Lawrence Hall
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https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

               Upon Reading Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita

Margarita flying naked over Moscow
She might have caught a cold doing that, you know

A big ol’ cat shooting a Browning Hi-Power
He was certainly amusing for an hour

The Secret Police were like the Keystone Kops
Not to be trusted even with traffic stops

And Pontius Pilate ordering a death
Almost with every other tortured breath

There were two burnings of the Master’s book
But yet at the end someone gave it look

The Master’s book…hmmmm…

I have finished this book; I thoughtfully read it
And I must confess that I just don’t get it

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

                            Okay, So It’s the End of the World

                “What do ties matter, Jeeves, at a time like this?”
                “There is no time, sir, at which ties do not matter.”

                                             -P. G. Wodehouse

Okay, so what if this is the end of our world
Windblown sands where Ozymandias once ruled
Or dying like Charn in The Magician’s Nephew
Pale and sere under a fading red sun

Let us not meet it pajama’d on a couch
Videogaming upon a telescreen
And suddenly marveling that the power has failed
As a moving hand writes across the skies

If the world is going to end today
Let us dress properly for the occasion

For all things mortal,
Love has time--
when nothing else
has reason--
stays past the time
one not staying
would be gone.

autumn drinks heavily
slides into winter black
singing old songs in the dark
of loss and lack
and imperfect memory

these months weigh more:
grit under the eyelid
cold **** in the soul weight
that scratches and suffocates

but the coals will glow
and windows steam the same,
inside from time to time
and safe

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

    It’s Not Really an Assault Rifle ‘Cause It’s only Semi-Automatic

Once upon a time there was a silly boy
He was seventeen. Someone gave him a gun
His mumsy drove him to another state
So he could hunt other people with his gun

See the boy hunt. Hunt, hunt, hunt

And he did. Be very quiet. He’s hunting Commies
But bullies wanted to take away his gun
And he was sad. So he shot the meanies
Bang, bang, bang. Take that, you rascally Liberals

Empowered, empowered, empowered

He had to go to court. He began to cry
Because they took away his big bang-bang

And his mumsy cried.
                                       But the dead can’t cry

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

                                   Ten Knots along a Cord

                       A trewe swinkere and a good was he,
                       Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee

                                 -Chaucer’s Prologue

See the plowman walking home from the fields
He plods along with the pace of centuries
There is no haste, for time hardly exists
Only the seasons, rolling like cosmic tides

And in his hand, ten knots along a cord
To count each Ave as it passes his lips
And through his heart and hopes and gratitude
His soul secure along the links of being

See the plowman dreaming home from the fields
His feet upon the earth, his head among the stars

Time ticks down as we gouge,
burn, eat and smear this planet,
all the while avoiding eye-contact
as we line our graves with cash
for a soft and pointless landing

Standing knee-deep already
on a rented doorstep
the next in line rightfully curse us
as the fat get fatter, fit to burst,
but never fit for purpose

Why can’t you be who you were?
I can’t say I like who you are
Or who you are so fast becoming.

Why can’t you be like before
When everything you tried succeeded
And you always had the right answer?

Why can’t you go back to that person
With wisdom and courage and smarts
And be someone that I could love?
        ljm