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

                   Beowulf and the Danish Passport Officer

                     From a recently discovered manuscript

The clapped-out Boeing         wheezed to the gate
The ground crew jumped                 name-tags rattling
And swiftly moored                 the shining ocean-bird

Behind his plastic shield                 a Danish official watched
The travelers approach         their passports raised
He stood peeking down         at the naughty selfie
His girlfriend sent         to his bold smart-phone
Shaking his rubber stamp                 he spoke:

“What is                 the purpose of your visit?
Business, or pleasure?                 Hwaet! I’ve stood
At this same gate                 longer than you know
Keeping our gift shops free         from British footer hooligans
No commoner carries                 such fine matching luggage
Unless his Rolex                 and his boyish good looks
Are lies                         You! Tell me your name
And your home address         and your email!
The quicker the better                 I’m off-duty in ten minutes.”

Beowulf answered him          Unlocking his smart-phone:

“We are the Geats           the mighty, mighty Geats!
Men who follow Malmo FF           Malmo FF the great!
And we have come seeking           Parken Stadium
Greatest of all stadia                   Its shining seats polished
By cheering generations                   of fat-full footer fans
We have come to cheer           Malmo FF
While they whup up on           Dansk Boldspil Union
Instruct us, watchman                   Where is the stadium
But first, where is the beer?”

                          The worthy officer
Answered him boldly:

                          “A true fan knows
The difference between           fighting on the field
And puking in the stands                   and keeps that knowledge clear
In his beery brain                   I believe your babbling
Go forward, credit cards and all           on into Denmark
Spend your money!                   Our exchange rate is generous!
And then go home bearing our love           while we bear your money.”

(Stamp, stamp, stamp)          “Tram stop to the left
Taxis to the right”

(Scholars everywhere will regret that here the burnt and torn manuscript breaks off.)

She came up to me one day in the office seeking help
She'd heard me talking about my nightmares
She was a lovely looking thing, she was big into dieting and health food and healthy eating
Some of the other girls used to consult her about such matters
Thinking her to be quite an authority on the subject
I think she might have had a sideline too selling some Health products
She was a...a gorgeous looking creature, she had lovely blonde hair which framed her beautiful oval face like a heavenly aura,
Maintaining always a resolutely bright and cheerful disposition
She radiated positivity and optimism wherever she went
(I suspected secretly that when she got home she probably kicked her cat around)
I'd be all agog just looking at her
I suppose yes! I probably had a little crush on her
Unfortunately I was a good deal older than she
So I could only see myself as a secret admirer, a dark lover from afar...

She'd been acting a little peculiarly of late since returning from her Easter holidays
I wasn't the only one to remark about it
Gone was her usual self assured poise and grace
Gone too her lovely bright positive glow
It was like some sudden terrible tragedy had befallen her
Like some big dark ominous cloud had suddenly appeared on her horizon
Now she seemed rushed and frazzled, strangely distracted, unsure of herself, hesitant
Clumsy, apologetic, not at all like her usual confident self.

So she came up to me when I was alone one day and asked "You know something about nightmares, don't you"
She proceeded to tell me this story
She used to drive to work but because of the unusually mild and clement sunny Spring weather coming up to Easter
She had decided to leave her car at home and walk to work
Probably thinking it to be healthier I suppose
The route she took meant she had to pass by a certain newsagents *** confectionery /sweet shop
Now coming up to Easter as it was
The owner of the shop had strategically placed in the front window of his shop a big Easter egg
Wrapped in pretty ribbons and bows and encased in a very colourful, most alluring box
Every day she had to pass this shop with its lovely chocolate egg prominently displayed
You probably know where this is going,
Yea! A secret longing began to grow in her
Passing that shop every day and seeing that big chocolate egg started to rekindle in her memories of the days when as a child she used visit her local Sweet shop
When the only ambition she had was to get enough money so she could buy the newest chocolate or sweet
She began to remember fondly thoughts of all the old chocolate bars and sweets she used to eat
Anyway this longing, this desire of hers... each day it grew stronger and stronger until finally, like a river bursting a dam
Yea, like a huge monster, it finally overwhelmed her
Yes! She... she SUCCUMBED!

One evening she drove her car to the shop and parked on the opposite side of the street
There she waited till the street was deserted, with no one around
When the coast was clear, she got out of the car carrying a big shopping bag
Wearing a big hat and dark sunglasses just like a movie star
She went into the shop and told the shop girl she wanted the big Easter egg in the front window
She lied telling her it was for her little nephew
She hastily paid for the Egg, then quickly bundled it into her shopping bag carefully covering it up with other items so no one would see
Then hurriedly she left the shop, crossed the street with her head bowed, got into her car and quickly sped off
Over the next two days, in an **** of orgiastic chocolate eating, she secretly gorged upon, devoured all by herself the entire Easter egg
When she had finished, she sat there, a sullen lump among the ruins of her feast
Bits of ribbons and bows and torn box strewn all around her
Almost immediately she began to suffer pangs of guilt, berating herself repeatedly and bitterly for her lack of will power and mental strength, for her perceived weakness of character
This went on for the next few days, she just couldn't bring herself to forgive her behaviour
And she couldn't fathom how she had let this desire overcome her
...Then curiously, she began to experience a strange recurring dream at night,
She'd dream that she went one evening to another part of town where she wasn't known again to buy her Easter egg
There was no one around at that hour
She'd buy her Easter egg, tell her little lie about her nephew, then bundle the Egg into her bag and cover it just like before,
Then she'd leave the shop and head down some backstreets not wanting to be seen by anyone she knew
At that time of evening the shadows had begun to lengthen, the backstreets were very quiet and deserted, had a very lonesome forlorn air
As she walked along, she suddenly began to hear what she thought were the sound of footsteps behind her, the tread of feet behind her...Big feet, Bom-bom-bom!
She'd turn around but couldn't see anything, not a soul and not a sound only silence
She'd continue walking and the sound of the Big feet would start up again
Naturally this began to unnerve her, she turned and called back at the shadows
"Is there anybody there?"
But no answer was forthcoming
She'd walk on and again the sound of the Big feet would come Bom-bom-bom!
By this time she had become so unnerved, so completely flummoxed that in a state of utter panic
She suddenly took off at a frantic girly gallop down the narrow backstreets
Behind her she could hear the sound of the Big feet quickening, coming after her
In a quick change of plan she decided to climb some steps that would take her back to the Main Street again
She hoped there'd be other people there who might be able to protect her
She was very disappointed then when she found not a soul upon the whole street
Well she ran and she ran, she tore down her own street and with key in hand she quickly opened her front door, then slammed it shut fastening all the locks and bolts as she did
With this done she heaved a huge sigh of relief, a huge 'Phew!" and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow
She backed slowly away from the door almost as if she was expecting at any moment, there'd be a mad pounding on it, as if some strange belligerent entity would be trying to gain entry.
She kept backing up, the suspense almost too hard to bear
Suddenly she bumped into something behind her, something big and soft... and furry
Soft and furry ???
She turned and well, her mouth, it dropped wide open in utter shock and disbelief
Her eyes, they nearly popped out of her head
For there standing before her was... THE CREATURE
"It was hideous !" she said tearfully
"What was hideous?" I replied quite intrigued at this stage
"It was a Big Rabbit !"
"A big...a Big Bunny 🐰 ?" I said
She went on explaining, standing before her was a giant seven foot Easter Bunny
"A seven footer eh!" I said as if I was knowledgeable about these things, which I wasn't
She continued with her story, the rabbit he had big floppy ears, big buck teeth, a twitchy nose and whiskers 🐰
And on his face he wore this pretty gormless vacant expression🤡
He was wearing a waistcoat which had all these Easter egg 🥚🥚 designs on it
And on his front paws were these two big red boxing gloves 🥊🥊
She looked around desperately for some means of escape but Alas!
For her THERE WAS NO ESCAPE, she swallowed hard
Suddenly the giant Rabbit's teeth began to
natter
As if he was considering some imminent action
Then totally without warning one of his boxing gloves
It suddenly shot out and punched her right on the nose knocking her clean out on the floor
As she sprawled there dazed and utterly confused, the Big Bunny, he looked down at her with his big eyes 👀
And then, with a sudden leap which surprised even her
He jumped right up onto her chest where he proceeded to bounce up and down on top of her
Of course, here she'd awaken from the dream drenched in sweat and screaming for the Giant Bunny 🐰 to get off her.
When she had finished her story she buried her head in her hands and sobbed quietly for a few moments before regaining her composure
She seemed very relieved to have gotten it all off her chest, the story that is not the Bunny
Well I suppose she was glad to get him off as well
She went on to say how stressed she felt during the day, how she found it hard to focus on anything as she was too busy thinking about the night to come and the arrival of her unwelcome guest
She looked at me pleadingly "He'll be there again, I know it, with those big eyes of his" she blubbed half in tears
It seemed obvious to me what'd happened, mentally she'd been beating herself up
And now her Subconscious was merely reciprocating by creating this giant Bunny to chastise her
It was just a manifestation of the guilt she felt for eating the Easter egg
For a moment I felt like I was Sigmund Freud.
I told her what I thought and said she shouldn't beat herself up, I told her we all had our temptations and that at times, few of us were strong enough to withstand their advances
I told her of the importance of forgiving herself
But nothing seemed to placate her
She still seemed overly concerned about the coming night and the prospect of the giant Bunny's re-appearance
She catastrophized and saw only dark things ahead
I knew I had to say something authoritive
Suddenly I had an idea, I put my arm around her shoulders as if to console her
"Look my child", I said really beginning to warm to my Father Confessor role
"The Beast! Do you really want rid of this Beast ?"
"Yes! I do! I do!", she replied emphatically
"Really! You really want to get rid of him!" I said as if to question her resolve
"Yes! Yes! I'd do anything" she replied
I felt we had to send a strong message to her Subconscious mind -
I told her "This is what you must do. After work go down to the same Sweet shop and there buy the most expensive ornate Box of Chocolates you can find 🎁
But this time instead of bringing them home with you, bring them instead to my house...
To the above advice I added a few more instructions
"And that's all I have to do" she said sounding surprised and hopeful once again
"That's all you have to do", I assured her, "you'll have no more trouble from IT ever again".

So in the evening she arrives at my house with a big box of fancy chocolates
I open the door and abruptly ****** the chocolates from off her
I say loudly "These Chocolates are all mine and you can't have any of them
Lovely Chocolates... and their all mine, all mine!!!
And you're not getting any!"
And I let out this evil cackle of a laugh
Then I said rather theatrically to her "**** off!, Get lost! Shoo! Begone! Begone!
And then I slammed the door right in her face
After a few moments I opened the door again
And began to chase her down the path shouting "Begone! Begone! The Chocolates are mine! All mine!"
I even picked up a stick and shook it at her.

The next morning she runs up to me at work with a big smile
"He's gone ! He didn't come last night"
She looked renewed, she positively glowed again
She assured me I'd be her friend for life and that she loved me to bits
For a moment I was beginning to fancy my chances with her
I had visions of the two of us together in some romantic scene
That was until she went on and said that I reminded her of her lovely Uncle Joe
"Her Uncle Joe", I thought, "****!... feckin' Uncle Tom"
Then I thought I should have charged her, yea! charged her just like a hospital consultant
$250 Euros upfront and come back in two weeks for another $250, sorry for a check up I mean.

Well that's it then... that's my Easter story, I've got to go off now and take my afternoon nap
Y'know I've been getting some funny dreams of my own of late,
Yea! I've made a new friend
He's been teaching me how to box.

cross-over
behind the back
simple wrist flip
34 footer drops
and I sit in awe --
having witnessed
Showtime
Magic, Kareem, Worthy
Vs.
The Parquet floor
and Larry Bird….,
the bad boys,
and the Jordan era
(both incarnations),
big Timmy in San Antonio,
and Hakeem in Houston,
Shaq and Kobe,
Kobe and Gasol,
the reign of a new king
shinning like the sun in Miami...
they all sit back
like me
mouth open
feeling a state of awe
muthafukkin Stephe Curry
……hope homeboy stays healthy,
I like bearing witness to NBA godliness –

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The two of us alone by the fire in this wild landscape, tumble weeds and dust. the endless dust.  surely there could be some sort of peace offering that might make the night a little more comfortable than that of the past days. a small truce? suddenly I noticed him watching me. it was in a strange and unguarded way. he almost seemed  likeable except for the fact he was the most arrogant, heddonistc man i had ever met. again I looked at him. I bated him a little.

"dont you know its impolite to stare at a lady?"

There was an instant glint in his eyes and I knew he was thinking of the bathing pool. I blushed thanking the fire it didnt have the air to flicker brigher.  I wasnt quite ready for a reply.


"Yes, and I sure would be in trouble if there was a lady here! cause what Im looking at would be the pride of any man who had the pleasure of meeting them!"


He caught my breath my heart paused for a second. He was oviously alluding to the invitation he so easily tossed at her by the waters edge as he handed her her towel looking away with a cheap grin trying to convey the model of a complete gentleman. I saw him at that moment, menacing and I met him eye to eye. something strange took over me as I watched him leering at me eyes moving from soft peaks to nape , to lips and challenging me with his eyes. He made no attempt to hide the fact that I was desirable in the conventional way. Just not in any other way. but strangely I didnt feel threatened but rather bolder. his hand clinched suddenly as he stood suddenly towering over me. I got up on my feet and walked back a bit to create some distance between us but I stopped unable to mover further than a few feet away. my legs were unwilling to move and his eyes were able to rove freely the peaks and vallies of my womanhood. **** the fabric for being the type to reveal my shape in the firelight,  and **** the hot air that made the moisture cling it tightly to me.


I searched for meaning in his eyes, it came in  the unfurling of his desire and manifested in the breath of my own heartbeat pulsing into a crevice long forgotten. its revival took me somewhat, by surprise. and in the instant you saw it flicker in my eyes I saw it flicker in your own under the brim of that old leather hat. panic! oh hell! not ready for this feeling! uncomfortable sweetness and lazy pulses. weakness dragging along with it a wanton desire crawling molten heat wilting and yet rising in it a will of its own. I reeled inside my mind now lost inside the sensation of my body! reactions everywhere! A deep blush and a nip of my lip  to constrain me. here we are standing face to face a few feet  from eachother and that flicker had started in me a whole revolution. my thighs grew weary of standing so tightly wound together and my hips fancied themselves drawn towards you and took thier liberties from me. here I was held in an uncomfortable contortion hips lunged forward, tightened rosettes lunging to ward you and my mind was now working against me. your jaw seemed so warm and welcomeing and I could see myself nuzzling in the craw... and your hardness proudly announcing its desire to serve. those eyes those lightning sweet flickers, glowed over you warmth and hardness so appealing so pertinently appropriate in its impropriety.


Oh what in tarnations, there goes that waffling **** joy, oh sensiblitily who the hell cares! My mind and body argue and the shakes start to take over and I am completely confounded by my senses. then just as suddenly as it came its forgotten as the realisation of why this is such an offensive state to me. All I can remember are the words he said reeling in my head!


"The invitation is revoked of its warmth on account of your inhospitiable and ungracious prudish manner, but the polite thing to do is keep the invitation open at least on a civil basis otherwise i might not be considered a gentleman."


that was his gentlemanly way of calling her a harlot! Gentleman my-  Hate suddenly crawled up my spine and to my surprise it only served to flame my passion. I wanted what I wanted and courage and boldness took hold. If its civil he wants civil he will  get! I picked up my vanity like a harlott and lunged forward stopping just as quickly hoping he hadnt noticed. Hardly worth hoping. He noticed everything and he would surely call me on it. but insted strangely intent, he stood silent, still and focused. His eyes on my eyes I had noticed once I met them. A rugged jaw clinched and fist tight beside him. but his breath was cheating him of his composure. it was at this moment I knew we were fighting the same wanton battle. Pride dancing with lust, any hopes of love torn from the bitterness of rivalry between us by the fact that he held me in such high disregard. and I only as a pure instinctual reaction, do reasonably as any reasonalbe person attributed  such unwarranted assignment of character failings would do the same.


What was I to him? I found myself wondering what it would be like to be taken under his person, his strong arms pulling me towards him pressed against him... more rushes spun in cirles around me trying to find expression tight rosettes and puckering crevices landscapes once barren and forgotten had suddenly sprung to life. alive and wanting aching craving touch and now suddenly my heart decided to pull away from me. Suddenly fear flooded my body and then anger twisted its self all over me again. What the hell is going on?? Is it in my head? to hell with it ! I peered deep into his eyes and marched into his arms and forced a kiss to push him into my headdiness. and he obliged and held it warmly and gently, though my voraciousness clearly fell away at my noticing of this sudden cordialness pushing humiliation down into my throat and deep into the core of me unleashing a viper


"Why did you let me kiss you? "


I hissed, pulling away. he replied without missing a beat,


"It was the civil thing to do."


here I am rosy as all hell with a chasm as wide as the grand canyon with the words **** etched on to my pride.


"**** you! **** you to hell!"



I rushed at him and my hand flying through the air. it had its own justice to serve and I went with it. Oh hell, i went with it! Rage flew me up to him and suddenly I felt immobilised. My hand stilled hanging in the air, less than an inch from its target. His eyes now burning into me burrowing into me with seering white heat and an intensity that made me want to look away if it hadnt been for my last shred of pride refusing and rather accepting full blindness rather than conceede. suddenly his shadow fell over me and leaning down his lips parted his eyes softened and i felt the tenderly regard he was capable of it made me weak in my knees! I fell  into it as he caught me and in that sweet kiss, so beautifully warm. velvet silkeness I clung to him pressed against himas his hardness proudly declaring his intensions. it was a fit so perfect, that had there not been silk , denim and leather chaps in the way I would have merged with him seemlessly! oh the glorious delight of such care in his ravishment of me! I was lost, I was found!  yet, I was not even aware of anything but a dire need for his impending intensions to come to light.  then I felt him pull away from my lips. confused eyes watched as they pleaded why? He pushed me away and held me back from him like some vile rat and declared


"That is what youre missing as per the original invitation."  


He let me go as pain and humiliation stung my cheeks. reeling once again. I dropped to the ground. I put my hands to my heart trying to cover what he had done.  He had breeched my sacred place my soul stained and forever darkened by this stranger, I had trusted who was entrusted to escort me to my new lodgings... now my closest enemy.  in three days. and to bare for three days more. I am lost. lost. so this is what it feels like when hell burns you to the ground? and to think I almost thought for a second I could have fallen in ? serves me right to think any man would be different.  Im an idiot. That is the exact reason I need to marry money. I regained an inchling of my composure. enought to speak well, ok hell, I spat it at him


"I trust you sir, will be gentlmanly enough not to mention this to Mr Bently?"


"As always ma'am"


he tipped his hat and walked away  from the fire and my ashes into the darkness.


I stood there for a while listening to the bushes rustle till I knew he had found a place spend the night. I walked around the carriage to enter, I waited just enough time for him to get comfortable.  then ever so politely, gave him a reason to rise.  


"Mr Jones, would you mind helping me up the footer? I'm too afraid to sleep on the ground alone."


I heard him muttering and hissing under his breath. I smiled inside. for some reason it made me feel better. He slammed the carriage door and walked off again into the dark. I sat there on the plush bench thinking of him and scolded myself just as quickly as I had thought it. it was a cycle reapeated the whole night and as I drifted off to sleep I even let myself slip a brief thought of myself on a porch cleaning potoates while looking out at Clancy wiping his brow and smiling back... Clancy, Clancy Jones. What kind of a stupid name was that anyways? No woman in her right mind would want to marry a man with a name like that!  Mrs. Clancy Jones...

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There was always at least five feet between us. It was actually a good thing in the preliminary stage. We could lock eyes without the urgent need to look away too soon. The intensity was containable in those five feet.

(speaks very fast) And then my stupid self went around and quickly covered four of those five feet. It is the laws of mitotic cell division god ******. You do not grow four feet in a day. You grow inch by inch, centimeter by centimeter. Ask him about that literature assignment. Shakespeare is responsible for excess glutton in today’s pick up lines. Wait for your friends to dare him to kiss you on a Truth and Dare. Wait for him to want to. Then, tell him, maybe, I like you.

That, in that one foot perimeter, I could see golden flakes in the circles of his eyes when clearly they are brown should have been the first sign that it was a bad idea. Five feet was our perimeter. Five feet was where we stopped. (points to own body) Five feet is where I stop.

For, I will never be anyone else but me. I will never experience, firsthand at least, what it is like to be a lanky six footer who hunches because she doesn't know what to do with her body. Or her exhilaration when she finds the basketball court. I will never experience being the Egyptian boy who has a chemistry counter in his kitchen, who asks his maid to buy him potassium nitrate. I won't know what it is like to be his maid who almost got arrested for asking to buy potassium nitrate (a component of explosives) in Egypt.  I shall never experience courting like the characters in a Jane Austen novel. And how nice it must feel, feeling beautiful.

And I will never ever experience, what it is like to be his girlfriend.

FIRST ONES


She sits by the fire and stirs her ***
the day has been a long one and tonight's new moon means no sleep tonight
for there are times right for harvest and can be done no other time
The folks of the village depend on her art for to bring new life
and easing the pain of the living as well as honouring the dead
There is no Rede or three by three here
no shiny wands or talismans
she is elder here and thus respected perhaps feared
but she lives her life alone
She was the beginning
a first footer here
seeking only to serve
little profit is found outside of the town
What would she thinks of our books and our Rede
She who never learned to read
Was She more or less then I?
Did She seek to lead?
Would she smile at our toys our trinkets and beads
or shake her head and turn to leave

I wonder what the First Ones would see looking now at me and thee

Solita - 2007

What's a bird that doesn't have boots
Looks like a flamingo that flocks
And keeps it's feet up
What's a clock that doesn't tick
That radio can't relate too
That's we look for Radio Free Europe and daylight savings
What's the paper without a President
Counting days when he leaves, ticking time bombs
The bombs' without a clock
Hey Bob meet Charlie
Meet Tango and cash in your walkie-talkies
Cute meet between people who think, it takes two to tango
What's an avian bird that doesn't congregate
A gourmet meal
What's an eagle without the snake's shadow
A prey to the Sun and Moon, the nocturnal death
The snake sleeps with his head in the bagging
The sagging berry that doesn't taste sweet
What's a bird without wings
Is the imagination of the intelligent intellectuals
Looking for talent among ambitious, some have mirages of migration
What's the boot without the footer
A shorter foot, with a missing boot of homeless beggar
What's a barber without a cut
A devil's haircut for the witty purging fearful man
In loathful Vegas lost in its insipid disease
Trees and the malls, the Palio that looks the same as the Patio
Sounds like Caesar's Palace in a word salad
What's rubber with a tip
Some pocket full of things
A change of style, and wallet of wads of cash
Paying for the dinner and the present commitments with the lady in the bleeding ceiling
What about the lights, the gumboots shine in these muddy fishnets

i sat on the sandy shelf looking out to sea
intensity in the sunshine
set my head spinning
i could smell the sweet scent of the sea
could hear the breaking waves upon the dusty sands
and could feel in my bones the grains of time as they passed
a thousand years sailing ships plying the
beautiful breeze of the golden shore
a thousand lifetimes of men knowing the depth of love for the sea
and in my heart i too heard her calling me
to wrest a life from the living sea
like the ages old conquest of wind and tide
so with a madman i set off in a twenty footer
and as the gulls wheeled overhead we set our lines
with a sea of stars above
a sea of brackish water below
we harvested a bounty overflowing in my grasp
to make market we had to put every inch of sail to the wind
but by the time we reached shore
the madman had cast all our fish back into the sea
saying that they had begged to be set free
a thousand years of sailing ships plying the golden sea
had worn his mind
worry rubbing the bone of his skull
the wild sea had grasped his soul
the wild sea had stolen his soul
now i chase him cross the flemish cap
every sail straining
no life lived so well
as the life of sea and sand

Byron loves to golf, but in the dead of winter, when he has his wood stove radiating heat, he likes to play darts. The board hangs on a door separating the main garage from his store heap of empty beer cans, crushed and bagged. Thousands of them. He also has a ****** stuck on a wall. The **** just flows out to the ground. He always warns us not to dump in his ******. The very thought irks me. Like golf, Byron threatens to “kick my ***” in darts. He has a predilection for my posterior in the most unthreatening way. In fact, he may be homophobic. He throws a dart like an Amazon pygmy. Fatal to success. However, golf is never far from his mind during the raging snows we get. Although I helped with the spelling and small stuff, Byron penned the following. I came up with the title.

Intimations of Fairway Play

I'd rather hit the links today,
Take an eight on five;
Blame the wind or shift of weight,
Than shovel out my drive.

I'd rather search under trees,
Twigs, leafs and water;
And curse the squirrel that thought my shot
Was food for winter fodder.

I'd rather have a downward lie
On pock-marked naked ground;
Than sit and watch Keegan Bradley
Get it up and down.

I'd rather have a green fringe putt
That lines up with goose droppings;
Or see a fine three footer lip
Than hear the snow plough coming.

I'd rather shoot a ninety-nine,
And pay for rounds of ale;
Than sit in front of my wood stove
During snow and sleet and hail.

I'd rather shank or stub my ****,
Yes, get a double bogie;
Or miss a hole-in-one by inches
And put up with Francie's stogie.

Francie can card seventy-two
And make an eagle putt;
It matters little what he does,
I know I'll kick his but.

Yet still I languish near my fire
And watch the Pros play golf;
At Pebble Beach or someplace warm
I wish they'd all *******.

FIRST ONES


She sits by the fire and stirs her ***
the day has been a long one and tonight's new moon means no sleep tonight
for there are times right for harvest and can be done no other time
The folks of the village depend on her art for to bring new life
and easing the pain of the living as well as honouring the dead
There is no Rede or three by three here
no shiny wands or talismans
she is elder here and thus respected perhaps feared
but she lives her life alone
She was the beginning
a first footer here
seeking only to serve
little profit is found outside of the town
What would she thinks of our books and our Rede
She who never learned to read
Was She more or less then I?
Did She seek to lead?
Would she smile at our toys our trinkets and beads
or shake her head and turn to leave

I wonder what the First Ones would see looking now at me and thee

Solita - 2007

On Tuesday, I had
the intention
to set the precedent

of doing the
the work for Class
promptly

And for that
I had
Tomorrow

But Tomorrow
    turned  
Into..

Up at Five AM
to climb
A Mountain (Kinsman a 4000 footer)

Then back at Three
to take
A Well earned Shower

Then out at Four
to see the group of
my Best Friends

For the first time (in quite some time)
And the last time
until Summer

Then back at One
To get some
Sleep



So, even though
Tomorrow turned
to Yesterday
And I didn’t
at all
do school work

So, this Morning
I hurriedly
write this
I can’t at all
Say it wasn’t
Worth it

Down island,
we disappeared
into the mix,
ate fish soup
just before the collision.

Your design arrived by dingy,
sister-like with your hips,
your curls trapped moonlight,
beautiful evidence of a greater reality.
Everybody hung out on the veranda
in various sites of excitement.
It was surreal
to see so many
burned-out bodies
save yours so tight,
so virile.

It doesn't really matter
who understands
the memories of another,
does it?

And even if I wrote it,
spelled it out cryptically,
it still wouldn't matter,
them others
reading as if they
knew us, 'cause
they weren't there,
not even in spirit.

For how can one truly relate,
describe the bubbles we made
in our own little inlet,
with the orange sun sinking
& the fifty-two footer
sharing space
with wanton
starstruck lovers,
you & me.

And just so you know
blond nanny,
(but I know you never will),
I still see pools of sweat
glistening on your Nordic skin
in the small of your back.

He asked if he could hang with me.
I laughed at his cockiness.
That kid had ‘cojones’ at 15 years old.
I knew he was one of us.

Living legends like Laird Hamilton and Dave Kalama,
Death by wipeout for Mark Foo and Kirk Pasmore,
Myths we’ve become, epics we populate.
We are few.  We are large.

What drives our destiny?
Do we smell it and follow its scent?
Do its tentacles embrace us softly?
Favored or cursed we’ll never know.

The chase for that 80 footer
may look like Ahab’s hunt for Moby
but no hatred courses through our veins.
Life grips our heart and we love.

You reporters follow us, watch us, listen to us.
Can you understand that the waves rule our lives,
their frothy exhale lures us,
their saltwater avalanche embraces us ?

Sting rays, Man o’ Wars, jelly fish
stirred into the danger soup with sea and sand,
bones, sinews, flesh, our offering,
pain fashions no leash to choke our pursuit.

Mavericks, Teahuppo, Jaws, Pipeline, Cyclops:
where razor sharp coral lie in wait,
where Great Whites stealthily roam,
where the board delivers primal union.

Ah, the waves - pounding, churning, roaring.
I paddle the face, rise up over the crest,
catch the lip, drop into the maw,
50 miles an hour through the monster barrel.

Does the joy at childbirth, the euphoria of ******,
the bliss of nirvana match the rush of the wave?
Is the steep price we pay worth it?
Can there be a cost too high for heaven?

You will laugh at me like I laughed at the kid
when I claim we are a band of brothers.
Our conflict takes place within ourselves;
blood spilled from our veins an anointing.

The kid’s eyes expose a hunger not satisfied,
a restless yearning to uncover his truth.
The ocean ministers his baptism;
an innocent courage powers his crusade.

My ride ended some years ago.
I should have bailed out
but I thought I was ripping the wave.
Hospital ceiling proved me wrong.

My muscles still now, no tracking big swells,
no taming the wild beast , no testing my luck,
yet the ribosomes, nucleus, cytoplasm of my cells
host the waves. The kid knows.

I can see the pale white wall
With nothing painted or pinned
And I reel through memory
And come to you
And back to this bed
And the comforters are warm
And I feel at peace
But moreso
If you were beside me
Holding my heart in one hand
The other arm around my chest
Pinning me down
To what matters
To lovely summer days
And fresh air
And the bamboo forest
That sprung out
From around your home
And the days we'd spend
Brown from the sun
And muscles sore
From doing nothing
Floating on my father's
14 footer,
Sailboat and knowing
That the summer would be out last
And that the pale wall now
Is as empty as my bed.

So who was Stalin’s barber?  Did he joke
About mass starvation, and did he bet
Stalin five kopecks on footer matches?
“The Spartaks are sure looking good this season.”

“Ya think?  I’m betting on the Dynamos;
They’ve got a forward like you wouldn’t believe.”
“But, Comrade Boss, you had him shot last week.”
“Oh, yeah, after the Lvov game.  I forgot.”

“Sometimes you just **** me, Boss; you really do.”
“That reminds me - just leave your keys after work.”

people are still getting the existential-ist 'air quotes' wrong: i'm pretty sure they are supposed as metaphors or... quick-misnomer takes on: but you can't just air quote "ingredients" when... involved in a culinary competition... can you? i thought that INGREDIENTS were... power brokering: the sigma; no?

quick! ****** out wilfred zaha...
wait, it's not Wilfred?
it's: wil-fried: i will have fried?
chips?!
anyway... ****** 'im...
down... at the knee-cap: whichever
leg... i think he's a right-footer...
so take the left kneecap out...
make him "take the knee"
like the rest of them doing
in imitation of Derek Chauvin:
the jury heard that a man with a knee
on his throat could shout
21+ times: i can't breath...
i tried it... without a knee on my neck...
i would possibly stretch it to
two shy off a dozen...

so much for "taking the knee":
Derek! take the knee!
take two! chow down: shoving through 'em...
quick quick! take as many knees as it takes
for the jury to fake:
being able to utter that phrase...

it's clearly a ****-take on the capacity
of man's endeavour into breath...
oddly... to take a knee like Derek Chauvin
took the knee... there's not critique of
anything... just a laugh:
on how... irony can be capitalised...
how: you will know the difference between
good &, &... evil...

point blank range: oh, you'll know...
you'll sniff it sushi raw...
but you'll still rather conflate the two
as: dichotomy "biased"...
it's the ultimate dual!
it's the only dual!
should you arrive at the monism of inanimate
things... good for you!
good, for, you!

- and i too came to a trans-
conclusion...
it couldn't be a mistake that my parents
gave me a Hebrew's first name
and a German second name...
it wasn't like they gave me
the name: Stanisław
or Bolesław...
   of my two given names: none are
Slavic in origin...
     i'd settle for Nikita Lothar
if i were to be honest...
if i were to be honest i'd name my
son that... Nikita Lothar...

sounds formidable: he could even
write one of his names in katakana
like a would-be samurai:
サムライ
      ニキタ -
      a name so perfect it would require three...
clear... syllables...
as you get with Japanese
in general: the vowels & N...
but the consonants are muddled up
it's hardly an AM for a マ:
since there isn't one... ergo? cage...
as much as i admire the katakana:
Hangul is "superior"...

oh sure... good luck writing Lothar
in katakana:
good luck finding the letter L...
and the free-standing R...
at least in the latin script i can dotty:
ditto... capsicum typo... capsizing...
****: that didn't even come out
as a... ah ha ha: a typo!
my bad...

  oh hello: ******....................

Conrad:
just shy off Lothar... and most certainly
way off from: Otto...
because like all the bad men of history...
Stalin... ******... i too have a terrible
surname... i changed my twice:
or, rather... had it changed for me...
good to know i will not be
curating lineage ambitions...

- in the stillness of the night i leech
onto the wall dividing me
and my Nigerian neighbours...
the candle is burning the cats are either
sleeping or pretending to sleep...
and i listen in on the shouts...
they had a party not so long ago...
funny... those people who want
others to be with them:
but when alone: as unit of "family"
they're at each others' throats:
no wonder the need other people...

give me the night...
give me the wind gently brushing
the eucalyptus tree...

the Nigerian men agree that their women
are crazy: i'd just push the envelope a little
bit further: i love cats:
i love cats in my capacity to not
give them attention:
but of course... a woman being a woman:
would pander a ******* tapeworm
should that relieve her of her anorexia
when she's not...
prescribing herself... bulging out...
i.e. modern anorexics: i find...
don't eat... to later... "regurgitate":
whatever the term is:
to alleviate the metaphorical representation of
a Caesar's ****... mixed food:

PURGE! lying in a muddle, puddle...
muddle... puddle... it would take *******
down the throat
to imitate choking...
but... that's all done outside
any of the modern pornographic antics:
yuck...
i get turned off by modern *******...
i sometimes try and do get away with
a shy... happy monkey slap
but in general?
i'd rather be downing shots of *****
with frostbite particles... iron trimmings...
whatever: in Syb-eerie: ah...

the next time i hear that the ethnic noun:
Slav is etymologically rooted in Slave...
i'll denote the same roots for German:
a germ of a man... "my" people were more...
forthcoming... to denote the German
as less a germ and more a: deaf-dumb-mingles
into: not speaking out zunge...

when "we" first heard ICH:
i said: their ownership...
while when they first heard JA:
they agreed... the Spaniard laughed...

project pronoun denotation:
this... little game these pseudo-linguists are
having in the English language:
of course i'm not included!
but the game is for mortals!
i'm certain my writing is immortal!
i sacrificed too much to think it might
be otherwise! ha!

petty mortals... not the sort of mortals
you might want to respect...
itchy... *****-whipped types...
believe me...
i have my eternity already planned out:
i'll drop into the brothel from time to time
to sample the ol' Turkic raven hair
tongue like octopus' tentacles occupied...
slobbering...

i was 18 she was 14...
my name was...
her name was Pri-
                                   -ya...
but... she only the third: love at thirst of sight...
there's the first: Kotówna...
surname alone: no name...
there's no need...
then there was Samantha...

i fell in love twice: that's twice...
before i learned to swim...
it would seem...

i'm growing old... vampire-esque:
i.e. vampiric...
i don't think i will ever find a love at first: blink...
like i have found...

oh... wait... wasn't multiculturalism
part of the experiment?
no... for Nigerian neighbours? no?!
moi... as... neighbour?
do i have to live among these:
can he: won't he: will he:
maybe... yes: no... sort of... scared
deer pretend *******?!
i'd sooner pretend sane with...
birches...
the last dream i encountered was...
plucking out a piece of flesh from my face
that wasn't "quiet" a maggot...
but was... in that it wasn't a wriggling
maggot... it was a dead maggot...
acne... excess white blood cells...

how do these 40+ newspaper columnists find
stamina to lie to themselves
on the crux of: leaving nothing for further generations
to... latch onto!
there's no future in journalism
from the currently surrendered to...

oh but there is... spewing opinions some of us
have not diacritical access to...
like: when... fine... & dining...
why do you... obliterate the existence of...
carbohydrates?!
the "stealth" materials...
        fine: dining: my *** is fine dining: ha ha...
said any... precursor to a premature death
sentence of a pornographic galore that:
would never make it to the cougar shelf
of antics...

                                           what?!
once more... no one is shocked...
it's just me: either mad or just dandy / stupid...
from now on... when i tell you:
*******... the world is going to burn
i want you to agree and clap and watch:
as the world... will burn...
why?!
oh... for the fun of it...
how?
via neglect...
          
i'm pretend drunk when debating the TRANS...
you... who? he's... she's... no! they! they can't be
******* serious!
the post-Soviets and the prior-pseudo-Prussians
are on my back: if i have one..
i'm a ****** that dated a Russian ******
that... likes to listen to Teutonic crusader songs...
i'm... TRANS-!
i still like to use hammer...
corkscrew... argument for "individualism"...
oi! *****! chase the Samaritan!
calm the ****: back down... Mr. Messiah...
who's who?! i actually wasn't pointing at anyone:
beside... myself...

i like the faces of children...
they remind me of... the faces of animals...
ooh... wait... now i have a problem:
some... pseudo-Buffalo pseudo-impromptu...
now? come to think of it...
some people deserve to suffer...
they have the stress membrane intactness to
flow: "through": idiot squirming...

      i just gave you the name(s) of a son
i will never: ever... have...
i sort of squirm... i sort of assure myself...
i also take pointers...
there's no submarine at the helm...
just the flimsy vocabulary... no?

well: here i am... don't expect me to
**** the crazed-up cat ladies:
i'll leave that to the **** quacks...
and... whatever magic is to be associated.

even i'm surprised at my palette...
i shouldn't be enjoying this...
this being a Bohemian absinthe liquor...
some strange pellets at the bottom
of the bottle... coming in at 60% proof
(read, past participle, i.e. "red":
not, reed, to)
my guess was... coriander seeds...
but no...
        it tastes like absinthe does:
few things put me off... easting or drinking-wise...
szechuan pepper: certainly turns me off...
the spice with the added tongue numbing...
evil food ingredient in the wrong hands...
but... aniseed? **** me... even i'm bewildered...
why do i appreciate this flavour?
well... it's absinthe...
it's a long way away from herr whiskers
and ms. amber of the whiskey...
or sweeter, finer than silk:
the greatest thing to come out of
the u.s. of A... bourbon...
this Bohemian absinthe "liquor" has all
the aniseed: Annie... not ANY: seed...
but an added twist...
the bitterness of an IPA: indian pale ale...
bitterness... that's another dimension
i appreciate...
mr. Joshua was defeated by a Crimean
Cossack... a balance of racial-baiting
has been achieved...
long distant cousin... actually:
no cousin at all...
   one's a Slav the "other" (me) a Slav...
lost the supposed attached E...
Germs & Germans in Berlin...
in London... once upon a time...
i much prefer etymology to Darwinism...
i like the history of words...
"like"... faux pas...
        ooh! ooh!
touchy-feely...
           my ooh to your: ouch...
lick some ice...
        it's an implosion of the burning
sensation...
humanitarian aid for
lobsters... it's apparently humane
to freeze them... first...
rather than boil them: outright...
and such are the concerns of English politicians
these days...
if i were asked... relatively speaking:
freezing something: alive...
is... more time spent on the same sort
of agony jested with boiling them
outright...
the usual Hapsburg absinthe: 90+% proof
tended to be sweeter...
i even allowed myself the whole
ritual of soaking up a cube of sugar
with the "stuff" and setting it alight...
i'd roam in havoc while displaying this
burning sugar-cube to
inanimate things in the kitchen:
catching a 2nd tier better shift at
proofing myself for bones & tendons:
and... ****** expressions that
i could turn into cold lamb poker...
etymology rather Darwinism...
Darwinism is big in the Anglophone sphere
of the world...
it's like... Copernicus in Poland...
a... an... ahem: a "national treasure":
a bit like Judie Dench...
but outside? history killer theory...
like: living in stasis: living with static...
from the ape to the current man:
the same old boorish ******* excuse:
but it's the 21st century...
                                                    and?!
everything was to be solved in...
the, 21st century?
everything was to become apparent...
clearer... rainbow lights flickers: "better"?
the excuse of all excuses:
but it's the 21st century...
it's a century not distinguished from
all the others that have passed...
well... there are some additions i wasn't
expected... electric bicycles...
moi... i like the idea of generating my own
momentum... it's not enough
to just press a foot on the peddle
of a oil drinking dachshund / horse...
i'm Pontius Pilate when i'm on a bicycle...
i've washed my feet clean on the matter
of having a carbon footprint...
count one of my awkward farts
as loosening up constipation:
not one with the cow brigade...
holidaying?
Havering County Park...
trees... forests & ****...
deer... foxes... horses...
the one time i visited Kenya i lounged...
and fed greedy macaques bags of sugar
and tea... and we lounged on the balcony
while security guards on site aimed
at them with slingshots...
- hardly think that the piano (only)
rendition of Wagner's:
Valhalla: the gods' entrance into...
is somehow anaemic...
then again... if Chopin or Debussy
or Satie were to be orchestrated...
just this once piece...
it's not anaemic... it's profound:
as ever a piano is... crashing down
in metaphors... it's not Ysaÿe
with his violin... you'd need a Westminster Bridge
for that, mate...
and a stray cat to keep you company...
you can reduce a Wagnerian
symphony to a mere: ahem...
ridicule on the piano...
but you can hardly make a Chopin out
of a Schopenhauer (shopping hour,
joke... like there's no joke: ha ha,
to begin with)
- my my... what happened
to these native folk... who told black comedy
jokes... it's like... they have been
stripped bare-back backwards....
and can't tell a saucy... acid proof joke
these days!
ah: i guess the imagination also dies...
a certain death: not the sort of death
associated with memory:
that fickle creature to begin with...
i guess it comes with the grounds to
make one's effort in...
the dodo undermining project of
the most schematised of men...
i guess i'm trying to posit a +1 scenario...
in a way that... Bukowski was chased for not
gearing up to the suicide squad while
Edward Hopper spent his days...
******* joyfully in Mexico...
- one of my pet peeves is...
how the English shorten names...
Edith becomes Edie...
Abigail becomes... Abs...
Matisyahu... Matthew becomes... door...
Matt...
Peter becomes Pete...
Thomas becomes Tom...
Jacob... well i like this one...
Jakub in ****** becomes Kuba...
you could even write this in katakana...
i abhor how the English shorten: "pet"
the most crucial nouns associated with a person...
i like the fullest of the full of the noun...
like... an apple is... not an app...
start off with yeast: end up with the Zeppelin:
ist...
for ****'s sake!
i'm chasing Zeppelins in my mind...
all the psychopaths are already leash-free...
i'm the schizoid... "problematic": üns...

your language is all tatters... tartan...
churns & chores...
if i were a closest neighbour:
geographically or / and historically...
a Spaniard... a German...
a Fwench-man...
ha ha... English being so unanimous in the lingua
franca domain could be obliterate
on the focus of nuance...

you can: rather: you could have had all the pride
that comes with the implosion of Empire...
but...
no luck... no here: not right now...
how the cards folded how...
so little of England actually remains at its
epicentre... das kapital...
frivolous women who... can... will...
cats have it all...
i like these bonsai specimens...
a dog is a creature most associated with men:
i don't like leashes...
cats allow me the leisure of:
no walking the **** out...
no leash... why would i want a substitute for...
ahem... "company"?

Edith should not be Edie...
write me that one... phonetically...
E-D... ****'s sake Edith!
Abigail becoming: Abs... is it... "cute"?!
i like the name: Abigail...
why a shortening "comparison"
with a six pack of Fosters?!
not matched up to a 6 footer of prospect
dating material of a man in the torso region?
- i abhor this sentiment in English...
shortening names...
one wouldn't shorten the noun:
trousers... trou?
pet names me not like...
apes are for us!
       Darwinism didn't simply bother a vanity
of man, according to Freud...
while Marx based his ideology on...
Hegel's lecture notes.. it's not like
he read the phenomenology of spirit...
                          Darwinism for me kills the concept...
nay! more the concern for history!
Darwinism doesn't **** off a human vanity:
what does Darwinism present:
everything has a purpose..
nature abhors vacuums..
physics, satellites... Newtonian projectiles
might like them so much...
in nature everything has a purpose...
there is no "room"... cube worth of "thought"...
how romance biased to suppose:
Devonshire had anything original to
posit... Darwinism in a nut-shell:
nature abhors vacuums
all is used to use...

what's allowed in the Anglo-sphere Empire
implosion: dicta...
curry curry curry...
we're all supposed to taste the food of
a superiority complex... prior to what happened
when Genghis Khan reached...
Crimea?!
squint eye:: BAL-WA-RUK...

i have here... a list of ingredients of the absinthe
i'm drinking


my foremost mistake was...
associating females within the confines
of deities..
i sketched them...
one: young... peering into a mirror
seeing herself old...
some others... i didn't have a **** of envy
for i sketched them...
too bad..

like the mythological drive for the will
of the Nazis...
sourcing their fakery in Scandinavia...
me?! Aryan... Samaritans...
pleb as whole...people most grieved...
start to chant in katakana...
in a makeshift of...

no... purely...  consonants...
the vowels extend the breath...
the consonants give base...
CHANT CHANT CHANT...
  
the list of ingredients of "that" Bohemian absinthe...
i'm aiming for the coriander pellets...
no chance: ****'s sake:
i'm not reading Czech... no ******
with a second name like
Conrad....
   how about Lothar....ever... would?
yew...

              awry: you: this... yew... yes?! no?!
whichever... right about... now!

I guess I am like that Rat

He was  the tough one that wouldn't die.

The one that just couldn't be killed... until he was

He had been shot and hurt, holed through, at least 3 times, gone to death though still not yet,

But still he fought, running, hiding and evading

When the dog finally came for him, scented in, brown and power in dusted thunder

With spit, teeth and blood rolling

The rat actually jumped up to fight, springing and trying to bite him in the face

He bounced and sprang, almost like a boxer, dodging in and out, feinting and snapping

For a moment, surviving

The dog , for his part, was a  little more cautious

On the last go round with this rat , he had taken a nasty bite to the lip and nose while trying to put the death clamp to him

The rat took advantage of the moments hesitation to quickly squeeze through the chicken wire and escape between the layers

The dog ,snapping , bit him as he went through, trying to crush him in his powerful jaws

But the wire caught his teeth in gnashing

And the rat slipped away

Gone in the dark

Until he wasn't

Until he was found again

Found behind the planter, then under the footer and then back on the other side of the aging chicken wire

He had been shot again in the meantime, yet still his reserves weren't gone

Still he ran and led the dog on the chase, evading him at every turn

Until he didn't

The last shot stopped him and he lay down

He was wet with dog spit and bedraggled and still wanting to bite

But it was over and the dog pounced on him and put the death bite to his stomach, ending it finally

This rat had been trapped the week before and escaped from the jaws of the trap, into the jaws of the dog

He escaped once again with a well placed bite and lived to fight another day

And what a fight it was

And I think that I am like that rat. I just keep going and keep fighting and I think it's mainly because I just don't know how to give up or maybe sometimes I am just too dumb to give up..

Maybe that was the rats problem too.

Tie my shoes up tight
Taking my time
I'm in for a long night

Warm up on sidelines
Scoping it out
A fresh ball in my hip pocket
I be feeling stout

Drill it to **** it bout 3000 times
Never stepping outside the black painted lines
Of the lane
I was inside
Perfecting the stroke
The release
Is
Everything

But I'm in the waiting room
The lobby that is Court Two
Court 1 is where the men boom
And bang bodies and shoot
Lights
Out
Daggers

And if a man is there for long enough
And the ten go down a few
A few of the crew
Over on Court Two
Get called on to fill and finish the game up

My wind isn't great
My footwork is dodgy
My stroke is quite streaky
Go to the bank?
I'm wishy-washy

Can't box out for ****
My handles are average
But my defense is good
So I have some leverage

And on this particular evening
My shot felt real good
And I got a nod over
And played how I should

A pester on defense
I was covering two
To free up a big man in post
In the zoo

A transition pit stop on fast break
I pushed the ball up the court
The seven footer hits me in the corner
Shooting 100% from the floor

Then the men started to heat up
'250 bulldozer' in the lane
'Lights out on the arc'er outsider

I didn't touch the ball much
I'd basically given up
They played there often with chemistry
And I, just a pup

Got one pass at the end
That I wasn't expecting
I fumbled the friend
The rock had been misdirecting

But
All
Things
Said:
3/3 ~ 7 pts ~ 3 rbd ~ 1 blk ~ 2 stl ~ 2 ast ~ 2 to

And we take those

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                              The Grim Intensity of Mars

Tonight the grim intensity of Mars
Along the horizon is the war god’s warning
A pagan prophecy of blood among the stars
A judgement upon this planet of ghosts

Tonight the withering scorn of Jupiter
Withdrawing his light is a repudiation
Of Earth’s cultures of disassociation and death
Of powdered skulls for smoothing a footer pitch

While corpses influence corpses through blank blue screens
The last man dies with Karamazov in his hands

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

                   A Young Roman Responds to Saint Benedict

               “We are about to open a school for God’s service…”

                                           -Rule, St. Benedict

Okay, but what about your S.T.E.M. offerings?
Does your footer pitch have artificial turf?
The books are too heavy - I have a note
My feelings are covered by the ADA

Silence? But I gotta have my tunes, man!
“Correction of Youths?” My mummy will sue!
“Daily manual labor” – may I be excused?
“No talk after Compline” – But can I text?

*** *** nonononono ***, no?

Not for me, dude; and this I’ve got to say:
I know that your program’s famously prestigious
But I am, like, spiritual, not religious
And, hey, you know, you’re just not Harvard, okay?

WE THREE

Sweeney goes down
on one knee

gathers the ball
safely to himself

before releasing to
the foot of Dwyer.

"Dinger!" he yelps
with pin point accuaracy .

"Thanks Ger!"
Dinger smirks as he chips

the ball over his own
and the defender's head

pivoting/turning
on the proverbial sixpence.

Dinger Dwyer
scorches down the left wing.

Then stops...lays back
at an angle of say 43 degrees.

Impossible to prove
without a protractor

in order to create the cross
that will arrive to me...Dempsey

in exactly say
another 7.7 seconds.

"Dinger!Dinger!Dinger!" I yell
like a little bell on legs.

"Ok memory...
can we stop it there?"

"Sure boss!"
Memory complies.

Time stops.
Enabling us to see Dinger

leap from his body
and run to where

he expects to place
the ball ...right...there

He draws an X
on the air

just like the Spot
the Ball competitions.

He has already chiselled
the ballistic progress of the ball

upon this summer evening
clear as a diagram.

Dinger then runs back
to his slanted body and

pops back into
his self again.

"Ok Memory you can
roll it from there!"

We gasp at
the perfect parabola of the pass.

I am not where
I should be.

Both the Murphy boys
have manged to turn me.

So that now I am
running backwards to

the waiting cross
"Blast. . .!" I am

not going to get
on the end of it.

No magnificent right footer.
No ****** brilliant header.

So I fling myself
straight up in the air

settle there as if I were
reclining on an invisible chaise lounge.

And: almost casually
indeed elegantly

raise a lazy right leg
going for the overhead

bicycle kick
that usually has me

fall flat on face
or ouch ****.

Shaking my skeleton
to the core.

I have the physics
of it down pat.

Even the quantum uncertainty
I only laugh at.

I am a human
vector.

"Only connect!"
Foster whispers in my ear.

Time. Now.
Timeless.

I with all the time
in the world

****** into this
one second.

This second of all
seconds.

The ball whistles
past Mike Murphy's left ear.

A real stinger.
I thank God for a Dinger.

It rockets between
the jumpers and schoolbag goalposts.

Rolls all the way
past the Power Station and beyond

to Sgt. Major Dwyer's plot
who stops  foot on a *****'s lug.

Chases away
a persistent wasp.

My mother across the road
at No. 31 O' Higgins Road

lulls her newest newborn
lullabies him in his pram.

This is the only time
I will ever be

great
morphing  into my hero

Denis Law.
I now a Law unto my self.

I and my icon
blending into one.

The one armed raised salute
fingers gripping the cuff of the shirt

all the better to wipe
the snotty nose.

It seems as if
it couldn't have

been any other way
than this.

The Sweeney/Dwyer/Dempsey magic.
We the small Gods of this little time

that exist now
only in my mind.

Shakespeare is going mad
in the commentary box

his voice echoing in so
many wireless sets

the Bard's spittle
flecking the mic.

"How now, my hearts?"
Shakespeare searches for the words.

"Did you never see
the picture of we three."

potted paints in tins
glass water bottled dipped with brush's tip
crouched at a baby table back hurting knees hurting hand hurting head hurting
this is art
watercolored spit is this enough for you
of course not

another cake but without cream
my tooth lethal leveled sweet
didn't even read
fine print in the footer
of birth certificate
"may contain mentally sick"
I'll die of too much sugar
if not first by bullet to the head or any particular sharp edge
this house takes anger and consumes it straight
presumes hate
don't touch me
I don't feel safe with my roommates

21h
The Grim Intensity of Mars
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                              The Grim Intensity of Mars

Tonight the grim intensity of Mars
Along the horizon is the war god’s warning
A pagan prophecy of blood among the stars
A judgement upon this planet of ghosts

Tonight the withering scorn of Jupiter
Withdrawing his light is a repudiation
Of Earth’s cultures of disassociation and death
Of powdered skulls for smoothing a footer pitch

While corpses influence corpses through blank blue screens
The last man dies with Karamazov in his hands