I thought that I was going to be swept off my feet,
having the wind knocked from my lungs,
feeling as enamored with you as I did almost ten years ago.

I was wearing that magenta color again, trying to be a version of myself from back then.

Spring and summer are not my seasons but **** when you reached out I knew I had to try.

I wanted to try.

I had reached a plateau of almost overcoming my self hatred and I wanted to be more confident, strong, dare I say appealing?

I felt as though I was at the edge of a cliff, a dangerous precipice:

What if it would be weird?
Really, it was more: what if he thinks I’m worse than who I was before?
Honestly, it was: what if he thinks I’m fat?

Worst comes to worst, I would just leave- vanish mysteriously without even saying goodbye.

When I saw you I felt so light, happy-
it was as if you were exactly the same.
I mean honestly you still looked so good.
I kept saying: “It’s like you haven’t changed at all”.

And you said: “I have been so worn down”,
And that shook me and made me really look at you differently.

You are such a humble person.
You are so interesting and insightful and talking with you makes me feel like I am meeting you again for the first time.

Seeing you again brought up so many feelings, but the strongest ones were that I wish I would have gotten to really know you back then instead of being obsessed with the idea of who you were. Or who you could have been to me.

I want to get to know you better, now that we both have grown into who we really are.

I’m proud of you.
You are proud of me.

Amazing what almost ten years can do.

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

                                Midsu­mmer Mysteries

One of the merry mysteries of midsummer
Is that midsummer isn’t midsummer at all
Maybe it was, back in the shadows of time                
When Tolkien’s fairies blessed a happier world

We still light bonfires on Midsummer Eve
Making our summer vigil with good Saint John
While children dance among their fairy rings
Making this sad world better with their happy dreams

And finally

When the fading ashes greet the dawn
We carry our blessings to their little beds

mid-autumn summer
thirty-five
(the things I know I did get right)

not ripe, ain't old
and neither young
no saint, no hero,
still unsung

midsummer autumn
feels like a dream...
so much to do
so much unseen

mid-autumn summer
starry-eyed
as wise as serpents
still a child

midsummer fall
amidst the leaves...
the snows shall come
only to leave

mid-autumn summer
feels like a song
so full of colour!
and before long

all systems go
and I - with them,
in shock and awe
to Bethlehem

midsummer autumn
-- like a stage --
what do you mean by
"Act your age"?

mid-autumn summer
feels like gold...
it cannot stay,
it shan't I hold

midsummer autumn
barren trees
at five-and-thirty
I am free

mid-autumn summer
thirty-five
too old to live
too young to die

Eck Ramsay, a retired underwire manufacturer,
bought a boil in the bag cod slice at his local Spar shop.
Upon removal of its cardboard outer garments
he was surprised to find it contained a small book.
The book titled the Plaice of Cod
(a philosophical treatise on theology)
contained many essays on the ancient rites of summer,
several of which were wildly inaccurate
and a few that were accurately wild.
In the appendix there were twenty-three songs
attributed to a medieval troubadour,
who led a travelling medicine show called the Rollwrong Stones.
  
William Lancaster Blake built himself a chocolate castle
on a hollow hill and sold it to his mate Bill,
a scribbler of worthy words who wrote of the hills and lakes
and how long it takes for the ghosts of soldiers to cross the fells especially when led by centaurs.
  
Self-proclaimed king, My Other Pen drags on,
took to haranguing passers-by with tales of dancing seals
and Jewish fiddlers who wouldn’t play marriages on the Sabbath, and how the wedding guests always got ******.

Stan Tony and Drew made up the crew
which some say numbered sixty-nine
or seventy-two, but no-one could swear
how many were there especially
on the Whispering Nights……… when nothing seemed right
and the cattle lowed on their knees.
And the slightest breeze on a pewter plate
would vanish the seed that couldn’t be seen,
and dreamers would dream
of jumping through flames
that carried the names
of those who were soon to be dead.

Goats head soup
with yarrow root
was served to the guests …..whose favourite request
was Wort of Sacred Johnny,
they'd dance all night …..till the Isis light
sent the Oak root bones …..scurrying home
to the place where the days are shorter.
When the dew on the grass  …..comes to pass
and the herbs have been nailed to the doorway,
when the heron's been kissed…and all are well dressed
and the False ones only moved slightly
the cuckoos will sing. "a new day I bring"
and the treetops will shake with the dancers
the day is but done and the Knights just begun
to get a little bit longer.
   But stranger than this was the wish of the dish that had it away with the spoon. "hey.. kat play that fiddle"
And riddle me no riddle
I need to get high as the moon….
"which moon?" enquired the hare "Kieth or the very Reverent moon?"
"Oh either will do…. Their just different shoes
to the ones I'm currently wearing"
and with no more ado…… Stan Tony and Drew
the Stones roadie crew
withdrew
for the next seven years
their horses drank tears
and everyone's fears
were fried up for breakfast
with marmalade toast
two sausage
mushrooms
and beans
eggs over easy
rashers done crispy
a fried slice or two
and a teapot of glue
to ensure it stuck to the belly.

The mushrooms of course enjoyed these proceedings to such an extent that they were inspired to compose poems praising the nights adventures, these were subsequently published in the society pages of the Lost and Found trade journal.

Sun-blushed mugginess mothers us,
With the promise of a storm.
Swarms of bumble bees do buzz
Amongst Cotoneasters bathed in warm.

It’s proper summer,
That’s for sure.
No more ice and snow
For us to endure.

The Longest Day will soon be gone,
But here, right now, the sun has won.
Time to fiesta, how I love it.
More of this I truly covet.

Paul Butters