My auspicious and audacious assault augments the annoyance of aged accomplices.

My bodacious broadside of boffolas berates and buffaloes bros beneficently.

A classy crusade Clownishly chiseling and criticizing childishness.

A devilish ******* of dillydallying dullards; devoutly denying dimwits the dulcet dream of defiance.

Excessive, exuberant edification, ebulliently eliminating education-evictees.

A fair-weather frolic in flippancy with furious fools floundering in flawed foppishness.

Gregariously grating glum guys gleefully, growing grander garnishes of gripping gallantry gaily.

Heckling hooligans highlights my heavenly humor.

Irreverently irking irritable, iniquitous idiots in inestimably infuriating and incredible instances.

A jolly, jocular **** joking with jerks.

A kreiger kicking kleptomaniacs in the karyotype. (Cut me some slack, this is 'k', after all.)

A ludicrous, laughing lambaste of lollygagging lunatics, loftily loosing luscious lunacy on lucky losers.

A magnificent masterpiece of malfeasance, a monstrous, malevolent mission of massive misfortune for the minor minors missing no malicious missive.

A noxious, narcissistic niggling of nitwits, niftily nixing the noisome naivete of niggardly nobs.

An offhand, off-color outburst of outlandish observations to outclass the obnoxious overtures of obsequious offal.

A pragmatic prediction of possible platitudes or platypi, a placid parley of pyrotechnic pleasantries provoking Pyrrhic protections by prurient prats.

A quixotic quibble quarreling with a queer quarry.

Ribald ribbing, ruining the robust reality of the repreachful, repugnant, and rapacious with risque ridiculousness.

A silly, slighting slander of sluglike slavishness, succinctly sinking sloppy simpletons sourly.

Tracing the titillating talent of towing tyranny to towering terrors to tactless, togless, terrapins of the times.

Arapaho Bride, Chieftains Dearest.
Early Fortnight,  Gros Ventre Headdress.  
Indian Jubilee, Kindred Lavishment.
Mornings Noontide Oluksak Pulls Quiet River Streams, Terrapins.  
Unabated Vas deferens Wedding Xyris Young-begetting, Zea mays rugosa.

In a grain of sand
where timelessness and all time would stand
linked
in a semi permanent embrace
for we would be not of an age, to watch as grains build up the Cities, where our children's children would face another mountain that crumbles away
to be washed out to sea and one more day
we,
cannot comprehend another grain that would end in an ocean of sand by the shore
is this what it's for?
the eternal rebuild
the world to be filled with the scents of the past that have passed through the sea and then built up again
so we can see and be the futility of what is not timeless
where time means no less than the time that we take
to make offerings to urchins
and...
..I perch on my post outside the temple of another most holy one
and watch as citadels rise
and watch again as in a blink of a terrapins eye they are gone
and where do I belong
in the ocean,the sea or on land?
in one of a three and in all, I am but a grain of sand
timeless and not,
broken to rot away in one more day
but not the same as the last that has past and passed the point of a no return
to burn in a desert
or to become and be made into an obelisk
a risk assessors nightmare
where
at each turn of his hand it turns back into sand
and again to the sea
to the mountain, to me
and in time it will be
a place where all children play.

Not in our day
we stand as we stand
or we sit on the sand
and are all washed away
in granular form, born and reborn as the tides take their time
and one day
one
day it will come that the sign on the beach reads
'Minefield
danger to life and limb
entry forbidden do not enter in'
but what is seen is not hidden away
and the grains have a way of ignoring what's written
smitten with time
another sign reads
'ignore what you read it's only put out to feed your dreams'
and everything seems as it should
in the timelessness that isn't,
isn't it all so very good?

Fisherman's intro, from "The Floral War."

FISHERMAN
            Well well, what have we here? Some field of view:                      
            The turquoise circle of the dazzling sea
            Blazes her setting of bright-banded sands,
            Where on this first, chill morning of the year,
            Our sun arises to peruse his course,
            And I, to tease my living from the deeps.
            Come, gilded fishes, hither to my net,
            You shimmering schools of perch, soft octopi,
            White-shingled shad, and jade-scaled terrapins,
            Plump, krill-fed dwellers of the pickling brine,
            Come now to me. To pray you have no fear
            Would shuffle with the truth, as I intend
            To angle for your lives, yet spoil me,
            For I who come to act unneighbourly
            Am poor, and strapped, and only bother you
            Compelled by leaky-seamed necessity.
            I have my wife’s own hatchery at home,
            And you, my friends, must make their maintenance.
            So, rush my meshes and forgive my faults.
            Whoa there! What vision’s this? Green goddess, say,
            What monstrous marvels wander on your face?
            This cannot be! I am awake, and sane,
            Yet seem to see a wading range of hills,
            A chain of dizzy-peaked and scraggy steeps
            Whose groundworks bob like buoys in the surf.
            Yet now this restless reef flows closer still,
            Resolving as spray-freighted citadels,
            Wave-buttressed towers romping on the breakers,
            Their canvas banners snapping at the breeze,
            Whose men wing down from ropes to pace the decks,
            And screen their eyes as if to locate me.
            I’ll hustle to my chieftains with this news,
            And let their cry of ominous novelty
            Alert each ear from here to Mexico.
            My life thus far was bright and fancy-free.
            Oh, why must change then come to quiet me?                        Exit.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.c­om
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com

                                          A Field Guide to Fields

Watermelons, sunflowers, field corn, sweet corn
Sweet potatoes, green peas, butterbeans, squash
Cabbages, purplehulls, lettuces in rows
And across the fence, red clover in glorious clouds

But the most glorious field is in midsummer hay
Green-dancing beneath the benevolent sun
Crosstracked by beagles, terrapins, foxes, and rabbits
And little boys off to the fishing hole

Those little paths across farm fields, you know
Lead to happy memories of the long-ago

Don’t you feel that we really belong because
There are windmills in your eyes
Darker than for your mother’s sadness when she goes
Away into the loneliness in her kitchen:
And there doesn’t have to be any more reason for these
Tattoos except that I went away to Spain so many odd years
Ago:
I barely graduated high school: a truant with a purple
And silver jaw who is no longer beautiful-
Lost so long ago: kidnapped by the long extinctions of fireworks:
Each peeling whistle strangely reminiscent of our lives together,
Until collected under another school bus, I have nothing
Else to do but to listen to the long day as it rains
In fake knives- and my Muse named Alma turns in,
Frowning over my misuse of the queens language and all of
My scars, scarred like a spearing pylon
Presumptuous in the bay that the terrapins circle, with jokes
And farts, as she bites her fingernails,
And the green cannons bask in the seashells of the afternoon sky:
It might as well be Easter with the beauty resurrected there:
And the airplanes like metamorphosed school buses,
And the stewardesses languishing there, high atop the
Revolutions and serving drinks, smiling with the affable
Insouciance that I remembered all of my sweet hearts giving to me
From high school.

a poem is an egg with a horse in it.
no ordinary bones. just a beak
and a mane event.
ghost feet
and honeybees
that gallop best
where our terrapins Jupiter
the most.

where we have
our pins for
stars
to fathom
with.

a poem is a dust up
where a downward dog
has chased a car
into a vat
of cats

and that’s who
we are.

and that’s
That.

Quite a character,
probably got stuck in an elevator
and wanted to be a politician and get in a filed brief
and checked the radiator
out of paranoia
when he was living in a room
and didn't use paraphernalia
if he was using ******
and never got so bad all of
a sudden he's go boom
and probably didn't
have a thing about the Maryland
Terrapins.
Toomes once for all
he knew if there was gravity in
Rich and Ron Saul
and what hippie chicks meant by a babe
and that in life sometimes one
thinks it takes a lot of gall and if SI readers thought as
a phony Tex Meade.
Dizzy
Yeah he probably just used the phizzy
and couldn't stand that one by
Tin Lizzy
either
and got sties in his eyes there.
He was a great pitcher
people remember him
by his great nickname
and what that more comes to mind.
He had razz-a-ma-tazz
(yeah the gaslight)
and probably knew what was his sign.
I bet he was a good man, too
and even grew a fu-manchu.

How long do we get?
How many can we fit inside?
I reply like it's the first time
Gotta take pride

Have my ******* jokes
It makes them laugh
"Mind you're rowlocks" when you step inside lad's.
Watch out for the crocodiles, they escaped from the zoo.
Just over the side
If you need the loo.

Lookout for the terrapins
I can tell you think it's a joke
But it's true
Don't believe me?
I'll show a picture to you

Where did they come from?
During the winter, where do they go?
Never answer
"I don't know"

I've held many positions
From the bottom to the top
Some good
Some bad
They kept me a float
But never been happier
Helping people, inside a boat

Dark globe watch hang in the Hightower
Oe'r our captain sail on the lovely towers of oceans
Tumultuous frenetic was once a lad's new order
Squall, riders patient beyond the thee
The form on thee light that stared in the other boy who hated that boy's shadow
The breadth of heights
The heights of breaths
Dancing with the girl from Phoenix's ashes, blue coruscating hassling eyes took us from raging terrapins
Dark Globe Watch keep us in the memory of Aeolian
Get out of my dreams
Take me in your arms, I'm really regretting this one
Imagine how you would regret if searching truth was the absence of lust
But, the bloodlust can be heard in a soldier's company