason for my interest in guitar. I once strummed the strings of one of his many collector acoustics and electrics, even a dobro, and loved every moment. Grandpa Al taught me the G chord, and from then on I was hooked. He signed me up for classes with a bluegrass instructor in my early teens, and I went to a few sessions, but I had rock n roll at heart.
   I stole my grandfather’s 12-string acoustic guitar in my mid-teens, on a journey to Seattle to be rebellious and to get drunk freely and spare for change on the side of the road. It was a big mistake. I broke several strings of the guitar on the hitchhiking part of the expedition. In a small suburb just outside of Seattle, a man walked up to me, and asked me if I could play. I tried my best with what I had, and he took me into the guitar shop across the street to spend fifty dollars on refurbishing my grandfather’s guitar.
   I played the guitar on the streets of Seattle for drug and alcohol money. I was offered a record deal with some people I met on the street and I was too ****** up to play. They passed me up. I slept near the harbor one night, and made a terrible mistake. I smashed the guitar and left it on the top of a trash can downtown the following morning. That day, I hitched back to Olympia.
   When I got back to my home town, I snuck over to my grandmother’s house and crept into the guest room door in the courtyard. I had been gone for just short of a week. She heard me come in and came knocking on the door angrily, which I had locked. She became afraid and called the cops. Knowing this, I tried to jet out of there and ran into a nearby police vehicle that immediately pulled me over, arrested and booked me. I got out several days later, and never told my grandparents the truth about what happened to the guitar. They asked several times.

Death is like a vulture
that sits just far enough away,
that I can see it scrabbling closer
through my pain confused eyes.
My pain is like a schoolyard punk
who, with relentless pokes and jeers,
and the deep need to run away,
tortures me.
How can i run away from myself?
Long, long days and days with fractured sleep
leave me brittle and hallucinating.
What is there to fear beyond the pain?
The clanging gong of pain..
The shooting electrics of pain...
The pull and drag of pain...
The tremendous weighted ache of pain?
And if I love you, I will love you
with all my pain.
that's all that's left.

So this is what its come to, a barm cake and a bun or two, a poor man who can't afford the 'flu and sits in heavy coat and sweater to get a little heat,it gets better,
A candle burns under my bed,the blanket's on but the electrics gone and its getting ****** cold,the candle light takes hold and flames appear,which is the only flaming light in here and the gas is going too,no porridge tomorrow unless I can borrow a couple of quid.

If only I could rid myself of poverty and be like those other folks I see who live in financial security,
and what's the use it'll never happen to me.
I'll be poor of that I'm sure until the day I die and then I'll be poor a little more when they put me six foot underfloor
but at least I'll be warm with all my friends who congregate where this life ends and have a jar or two,sod the cold and sod the 'flu and sod the ****** rich folk too.
I will pull through to the other side
I will find a star and hitch a ride or climb up the ladder and slide down a snake,either way the choices that I make are mine and mine alone and if I have no home,no candle light or mobile phone,you'll find me in the park,in the dark
talking to myself.

Whatever might a performance tea
                                                           be?
Whatever are electrolytes to you
                                                           and me?
No antioxidants will ruin our night
                                                           all right?
And hydration is itself a fright
                                                          ­ Quite!

Blowing sleet rattles against the window pane
And the electrics have again winked adieu
But light the gas and brew up, black and plain
We’ll drink our tea by candles, with a biscuit
                                                         ­  or two

In nice China cups, or a mason jar

Because

The best tea of all is a cuppa char

(Upon reading a ‘vert for specialty teas)

High in the sky two lights flickered on and off
drawing my attention.
Clear and dark not a sound could I hear
fixed on watching.
This display to fast for planes yet controlled
what was about to unfold?

The silence of the night near the stone circle
in a small Wiltshire village.
Driving away that sense of being followed
just wouldn't leave me.
A few miles on the car came to a gentle rest
on a hillside crest!


Two lights coming directly at my vision
the cars electrics failed!
It was as if this was an aliens flight path
would I be abducted?
Prepared for the worst shutting my eyes
then looking clear skies!

No sign of any lights except for the stars
greeted my starring gaze.
The car started and lit up scared I went home
arriving calmly got out!
Heard countless stories of what many had seen
belief where doubt had been!

There is more going on than we are told!

The Foureyed Poet.

I love the feel of a dusty parcan without a bulb,
or electrics, or anything at all except an empty shell,
In another life I lived alone, and kept lamps as pets.  
Birdies flying around my head, and cantatas doing what they do,
barndoors wagging, or shutters fluttering off to sleep in the moonlight,
with a single 50 degree spot to scare away the rats and mice.

As it's different, when you're weaned
on the stinging foam on chins and hair
Hearing the sighs of the sea when
you fall and no-one's there
as if to say, I'm here, but I won't help!
You dash stones in rage
that she simply swallows
and thanks you for with a
particularly ungrateful wave.
Spiders in bright buckets,
***** in between toes in rock pools
a dog-**** buried in the sand.
Worst, are the bat-eyed gulls
swooping on candy you
guarded from bigger kids
but no-one hides from gulls
and sweeping swallow a bag whole
one gulp, unremorseful,
one eye, always watching
stoney, black.

So now, I am older and
we are sun-bathing,
or rather, you are stretched out glossy
and smiling like a good haul
where I pick sand from my belly button
and shade my iPad from the sun.
I see two gulls, eyeing up your Pimms
cocking their heads in angular decision,
I offer them some Smoked Salmon,
they ******, you shout which
spooks the birds who fly
away, yet together, gliding parallel.
You storm away, stamping sand in
drinks and electrics alike
but I am anchored here
watching the gulls flying duo
tied from their throats
and then their stomachs.
The more they want to pull away,
their bodies pull them closer

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

                   Ice Storm: Darwin Needs to Re-Think His Errors

The electrics flicker off then on, all night long
Which wakes me, and my wake then wakes the dogs
Who protest and blanket-burrow even deeper
While angry sleet rattles the window panes

When the weather is foul and the power fails
We are left with a flashlight and a book
Staticky noises from the radio
A bottle of cold coffee, and our thoughts

When the night is cold and the wind is strong
One comes to understand that Darwin was wrong

Walking along her muddy waters,
near the greenish stream lacking followers.
Alone walking endlessly,
I found an old TV.

Picture the electronic device,
laying there helpless.
No upgrades or features,
nope not even electrics.

Looking back at it now,
I see a pun.
Laid out for the few to see,
only in my dreams.

"YES DEAR YES!"

She kissed her husband.
And - he kissed her back.

Which was
unusual

as he had never kissed her back
when he was alive.

Now that he was dead
they were getting on so much better.

He was more real to her
now he was no longer there.

She wished he had been more like this
when he was alive.

He usually spoke to her
from another room

so that she never saw him as such
only aware of his presence.

And the voice
all over the house.

She disliked the term ghost.
Shied away from the word "DEAD."

Couldn't stand the label
"figment of the imagination."

But tonight in the dark
she felt his lips on hers

and cried and cried
letting the loss leak away into this bliss.

She didn't know how to be
a widow.

Wore it like a role
or a set of chosen clothes.

Curious.
Him being dead

was a lot better than
him being not dead.

She could now fashion
him in her own image.

Soften him...make him do
whatever she wanted for once.

Sometimes his voice
came out of the telly

or on the radio or
an answering machine

or the microwave or
the toaster.

he seemed to have got entangled in
the house electrics.

And now here he was on the record player
all scratchy and gathering dust.

She always answered him
as she had done all her life.

"Yes dear...yes!" she said.
"Yes dear. Yes!"

some things fade with time,
with sun and washings.

this one remained bright,
even glaring, a free sample
some years back.

others we get from the pound
shop, mostly costing one pound,
a waste if we get the wrong fitting.

they pop regularly, it is to do
with the electrics they say.

we put them in bottles and
jars.

sbm.

Bring out your words today
Bring them out with gentle care
So that they may do good
in a world awash in despair

Bring them out,
not in whispering assassination,
or with  edges sharp
and cutting designed
to harm, maim and torment

Do not bring words
that ring with anger
like a brass bell
broken and clanging

Nor should you charge
your words with
vindicate electrics,
primed to shock and burn.

Do not fling arrows
with aim to pierce and scar

This is not the time
for that...
Know as much as you desire it
There may not ever be
the time for that...
as much as you wish
to whip the heart of the other
this is not the time
and besides,
this they do well
enough themselves

Be the better,
salve their soul,
beaten, broken
and decrepit
almost beyond repair
be the sunlight
amongst  the gloom
Be the kindness
In an unhappy house
an anguished room
Be the guiding star
In someones darkest night
Be gentle be the light
It may cost you
the righteous anger
seeded deep in your soul
but then again
it may  just make
both you and the recipient
a little more whole,
a little more right,
a little bit more able
to fight the good fight

So bring out your words today
bring them out with flair
bring them out and show
us you care.....

cities all over America are demanding faster and better products but with the interest of profit in mind, large corporations are able to serve with the help of production and distribution methods. Trades from  food to electrics or automobiles to clothing,  a key form of  management is the supple chain which helps create productivity while decreasing cycle time of inventory for the main goal in mind; to reach the highest customer satisfaction possible at the end of the chain . A perfect industry that surpasses satisfaction is the fashion industry, with exponential growth in demand. The fashion industry has been dominated by a handful of corporations, that have turned a seasonally trends to weekly trends but with the help of the supply chain, needs are meet.
According to the guardian, H&M , a Swedish multinational clothing retail company  has factories based in 820 independent suppliers in China, Bangladesh, India and Cambodia with limited clothing made in Turkey. These countries make it possible to produce a lot more for a lot less than other leading retail clothing that is made in America. For H&M, creating faster products and timely distributing them is more important than the quality of the material. Having a timely and strategic supply chain would require inclusive transportation from one place to another. An important advantage to highlight compared to the other fashion competitors such as Forever 21, H&M not only is producing their products in Europe but also selling their products there. This in a sense makes the supply chain more efficient and more profitable. Worthy transportation management is key to s working supply chain to help reduce cycle time. In addition to shipping products and delivering them, communication with the manufactures and carriers helps the supply chain to work effectively.

Engulfed in blackness,
split only by lightning,
like a ripping of reality,
and the rumble of repair.

As the storm passes
despite the destruction of
sparking power lines
my mind is fully powered.

Stars emerge from light pollution,
not seen for many years,
my hand waved in front of my face,
unseen in the dark house.

Nocturnal communal,
as words and thoughts
circulate in the darkness,
swirling into a minds light.

A candle ignites on its own,
blue static sparks arc,
as power restarts,
a collective breath, taken.

But the stars are humbled
by electrics bright,
and thoughts freed in the dark,
once more trapped in the light.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

        Forming a Committee Around a Car That Wouldn’t Start

The engine wouldn’t turn over; the electrics were dead
We stood around the open hood, each scratching his head

1st Member:

“It appears to me it’s the dead battery
There’s no indication of a charge, you see”

2nd Member:

“I’m a college graduate, so I am smarter
Obviously the problem is with the starter”

3rd Member:

“There’s a smell in the engine, something tannic
And I should know; I’m a certified mechanic”

4th Member:

“I’m a knight of the road; I drive a freighter
Just let me at that broken alternator”


But none of our skilled efforts came to pass
Because no one had bothered to check

                                                                                                        the gas

I think I'm frying neurons
in the electrics of my brain,
watching flashing beacons
and then
watching them again
and quite oddly
although happily
I do not feel the pain
of neurons frying
in my brain.

But I'm still making some connections
altering the imperfections
lighting lasers, fighting demons,
there's still hope, I think, for me.

I'm caught up
in the shout of you
I'm strung up
by the sound of you
let go
I think
as electrics howl
some dark note
i slam against
pulling hard
on the string
don't I don't
know if that's
a note or a scream

The electrics gone off the worlds come to an end
The web is no more Emails I can’t send

I’ve pushed all the switches still nothing can I hear
The streets are full of people their lives are a blur

A thought has just occurred I scream and I gasp
I can boil water on the stove and make tea in a flask

But wait!

My washing machines in a spin and the TV’s back on
The kettles start’s boiling to a radio song

The web is now working Emails I can send
Hold the headlines, the worlds not come to an end

Walls of crumble
Posters of exhibition
Drum beats, cymbals and electrics
Flow through the annex
Piano keys are dancing
Songs bounce on the air
And vending machines release
In the old gothic corridor
Bags, books and pens
Projectors, desks and improvisation
Movement and stretching
In the mirrors of a dance studio
Cafe, pool table and laughter
Cigarette smoke up my nostril
Small television up on a shelf flashing
As Motörhead seeps from the jukebox
Rehearsals for a play
Nerves slowly stand to attention
Then the applause from the crowd
Before the scaffold and lights come down
Off to the pub for beer
The gang of goths terrify on the street
Being kissed quite unexpectedly
When naive and unworldly
Now home slumped on the sofa
Head spinning like a top
Up at a ludicrously late time of day
Back to college for more

yes james it is a small white stone
colour so pure you can feel it

now the cotton creeps in the foreground

how do you know
about the prices here?

i find most things reasonable
yet then i don’t want much

like we shop in primarks for underthings
and overstuff

food comes in small prices
what i eat does anyhow

moving on
as you are now with the electrics

while mine are acting up in the outbuilding
and is all under discussion and research
out in the lane

he strimmed it severely then talked
to me kindly until she came out
with a broken zip
so they went in for tea

i killed the hedge i had hated
for 27 years then came quiety
inside smiling

i clear the debris today
james

they say it will rain
she said it is like glitter floating in the air

that it will die out

do you believe all the things you hear james
are you happy out there cycling along

i hope so
i like to think of it so

my times are up side over now james
while others sleep
do other things

i made another ladder
everyday i make a ladder
now

green by the window