I want to breathe in the field,
Where the wind is warm,
And drink the air deeply.
It’ll be so awesome!

I want to lie in the grass,
Give up to the sun bliss,
And fall subtly asleep
In the shade of trees like in a kiss.

I want to inbreathe more deeply
The honey odour of flowers.
I want to hug the air
And be in there for hours.

I want to make it true!
I need it for being alive!
I'll hug the air! I’ll kiss the sun
And maybe I will revive!

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                           Will We Be…Okay?

After a few Fridays through the Stations of the Cross
I begin to misnumber the Sundays in Lent
Is this the fourth? Or the fifth? Will we be…okay?
This is a season for slipping outside of time

And letting the Pater Nosters and Aves flow
Through the unaccustomed darkness and silence
Anticipating the Triduum of death –
Resurrection seems impossible just now

We make a muddle of Lent and Holy Week
Because we’ve made a muddle of our lives

Will we be…okay?

Ukraine,
Russia,
Gaza,
Philistine,
Israel,
All parts of,
My heart are,
Bleeding,
A deep pain,
In my heart,
Hurts me badly,
No science can cure me,
I am to suffer,
I am to suffer,

Out of nowhere
a thought of you
will hit my mind,
like a poison dart.
I don't know what
triggers it.
Tonight, I think it's
the cold wind blowing
outside my window.
Or, it could be the
tangerine I just ate.
That sweet juice.
It doesn't last
though.
Gone in a flash.
Too small for a
lifetime together.
And I'm alone with
this bright orange pain,
vowing never to write
about you again.

She wore a tiffany hat with a bow and six big plumes of red and white,  it had an ultra wide asymmetrical brim that rolled up to one side.  
When it came to dames like this I believe God ran out of humble stock !

She wore pompadour shoes, like she had nothing to lose
and rouge so red it made the cardinals have fainting spells !
Her hair was soaked in henna, elderberry & radish extract,
and I believe her dress was stitched in the boudoir of coco-channel!  

She was a nouveau riche reveling in her new found fame
and everything in her life was right as rain until that fatal day,  
when her hat expanded 10 x its size,  growing past her shoulders
  like a great big beast, of leavened yeast!  

Her hat pins strained from the strain of those great big plumes,  
moaning and groaning from her lithe walk and all that perfume !
Then First World War arrived and suddenly it was unpatriotic
to be concerned with one's appearance !
She was no Rockefeller and didn't own a rupee nor a heller,
so she became a steadfast loyal dame, like dear old Helen Keller .
What happened to that big old hat, with the plumes of red and white ?

She stewed it, brewed it, boiled it down then poured it in a flask,
and yes she drank it slowly,... just in case you thought to ask !

I go back in time
as I get a whiff of some familiar scent.

Like the aroma of spices from my mother’s pulao —- the blend of bay leaves, cinnamon, black cardamom and cloves
that left eyes sparkling in anticipation of a royal meal.

Or the scent of fruits
that made their way into my lunch at school - bananas, apples, grapes, oranges
along with an embroidered napkin
that held onto the smell of the season, the love of parents and the comfort of home.

The tanginess of lemons in my father’s cologne —- a burst of summer every time I opened his closet.

The fragrance of roses from incense sticks that my grandmother would light as she prayed —
the mysticism of life in her folded hands.
The smoke would rise from the sticks, curling, to reach heaven along with her prayers -
and I would look upward wondering if God could hear her songs and smell the roses.

The heady scent of rain and earth as we played in puddles
walking and slipping
splashing and laughing
lost in the moment
hearts as light as those drops of rain.

A whiff of these and I travel back in time
I miss the innocence
and melange of those
happy scents and aromas.

It seems like a different world.
And though far away —
It seems like yesterday.