Forgive me if the fatigue means
my eyes cross
and I lose the thread of your beauty,

it’s in your words, see?
Always has been,
a bit like me

And now my head nods,
we’ll say in affirmation
as you’re a patient person,

though my snort-start awake
will give me away

I’m desperate to stay awake with you,
but these days, y’know?
These days.

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

                           He Never Met a Phor He Didn’t Like

He never met a phor he didn’t like
Where the dead are always spinning in their graves
A discarded cup looks like a war zone
And poems are unpacked instead of read

Or hyperbole ‘WAY OVER THE TOP!!!!!!!!!!!!
***! ***! ***! OH!!!!!!!!
MY LIFE HAS BEEN CHANGED FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!
NO ONE HAS EVER SUFFERED AS MUCH AS I!!!!!!!!

And freighted his lines with adverbs in rank
Until they really actually literally sank

time is the sun we move around
through shadows and reflections
expecting more
a prophet or a sacrifice
how do we hold the sound
of any place without a name
some avenues allow return
their beauty having lingered
i find myself convinced
though why remains unclear
that we've something more to learn
some word or some experience
something that would obviously matter

My mother would have loved this house.
All she ever wanted was a fireplace -
And I have one that’s never held a fire.

She lived in what the rich would call a hovel.
It was clean but it was old and worn.
I have two stories and a chandelier.

She would have liked my upstairs guest room
And the elegant stairway leading there.
She would have reveled in the sun-filled aerie.

Would that I could give it all to her right now,
But she never lived to see this house,
To leave her essence in the air and walls.

She died without a fireplace of her own.
Because of that, I’ll never light the one included
In this house that far exceeds what I deserve.
                                ljm

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

                             Children and Machine Gun Dreams

          By word and example…parents lead their children to
          authentic freedom, actualized in the sincere gift of self, and
          they cultivate in them respect for others, a sense of justice,
          cordial openness, dialogue, generous service, solidarity, and
          all the other values which help people to live life as a gift.

                     -St. John Paul the Great, Evangelium Vitae

Do we sing to our children machine gun dreams
Instead of sugar plums? Little sleepyheads
Now tucked away into their little beds
In matching camouflage blankies and sheets

Do children code messages to Santa asking him
For Barbie’s Bunker all accessorized
With guns and knives properly pint-sized
And Super ****** Skipper and Recon Ken?

Do children hide bayonets beneath their coats
And measure the distance to their classmates’ throats?

With more life behind us than ahead,
as we age, though our futures dim,
our memories brighten each day
that remains.