Even the most devout Christians
accept that Jesus was a guy
guys get ***** as do gals.

Yes, all of us have a creator in us
starlight
life-creating energy
poetry
and prose.

Maybe Jesus didn’t have the kind of darkness in him
that we have
the kind of drag
of pride and self-centeredness
that I have,
but by God!
he was faced with the same choices
between fidelity and desire
between horniness and selfless love.

Yep I fail in ways he did not
but he failed to get rid of lust just like I do
he failed to avoid selfish desires.
Of course, I act on them
and ***** up in ways he did not.
But do you think he didn’t feel ******* up at times?
Of course he did.

All of this humanity
is what makes me like him.
Jesus was a guy.
That he was more
is what makes me love him.

~
Weddings and honeycombs.
Why do they give us the hives?
The keeper knows.

There's a buzz in the air.
It belongs to
the rudimentary happinesses:
The minor miracle of father's smile,
a morning breath of honey,
painting toy lips with
blood from mother's finger.

Deathless protagonists,
Mom and Dad,
our propolis.
They love us from afar.
They love us with what they are.

There's a buzz in the air.
There must bee!
They can't help loving
us little monsters,
who sting
and then say goodbye,
sting and say goodbye.

A linn begins to form
in the corner of their eye,
as wheat fields sway in the wind.

The innocent
and the beautiful
have no enemy, but time.
~

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

    A Master’s Degree from the Dairy Queen in Huntington, Texas

                        And for The Ataman, Dr. Barbara Carr
                                           of Happy Memory

Well, not exactly, but the Dairy Queen
Was my late-night coffee stop on the way home
From all those evening classes in Nacogdoches
I should have asked the girls to sign the diploma

(Is the juke box still broken?)

I worked on that degree for seven years
One class at a time, sweet Jesus, oh, yeah
And God bless Dr. Carr for all those extensions
And the fluorescent-lit journeys through Mother Russia

(Does the ice cream machine still make that funny grinding noise?)

Seven years! I’m not all that smart
But persistence is its own kind of art

I was born in Selma
My younger sister ,
Wichita Falls ,Texas
The oldest sister in Orlando
My only brother in Spokane , Washington

There was always a distance between the members of the family

Lightyears reflected in our eyes . With no tears spread .

Nor no affection for the
place of the dead

Now I write about the past
For there is not much future ahead

From Texas dust , to the clover fields of Alabama ,  to the mountains of Washington , the seas of Florida , and Birmingham

As a child I slept at night in the back window of the Plymouth from Texas to Selma with the thump of my heart for company

I thought it was the monster taking one step at a time following me to Selma to **** me

Now I know when I hear no more footsteps he has found me