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Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                    Draining the Blood of Humans at Twilight


                           A powerful monster //  living down
                           in the darkness growled // in pain…

                         -Beowulf, Burton Raffel translation


In the sinister dusk // they seek our blood
A ghastly enemy // of disgusting thirst
Stealing up from the swamp // and primordial mud –
Well, we stole their habitat // – mosquitoes were here first!
Gaia is totally ******* -
Her world mistreated for so long,
She has finally had about enough -
Vowing revenge for her mistreatment.
She has gathered every weapon
At her command and flung them at us
One by one:
Fire and Flood and moving mud;
Snow with icy coverings;
Wind that trashes homes and lives;
Ground that moves and breaks apart;
Rain that drowns the roadways;
The changing faces of disease
That replicates among us.
But we refuse to hear her cry
The bombs and bullets ever fly
And the clock is striking midnight.
ljm
What else is there to say.
When it’s my turn to be reaped
- as I know it someday will be
- let my final, earthly verse be poetry.
Let the vast heavens weep,
may my wake not be cheap,
and peace be upon my coterie.
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  Shakespeare Didn’t Drive a Clapped-Out MGA

                                  Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 49

A time will come when you will audit me:
My prospects as a husband and provider
The possibilities of a comfortable home
And maybe the Mercedes you deserve

I amuse you now, but not for long:
A studio apartment with a rabbit-ears TV
A hideaway bed for frolics in the afternoon
Sale-table wine and Bugler-rolled joints

Not quite Rod McKuen, to my dismay:
It’s not if but when you go away
Meme-ing from Shakespeare Sonnet 49
The sky burst open in a flood
with angry thunder all about
the booming voice of God
whispers in light no doubt.

My dogs needed walking.
We went forth and waded
ankle deep in a flowing
sense of time long faded.

1812 Overture is War's glory
I picked up the dogs' ****
I had to write this story
Tchaikovsky demanded it!
Listening to 1812 Overture on earbuds in a surreal time and place.
Spectacular birth in a mundane time and place.
Childhood a half step lower than the middle ground
But happy in the lack of knowing it was so.
Sparks of brilliance catching a teacher’s eye
And the dice rolled out a better score for me.
Escape became adventure and knowledge a goal
But half a loaf was not enough and I was hungrier
For newer vistas and more shiny possibilities.
I almost made it happen, but the deck was stacked
Another way and years eluded efforts to that goal.
A glowing bridge let me cross over tracks behind me
And the Glossy years flew past on silver skis.
Achievement and creative life gave birth
to a shining hope that melted into painful failure.
A phony guru led the way and everything upturned itself.
The world slid right to left and ended upside down .
Exciting once and later not so much at all.
The changes added to the passing of more years
When happiness came often wrapped in guilt.
Making do became the mantra, along with getting by
Until the other shoe crashed to the floor
And left a painful footprint on the golden years.
New vistas were the only hope and proved
To be salvation and a challenge to adapt.
And so the years rolled on some more and here I am
At 85, and wondering what I do now.
All those years that came and went somehow
Never satisfied my needs, leaving me to ask myself
For the fifty-seventh time this week:
Who knows where the time goes.
Who knows where…the time goes.
ljm
In response to vb requesting a poem where the subject is the same as the title of the song.
The more I read poetry
It seems like obituary.
Death in a coal mine
of the innocent canary.
Let us say what needs
to be said finally.
It's always the same answer.
Whats wrong do you know?
Just rare expensive cancer.
Best chance killer chemo,
a snake charmer dancer
or a card from the Tarot.
The sky's so clear
  in the atmosphere
  stars perch on a tree
  caged birds set free
  my mind takes flight
  into the cold night
  an old lover beckons
  naked in the street
  I'll chase her heat
  I saw her in a window
  her curly hair in a bow
  when I just can't feel
  what's dream or real
  my dogs walk me home.
  I still dream alone.
From the depths of despair
Where God is unknown
And only danger surrounds me
I feebly fight against the call
That draws me ever on to destruction.
Only the call of a Whippoorwill can save me.
ljm
Thank God our neighborhood is full of them.
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