Sammy can't afford the pills
so he's learned to cook
with just a spoon
& some shaky friends

not sleeping after too much *****,
coffee & bad news & lines
of questionable length
and meter
pushing to spill something
on the sheets
as if i were the arbiter
or at least a voice recognized.
this is our wilderness

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

                         April is not the Cruelest Month – July Is

Across the oily gravel the scrabbling of weary feet
As if life itself were burning in the heat

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

                        Another Student.  Another Funeral

Another former student. Another funeral.
A folder with a photograph and a prayer
No one gave the cause of death - I only know
We’re not supposed to be burying our children

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

                          The People of America Stand Tall

When the American people are faced with a crisis
They buy toilet paper and semi-automatic rifles

And so are wiped out either way

Man incarnate lost to all
Whilst ravens savage hatch-lings nest,
Clamor in these seeds of time
Caroused in blood on Savior’s vest….
Callousness and cruelty wrought
By Slav on Slav through fields of wheat,
Cold Kremlin’s children sanctified
In crucifixion’s slab concrete.

Wherefore now our sage and wise?
Wherefore now, the just?
Wherefore reasons sanctity,

Scream I…..???

BETRAYAL’S RUSSIAN LUST!

M.
Foxglove@Taranaki,NZ.
10 July 2022

Bad news restocked too soon
For proper recognition,
Much less mourning.
The upper hand, with bullets
To spare,  mad
With opportunity,
Triggers the night,
Mocks The freedom of the day,
Shuts the mouths
Of wide-eyed children.

I'll take more here, forego rewards
Backsided as incentive,
Sell out for music, books, T.V.,
Companionship, true love, good humor,
Sufficient food & Shelter.

Death grants humility and I
Could not be prouder of my love,
Whose legs have given way but by
Some christ like reckoning above
My understanding gives me life
While I attempt some lesser songs
That might or might not cover if
The judgement speaks of my worst wrongs,
Which counting up could take some time
(Which lately comes in short supply)
And reconstructions of the crime,
When I have no more taste for I,
And should be settled in for sleep.
The dreams I've promised, she will keep.

Our ***** have long erased the lines
Stone-chiseled into  monuments,
Fresh minds distorted by the signs,
Persuasive wine and sacraments.
The old salvation of belief
Hangs out like fossils by the creek,
Sustaining some with sure relief,
Who seldom give the other cheek.
In fear of lack of more than this
Untimed, uneven passaging,
The slow decline & emptiness
Of vanity and preacher's stumps,
As bridges see increasing jumps.