(a disastrous morning Sonnet)

I am the very model of a girl who’s late for morning meal,
my charger failed, the printer jammed, the morning’s start has been surreal
I lost a scrunchy and a shoe, I had to use some dry shampoo
my Keurig had no k-cups too, I’m feeling like a total shrew!

Our pre-dawn jog went really well, but now the morning's gone to hell
I couldn’t find clean underwear, I’m desperate to charge my cell,
I got some soap in my left eye, I stubbed my toe and nearly cried
While brushing teeth and hair in haste, I wonder why I even try.

Anna’s got an attitude, she’s not someone who’s normally rude
her hookup so ‘experimental’ has an irregular sleep-in schedule
how’s she going to get to class if she’s babysitting sleeping-lass
I guess I’m not the only one, who’s schedules simply come undone.

I woke her with a gentle voice and soothed her out—we had no choice
My morning happened to sideways go—but it fueled this grandiloquent tale of woe!
.
.
A song for this:
Something Stupid by Michael Bublé and Reese Witherspoon

I am a line manager for the county
I'm in charge of the roads
Searching for someone
To supply tarmac
Cos we need loads
But there's no one
On the wire
I can hear my bosses whine
And the Wichita line manager
Is still on the line.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                                     The Blues and the Blahs

“Ennui” sounds like a urinary tract infection
“Torpidity” something to do with one’s bowels
“Anomie” might be a boring friend
“Lassitude” a cowboy who has lost his rope

“Insipidity” the noise of slurping one’s soup
“Angst” a degenerative heart disease
“Weltschmerz” Sergeant Schultz’ least favorite beer
“Misanthropy” a cute but cranky girl

I don’t how many of these I have got
But I have got ‘em - and wish that I did not!

I’m no stranger to loneliness
I guess you could say it’s my friend
My bestie for now
On it to keep me company I depend

She gently slipped away
That’s the irony
No harsh words
Just a soft goodbye
With a smiling wave
Adios muchacho
“We gave it a try”

Alone I sit and contemplate
This zone where I isolate
It’s between here and there
Where the cold wind blows
I hang my head in sorrow
Yeah, and love ain’t fair

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]


                 Writing with Love Under the Coming Regime


         We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny
          but what we put into it is ours.

                         -Dag Hammarskjold, Markings


They hate you; they cannot do other than hate
They have gulped from Macbeth’s poisoned cup
With raucous laughter argued over lists of enemies
Carving out the names with ****** knives

But you from Love have chosen freely to love
You have taken communion from the Pierian Spring
And studied beauty and truth upon Helicon
You praise every name with sacred words

They hate you; they cannot do other than hate
But you from Love have chosen freely to love


NOT feeling the love in this matter: Please know that I am on the ViaSat / Verizon / Directv / Netgear axis of frequent lack of service. I never ignore correspondence, but in the mornings my InterGossip works very slowly at best and in the evenings even more slowly and increasingly not at all. Responding to you may take some time.

Lost:
Her
   Wedding Ring
         in the ashes
  of a fire
  Home burned
            to the ground

       Firemen dig
        Where the bathroom
           used to be
Now 2 storeys deep
      in charred rubble
           for the drawer
          where the ring
was last secured
~~~~
  
        Somewhere in a different
   state
   Another wife was
   praying that
          all who lost
           their homes to fire
              might find some
       family treasure
                           in the ashes to hold onto
     ~~~~

        Something  sparkles dimly
    as the ashes are removed
    Is it the wedding ring?
      It is.
          Black and crusted, yes it is
    Still round and every stone in place
   Such joy and celebration in
the midst of tragedy                                ~~~~

Miracle:
            
    A prayer has been answered
        for a Christian
       in Nevada
             And a treasure been
    delivered
   to
         a loving wife
       in California
              who may have lost her family home
    but now has faith in miracles.
ljm

All the hard
times prepared me
for this.
The hopeless
times, black sun
sadness.
The long seasons of
madness.
Starving, like a
winter tomcat.

The hospital stays.
Jails and psych wards.
The fist fights under
bridges.
Midnight swims, drunk in
the Iowa River,
not drowned, only out
of spite.
All of this, and
much more got
me ready for this.

I’m sitting up in bed.
It’s 5:00 AM.
My three cats chase
each other, like
lovers in spring.
I’ve been sober
for almost two years.
I even quit smoking
cigarettes.
I’m writing regularly,
and publishing much
of it.
It’s mostly well received
worldwide.
I’m sipping a hot cup
of coffee.
It’s from Sumatra and has
notes of herbs and earth.

I look at the pictures of
Van Gogh and
Hemingway above my
antique maple desk,
as I listen to Mozart.
A writer needs four walls.
I have so much more,
children
wisdom
cats
and gratitude, the most
important thing I
found.

all those doughy-eyed, snot-nosed, putty-cheeked, frog-mouthed, bull-headed, cowardice faces: they were born
without sorrow
until they hand over their lives
to someone they truly don’t know
and they do it with a smile
and a gleam in their eye
and then they get sandpapered down
and polished in something
they did not choose,
their freedoms get capsized and
they don’t know what they’ve done
or why they’ve done it.
they become enraged and frustrated
with themselves
but they do not know where
to project their anger.
they can’t do it at home.
they’re too afraid of what they might
lose: their own self-made agony
so they take it to work with them
or to the supermarket or to the restaurant
and aim at anyone over any little thing.
they can’t do it at home.
those poor deluded fools careening towards
the only elusive dream that matters: happiness.
some of them are regretting decisions,
some of them are stewing on mistakes,
some of them are plotting their escape
all that sacrifice, all that pap
all those easy words
whistling like stream;
“I love you.”
“I miss you.”
“I want you.”
“I need you.”
all of it: for nothing
all those droopy, sullen-glared, turkey-necked, warthog faces everywhere;
laying in cold beds, coddling empty blankets,
****** in sorrow, contemplating the error of their ways,
alone with themselves, alone with each other.