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The sky was ablaze like glass in the church;
recumbent on stone floors / we had knocked out

the windows to let in only the blind light,
the blind arches that pointed heavenward, now yawning

narcoleptic houses of God grasping at sky and god
somehow / we captured daylight in our hands / we were

yearning for ourselves again between long hours of waiting
we believed in gods that breathed that great sky, we believed

in the breadth of cosmos more dazzling
than the church doors that we blew asunder

in that latter architecture where we decided the height
& breadth of the pillars in their proportions like

the proportions of man, exhausted & exaggerated,
man exalted, exaudi, exaudi, voca meam quam olim Abrahim

praises to all our lords on high, we sang in drunk
communion hailing, our communion with one another,

all of us there on the stone flags, hands in hands
we beat at the chests of each other, the eyes of each other

(we were just kids beating off to one thing or another)
and it was *** and chaos between those stone walls, it captured

us, bewildered us, those yawning heavens under the church ceiling,
the one that blazed with the dazzling color of windows

covered in dust like our skin the way it crept along the stone
and we craved it and the way that it seemed to creep,

the sky seemed to creep above us, seethed with light
some days we didn’t know which way was light, up

or lower down, it was usually easy to tell after you came
but we exhausted our voices, exaudi exaudi orationem meam

believing that something would hear us—we heard ourselves
more clearly in the throes of ******, nothing was more alive

more human, than anything, than anything that sang like that blazing
sky/ so we tossed ourselves forward into lightward, lightness

dazzling ourselves with light / it was the summer of everything closing /
the bewildering truth of our own god in cells and precious molecules

we made god in the throes of ******, worshipping in the dazzling sky
we had to propel ourselves forward, it was our stunning captivation

with that dazzling maze of flesh on the yearning sky, hands
searching inscrutably for hands, for god in the feverish sky, god

who doesn’t live in the sky, the god who climbs
with us, the god who screams in our ****** with us,

exaudi, exaudi, orationem meam, ad te omnes caro veniet…
Lawrence Hall Jun 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                 Like Candles When They Quietly Go Out

             He mourns the sons of princes, sown in the dust

                                          -The Seafarer

When we were young
A friend once showed me a passage in a book
In which the monks of a certain cloistered order
Were often blessed with wonderfully peaceful deaths
Like candles when they quietly go out

Domine exaudi orationem meam

Now we are old
Our books require a rather larger print
Our foolish dreams were put by long ago
And the works of our youth are memories
Like candles when they quietly go out

Domine exaudi orationem meam

And we are candles
Still giving out a little bit of light
Anticipating with hope the morning Sun

Domine exaudi orationem meam
A Poem is itself.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
i've long lived with a deutsche seem
within using this tongue,
abbreviating the differences...
succumb to the raven croack...
like an earthworm might to a sunlight....

seems i have been,
much agitated by the expected in
the rallying yewp
of the ones unearthed
as being untouched by closures of
crafting rome...

     de profundis clamavi
ad te, domine;
domine,
     exaudi vocem meam;

little 'elp the chance to live
a life....
       the little that is
begot from man's interval,
and you, who hear,
    are begot by
a defening of ears...
            who vouched to
make the "shy" grief of
jurisprudent song a:
                  mismatch.

only among a people who have
been acribed a history of rome,
to recant, to recount...

         such a fickle labour
to have to mind...
    who would have thought
to infusre ***** with a perfume
of a pear, if not a swede?!
i rest my case...

    drunk, almost dead,
is my most pristine
post-scriptum of seeing
a sunset with this,
english, of all available tongues...

i can't but hinder,
      with the fleshy,
            quasi-take
   on a proxy of imitating
the hummingbird...

                    tod-mit-deutsche!
because via german:
is how i want to unlearn
ever speaking: ęglisch -

to grüz: und gravel!
                         mit dies zunge!

have to travel a question further
to make a in vino veritas
market pleasure...
                    in terms of *****...

the **** drinking italians are
phlegm assorts
in our cognitive couldron...

                comma mother-******?!

        wir anruf es: schloß!

   i don't even know why i took up
a defence of: deutsche,
in a tongue,
        and with a background...
that technically shouldn't
             give me the allowance...

have to explain what's
readily given,
however unsatisfactory to
commence:
understanding of the analogue
akin to the common man;

i.e.: keep your gob-***** in
          the vicinity of the Ypres
trenches, mmm'kay, mr. O?

i too am scared of dying
and "remembering"
a globalist tomorrow,
  without, a, personal,
past, ecnompassing
a yesterday, within
the dimension of a dream
told to a lower, with, a:
                                         today.

didn't anyone ever tell the english
that having acquired
their tongue,
it's equivalent to speaking
a fickleness (wankelmut)?
            minor mood-swings
equipped with a postcard of
                               "sensibility"?!

veer inz: way-V'eh... V not: 'unk!
     Churchill calls them
the little cousins...
  others came up with
bilbio-kleptomaniacs
           given the selling
hard-on for meine: eine: kampf...

can't help but tickle
                   gērman when english
becomes too obnoxious,
             rekindling rotmantel...
even with a backing
of the: ingweren
                   or ingwers?!
      wer?!
                           die       irisch!
      doppelt-pints!             p.s. pint-erens?!
and that became my errand-swish: wish...
mention the Dubliners along the way...

absolutist sveedish?
    i asked for citrus flav.,
instead i had to dunk a pear
feuerwasser within the confines of
a delayed gulp...

why do sober people,
make it so, ever,
****** unavailable to make
drunk commentary
semi-sensible...
  while leaving them to make,
sober... herding procedures,
     a quintessential norm?
Sonnet.

Ah ! ne ralentis pas tes flammes ;
Réchauffe mon coeur engourdi,
Volupté, torture des âmes !
Diva ! supplicem exaudi !

Déesse dans l'air répandue,
Flamme dans notre souterrain !
Exauce une âme morfondue,
Qui te consacre un chant d'airain.

Volupté, sois toujours ma reine !
Prends le masque d'une sirène
Faite de chair et de velours,

Ou verse-moi tes sommeils lourds
Dans le vin informe et mystique,
Volupté, fantôme élastique !

— The End —