This thought has always haunted me.

People you meet once
and never again in your life.

You have a static picture in your mind
of their face
the small conversation
their little story they tell you
the place you met them
in a bus, a shop, on the road
interactions not long
but meaningfully small
yet leaving a memory in you.

I think of all those people
I stopped by to ask for time
seek direction of my destination
or asking where I might find
food or a resting place
in an unfamiliar area.

Once and just once you meet them.

On a summer trip, I was looking for icecream
in a strange place off the highway
walked ten minutes to find a shop
where for that brief encounter
the seller made me feel like
he had known me for long
shared the history of that area
the migration and culture of the residents
before helping me with the right icecream.

Sometimes I wonder
if they would have enriched my life
were they part of my association.

Not scholars, not rich, but simple men
who bring you down to earth
and carve a space in your mindscape.

Sadly you meet them once in your life.

I feel it's so designed.

I don't sleep
I levitate over the street
I'll dog walk Bo Peep before I talk sheep
I'm offbeat

I could dip a toe in your tea
and have you sip it thinking sugar never tasted this sweet
I'm low key

but only goin as low as a C
'cause it's some sight to see when you mess with the B
that's not me

Just give me some THC
maybe an e if I'm feeling upbeat
LSD
so I still don't sleep
I procrastinate for half a week
making gaping holes in sheets
having affairs with pharaohs and jeez -
where did he ever find they hos?
please

Them hos, excuse me
grammar's not what it used to be
before we were locked in our homes
by abusey wankers for profit
not ours, come off it
to build bankers coffers over some coughing

I'll take the coffin over the fear
open sarcophagus(es)
like some cheery old boffin on Hatshepsut -
and she's oot, how weird
I could've sworn she was left right here

Seems she was out all along
wrapped us up like a song
but don't get it wrong
this one's not finished
you made it this far already
stick with it

There isn't a limit conceived in time
that wasn't upheaved by an adamant mind
don't put faith in imagined lines
you
cosmic blizzard
ride the Pacific
wave with the light like some diamond wizard

Enlighten the night with your hieroglyphics
wield your worth
its lot
intrinsic
to the world and all that's in it
make today your favourite lyric
and sing it

as the sun is to the moon
so I am to you
though oceans divide us
dawn will come soon

I'm the perhaps
the maybe of life
things are never determinate
I struggle and strive

yet, all else aside
my strategies I devise
despite storms and stresses
I've managed to survive

life might not like
to dance with me--I don't mind
I'll play the game of living solo
and aim at the height

my perhaps and maybe
has never been a blight
I'm my own destiny
I need no other guide

Writing doesn't pay,
My father wished for a son who could write anyways.
So I see that's what he got,
Though I think he wanted movie scripts and monologues,
Not random rhymes and songs.
Alas, even when you wish,
You never get quiet what you wished for.

Weeping oneself to sleep – by these muddy
tears, and their questions of worth.

As the relentless sands of time erode a soul;
it's all too simple to feel like grains of river sand,
drawn by the currents of life, and banking on your
dreams; yearning for our stream of tears to lead
us to a flood of many successes.

For in those moments, we are but the weeping
sandman’s tears, drifting into the embrace of our
dreams, lost in the wet lament of our tears –

One day, we shall master the art of swimming!

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                      The Seven Seeing-Stones

Good Tolkien writes of spring far better than we
With layered allusions to Celtic and Nordic myths
His Fairy Folk sing clearly in rainbow rhymes
Among the crocuses abloom ‘round ancient trees

My crocuses bloom ‘round a shaggy lawn
With garden furniture in need of paint
And morning coffee in a Tupperware cup
To serve as a greeting to the rising sun

Friend Tolkien writes of spring for you and me
And through his Seven Seeing-Stones – we see!