I climbed a tree to see the world....
Well that and get high where the world looks gardened
and glows brighter
as it is demolished and replenished
These elements in nature,
manipulated in a lab,
Can change our entire perspective

No. 1

there is a pane of glass
which now occupies the air between us

an indifferent arrow has flown through it
leaving a web of cracks

for which I am trapped
reaching for you

No. 2

the light you bend reaches across room
the same distance travels your voice

it makes me a ghost not to touch you with all that I am
exhaling wanting in your direction

as stars are brought down over head
by the weight of unfulfilled wishes

No. 3

victim to a whisper
pious to an echo

tomorrow I'll be swallowed
I didn't even need a name

lost and unwanted things are entitled
to each other so long as they don't hide

no. 4

it's an open hand
it's a broken window

it's a perpetually naive sky
it's off beat but we're out of line

and I'm waiting for you
one hundred percent of the time

no. 5

out of context
misshapened in parallax

past my expiration date
but you looked at me in a way that dared both of us to exist

when all this is dust
the loudest we'll ever get to be is a secret

I departed Tripoli early on the Thursday
the chauffeur meeting me at Heathrow
Deciding a long weekend was owed
I started to arrange a little romance
pondered on the detail and the where

We sped on into the Cotswold's
thoughts of gardened desert oasis said here

A surprise, hidden across fields in sheltering copse
the entrancing beauty of floating water lilies
of the temple for two on it's spreading pond
within the splendid wonder of a secret garden
locked in by romantic beech leafed escarpments
of Waterly Bottom with a nearby New Inn

But beaten by discerning honeymooners
the hamper and a beach would have to suffice

Winding the slow road took us South
stopping to picnic within Corfe Castle
later beached curves splashed in the sea
rock pools were explored under high cliffs
dinner for two enjoyed at the Grand Hotel
the beautiful view off to France or Swanage

Finally a large curious and dated room
and soft delights sweetened by Sahara oasis

I woke ice cold next to her wrapped warmth
The unexpected unfamiliar presence sat
staring coldly from within it's armchair
lit and wrapped in aged coloured silks
the cob webbed spectre wore a skull cap
it's eyed dry head followed my sitting up
watched as I bit into the flesh of my arm
salty blood informing me of a new reality
poking her side so droplets stained sheets
languorously she commented "Again?"  
my mandarin robed Chinese departed
silently melting in untouchable darkness

Leaving teeth-a-chatter and a new spirituality
with a small hot hand moving touching

I reported on Sahara underground rivers
green gardened oasis and the part I had played
Congratulated, a secondment was mooted
to ensure payment of some outstanding loans
arrangements had already been put in hand
for me to take over some three businesses
based in Indonesia but firstly in Sumatra
later taking owner's responsibilities in Jakarta
They promised a principal Asian role to follow

I knew then their discussions already had result
in the visit of one parties honoured ancestor

Two years on in Indonesia and repayment made
Having helped make happen an increase in production
of archipelagos basic foods paddy and highland corn
through my work with the co-operative movement
My position as Senior Lloyd's Shipping Inspector
and the Lloyd's Shipping Agency given back
The diesel electric maintenance crew working
properly and for it's owners till my departure
I planned the move to Singapore and new challenge
then travel in Asia teamed with my romanced lady

Chopstick adept meetings and the gift of spirituality
had seen me never interfere with Chinese business

I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.
Then the world did pluck my petals away.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain

Further I fought against the worlds pained
Raze of roses: they won and crushed my stem.
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.

The gardened battlefield was strewn and stained
With the sweet stench of broken, bullied roses.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain.

The white rose ***** of virginity strained
Against hands calloused by the world’s black sin.
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.

Despite valiant efforts that were in vain,
We allowed our petals to be torn away.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain.

And you, my worldly gardener, did tame
We white roses out of our innocence.
I once was a white rose: pure, perfect, plain.
I became blackened by the world’s disdain.

The garden grows in all directions
Amidst the influence of interfering hands
The waterfall in motion is ceaseless,
Whether asked kindly or implored

Made powerless by that which cannot be changed
Yet, made powerful by knowing that which cannot be changed

The garden grows in all directions
Gardened by our hands
The water falls around us
In the spaces that we created

my soul wanders when I sleep
where it wills to venture forth
mostly it tells my waking mind not

some nights on a rare occasion
the faintest flickering of a memory
will hold fast till morning sings

some would say it’s just a dream
but what dreams are alive as this
so vivid are these vague remembering’s

just this morning my soul watched the sun
rise over the most beautiful valley
my mortal life has ever seen

the first rays of newborn light
chasing the shadows fast across
valley fields of summer green

my soul has passed the gates of heaven
and walked it’s quiet gardened paths

my soul has peered into the future
and has revisited my past

every so often my soul will stop
to watch the warm summer wind
rustle a single maple leaf

the peace that I remember
from those midnight summer stops
leads my waking mind to weep

darkness draws it’s curtains once again
as I recount what little I recall
and record my pondering

my soul stirs within this mortal shell
anxious to once again be off
on it’s  midnight wandering

It is the tipping point
the harvest well begun
its end in sight
an early morning
retreated to past
five on the clock

mist lay on
the meadowed fields
observed the pond
held tight to the trees

walking the empty road
camera in hand
to catch the chill earliness
in the far fields then back
through the uncared-for orchard
past the forked-fingered ash
still quite still -
the night air collapsing
as the sun rose

Darjeeling
in the white bone-china cup
a kiss of milk
comforting this delicate tea

and light everywhere
between three windows
our table her gifts
from the shoreline
shadowed hard-edged
whilst the back-lit screen
blinks and waits for words

my story blended from fact
pestled into fiction
itself a background
to a further fiction
from a past in ancient time
where each image described
takes aim at the resonant heart
of every exquisite moment


Eight Sketches in a Notebook

I

into a western sky
the sun finds cloudspace
to enter and set
well above the sea’s horizon
and for a while its rays
glimmer upward onto shards
holding remnants of the day’s
unreflected light


II

not a hut of straw and rushes
on a far mountain fastness
this a walled stockade all but moated
gardened inside its bounds
a miniature railway said to surround
a six-cornered house facing seaward
and towards a lagoon on whose banks
little terns nest from April to June
a mirror of light upon which
the solitary soul might dwell


III

rock guardian
standing
mid-beach

its debris
spilled
to water’s edge

still as still as
no wind or wave
pools dark depths

further out
the sea shimmers
ablaze with reflections


IV

hiding an anxiety of hair
a headscarf blue
and spotted white
reveals an ear
and below a sturdy neck
on round shoulders
her bare arms fall to quiet hands
next to thighs trousered  
knee-length to gentle calves
falling further onto bare feet
stood standing on course sand
at the sea’s murmuring edge


V

here the rock opens
its lips to a kiss of light
but deep inside remains
a dark sheltering secret
blackness impenetrable
wide enough for a storm’s
intrusion of water and wind
but beyond such darkness
possibly nothing
- a closed door
of rock?


VI

from my canvas chair
on the flags outside
the white French doors
this drawing – from where
the garden gate once was
a gap between
the honey-suckled hedge
and the long low cottage
above an ash tree waving
its fingered branches
in the afternoon breeze
fresh over the hill
from the sea’s shore
hardly a mile away


VII

the land points seaward
to an island light
a mile off-shore

on a shingled beach
sliced by the sea’s knife
cattle wandered yesterday

in the mist-driven rain we
sleeked wet as dogs approached
on the headland’s path


VIII

littered the land lies
with interruptions
interventions of the built

past beside present
ends amongst beginnings

complex histories
to delve deeper into
on this northern shore

A dog barks at night
An empty plea, from a suburban home
The dog pines for freedom
To go past the white picket fence

As the piercing howl travels
Other dogs are reminded
They erupt in chorus
And the night is filled with longing

They claw at freshly gardened lawns
Spit out chew toys in disgust
How they long for a ****
Breaking flesh against fangs

Upon my shoulder rests a bee
A creature feared attentively
They are a cautious group to buzz
In gardened fields of dandelion fuzz

Oh yes I talk about trying, don't pardon me
Innocence has nothing to fear, this is what hardened me

Just quit man, give up, be the pawn in world chess these thought never cordon me
Rise for you may not reign, but rise for you may be right.. this is the lesson that gardened me

I was in the zone too, I still feel low at times, but I fought and will fight everytime, atleast now I know what my stardom is
Never counted much on anyone, because sometimes when did I got to know what the word phantom means

And trust me I do have dreadful nightmares, but i don't let them warden me
Because what's much bigger and brighter is my dream and the ones I want to live it with, that is what that heartens me

Over expectations, just like over exposure to light, gives you darkened s(K)in
Same people, same situation but different faces, learnt allotropes are not found in carbon only

Was down and low and in pieces, survived, now I am coming thundering for the win
Dream, travel, love, express, experience so the world knows you not just some iron molding

Everyone's at war, some fighting for glory, some voicing their story.. latter is how I unburden me
Miseries in abundance, it's HOPE that forms the basis of my ardent leap.

I am a man. A good man.
Your thoughts of hate and discriminative conceptions..
of what I "must stand for,"
Of "What I know  I should not be forced to stand for.."
"Wealth and Vanity's fools..."
Such are the  only ""Minds" who  create  a "rule" in the "Social Book"
as "created" and "made-up"
only from and by   an "insane mind..."
Ones who have "Turned  on" "others"
...  and ....the "only type" of "personalities"  that have  "needs"  "made of such" unneeded" "darkness"
and "Morals"
Such,turning a "person" into a "Defined," "Labeled," and   "poorly-typed personality," "into "such defined , wrongly, as a "person" considered as a "kind.."

As the only "soul" who "defines" their thoughts
of a "poorly defined" lifestyle"  as  "such as"a required "company creating" rule ,"

Such, where only "sloppy" and "unhealthy " diners "think"  of" as  a " tool..."
as "such unhealthy" Thinking  is as "successful"   are as  "beneficial to one's soul"
As what  "lost food-poisoned"  recipes where   "lost souls" can  "grow lonely" and as a "lone" "ranger," who is  more and more ""poor...."

Due to their "insecure recipes"  
Their ill-fated "needs"  of what only what their "unsafe" Book's "Recipes"
where only "unwanted-securities"
Are "Tasty" "facts" which are whipped up on "trays"  created  by  these "eccentric"  and "overpowering" "kinds" of "chef's" "requirements"
Are only ill-guided "thoughts" made up  by "misguided " "entities"
The "sickly and untried souls untried" and those now "Unkind.."
Those "insecure people"  who are, "inside and out," truly lost," and now "poor"...
Inside..."
Not  made of  the most "secured" of "ingredients" and out of  "life's festered insanities...."
and never of "sanity"
   of "minds" in which they are in >financially" in store to be truly "poor"
well, such >hurtful energies, beliefs, thoughts, and words...."
Words where such  never   have any worth.
Nor "truer life's path" can be    "plotted"  where  any   "bearings," can  "lead" my life "in-less than "fake" or "hectic waters"
of the rocky surf...
Sports that ,Rather than "thrill much needed true fully" needed    "mapped " "courses"
They land us to Where neither  "a true  meaning in my soul," is truly a needed "destination."

here in my beautiful heart...
I wish to not let such trips land my head in a ditch. Or worse.
I become hateful and judgmental, to others, as you forced into my programming logic to be..
continuing the cycle, like yours imposed, forcibly on me...
"Blind out of fear and question," to "what I am "or "what I never  needed to" "be...."
I turned myself, my thoughts, and my acts around and I am truly able
to step back, process, understand and remove such "unneeded" parts added in the world,
where the moment became "sunniest" and "Clearest"
When I decided to "grow up" and "accept and correct my own misguided mistakes"
"I manned up" and I could ,finally,  "correct   such hurtful motions to souls that my bad and old actions had broken"
...as "I finally put my pieces back together,"
I  can now, and "more than I  ever needed in" "my  wrecked spirit" to be
Free, " to grow in dignity" and in my own "open-eyed" mind
  "Decide"
Due to a now"  truer spirit..."
"I can truly see" and (more than I  ever wanted to be, free_)
I am now," freer" to "be more" of "the truer me"
" I am  me."
.
Since, now,, I can truly open my once closed eyes   "clearly", " see.."
around  others, as you have forced my fragile soul  make me acceptable in your crazy world
As this "computerized brain" was  forced to act out a programming, which he was never compatible with such illogic to become, and I try to fire down upon a "weaker one..."
.I took on him my toll...My fire.....My fear....Illogic you handed into my life, uneedingly, suffering as he has now to bear because of what you scared me to treat his programming to become...
He shorts out....
His fragile soul shatters...
I'm now a new "weapon of mass destruction"
In your Sick life's army.....
What you thought was "just"
It never, ever, justly ever once matters....
In "a real world" where uniqueness should be cheered to thrive..
Planted, nurtured and gardened to grow....
Out of your sick "social demands " as such, I label "experimentation on what you call the weak,"
Such will some day haunt you until you are at your dying way.
Definitions of what I require as a man....
Intimacy justly needed...
Equally sprinkled with love and honor...Just and Deserved Trust....
"Sickness" which  you have tried to "Cure"
was nothing more than untrue stories and a door to your sad, pathetic, and hurtful face, I must now slam..
One cannot survive to see in forced "illogic,"
Forged from your "Fears and Misguided Brining up as a child"
Was instilled into.... "Your parents fears," from them and " "justly" programmed  or forced from your "sickness....such as what is this refusal to face uncertainty" made a disease in you to stick...
..in an avoidance to " faced raced obstacles"   and your "Inner Child's Add to dictionary and malnourished voice ignored  your own "
  you had to endure as a child..
You never stopped to question any "sickness from poor programs of bad parenting or your own poor understanding of another's lifestyle.."
or be programmed as such programming that another demands and believes as "pure and just.."

I smile at ordinary objects
that remind me of you
with a melancholy smugness.

a violet morning glory electrified by
7am autumn sunshine
beckons memories of a blue one
from a gardened Brooklyn rooftop:

we picked the seeds
with a late-morning laziness;
I felt your bare back
and then stroked your hair.

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

                                   The Bowre of Blisse

               Goodly it was enclos’ed rownd about,
               As well their entered guests to keep within,
               As those unruly beasts to hold without;
               Yet was the fence thereof but weake and thin

            -Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Book II, Canto XII

While much of the world is bleeding and burnt
Democracy takes a summer holiday
Far away in Maryland’s gentle woods and hills
Where the screams of tortured children cannot be heard

Among the gardened and guarded streams and trees
Elderly men are guided in their play
By smiling minders gentle in their words
And ready with the proper remedies

While those who code are kept carefully near
To sweeten the words the old gentlemen hear

She's on her knees and in our hearts
No time to waste, so let us start
A smile sweet and laugh to last
And three young men she has amassed

She sees us there and knows our pain
These three young men that have been slain
With blooded blade and razor'd mace
We're put to ground and then encased

Her God is dark, her God is deaf
Her God refuses to give us breath
In gardened plot we shall decay
Through our eyes the worms will play

She prays for us, three sinners lost
Across her chest she signs the cross
Yet we still burn forever more
And when she dies we shall be four

heavy
as i walk i feel i am a stone
my head envelopes with blended ropes
not my own, never my own
she can’t create or learn

my temple is being grouped with rocks
and they are being called souls.
there is no time to speak,
no mind
outside people are dying
decaying.
inside people are walking and
i am confused.

going by faster,
the colors change tone
my hearts are beating the
same rhythm as my screams
i am still a stone
dragging myself to the following note
the next line filling up unknown space,
I am sinking as i try to float.
i have forgotten how to be
the one you once chose.

i keep trying to smile but my
gardened parts sorrow to my brain
and everything thats supposed to hit
all those emotions that spin 
just don’t quite make it to my skin.
as i inhale
i get pushed back down,
the way that girl used to think 
is gone.
A boy today in my geometry class
told me
“you aren’t the same”.
i was only gone for 15 days
my heart is coated the same ruby red,
why do i feel like an imposter in my veins

bones have been frightened for so long,
the closer you move,
more wrong you make,
you will feel the whole ocean around your neck,
filling you up.

a rock that hears,
gets kicked around its house, the ground
yet  doesn’t make a sound.
all around the area there is a
loud vibration,
pain as you try standing up
fingers tremble as you try being yourself
what can you do?
there is no response.

no one is going to hold you anymore
you’ve grown up and mother doesn’t have time to hug an element.
.

He rose early , before dawn .
Sleep shutters to a stop ,
frame by frame
white flaming ,
burning through the algebra of living celluloid .
☆
Dreamwalk through columned portico ,
entwined of hibiscus and passion flower ,
the meadow beyond
pulsating in glowing golden light ,
beckoned him to look for signs .
☆
                            2
Every now and every then ,
waves of information ,
pouring from divers celestial spheres ,
swept across the gardened landscape ,
causing timelines to excite
and visions to dance before
him .
☆
One day he would leave the meadow ,
though only partially explored ,
and return to the Everything
and all the other things ,
not remembered or revealed ,
having been shown
the Light and the Dark ,
and blending courage with tears .

I remember when I was a youth
How consoling it was to know
That I had little to worry about.
Ah, but that was long ago.

If, perchance, the roof had a leak,
Dad would be up there in a flash
To find the problem, and once he did,
Off to the hardware store he would dash.

Electrical trouble? He had it down.
Plumbing issues? No problem at all.
He examined the situations,
Addressing the problems large and small.

If my mom wanted a door
Moved from one wall to another,
My dad got out the sledgehammer.
Anything to please my mother.

Carpentry was not his thing.
That is where he came up short.
Intellectual creativity
Was his passion, his love, his forte.

My mom was super organized
And ready for any circumstance.
She handled the bills, managed the home,
And planned our meals weeks in advance.

Multi-talented she was!
She cooked and baked, knocked down fences,
Gardened, and kept us kids in line.
Discipline meant consequences.

She even managed to work for a store
As a bookkeeper. We always knew
That everything was under control,
Though we were far from well-to-do.

We kids all had our weekly chores,
Which we begrudgingly did, of course.
However, the way my folks made us feel
Safe and secure was a tour de force.

Life is very different now.
There's no way that I can repair
Leaky roofs, wiring, or plumbing.
I couldn't even on a dare.

I know how to call an electrician,
Plumber, roofer--anyone
To handle concerns at which I'm inept.
I want repairs correctly done.

But every so often I catch myself
Being at peace in my childhood room,
Thinking that all was well with the world
And having no thoughts of doom or gloom.

Young and naïve, all I knew
Was my little world, safe and secure.
Threats to that tranquility
Were imperceptible, obscure.

Little did I know at the time
That life for others wasn't so sweet,
That some lacked food and shelter and had
Difficulty making ends meet,

That some were caught in the middle of clashing
Armies, that innocent people were dying,
That people struggled for rights and freedom,
That life for some was horrifying.

Naïveté and complacency--
As comfortable as they might seem--
Can insulate us from world problems
As though we're living in a dream,

One from which we must awaken.
And when we do, we have to decide
Whether we'll work to better the world
Or stay in our comfy cocoon and hide.

-by Bob B (5-19-24)