The darkness comes in gentle waves
Like a mournful sea at ebb tide.
It comes in wisps like smokey sighs
Wafting from a deserted fire.

The darkness seeps into the spirit
Like a leaking, unattended faucet.
It arrives in plain brown wrapping
Tied with twisted, knotted string.

The darkness sings a plaintive tune
That echos in the vastness.
It weaves a heavy coverlet
That blankets any hope of light.

The darkness didn’t have to be
Why ever did I let it in
ljm

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]

                       Afghanistan, Graveyard of 19-Year-Olds

Ghosts shriek in the wind from the Hindu Kush
Falling upon the lowlands in despair
Of any reality beyond death
In the blood-sodden sands where sinks all good

Walls, monuments, souls, hopes – all blow away
In the wreckage of long-fallen empires
Their detritus trod upon by tired men
Whose graves will be the howling dust of time

And yet the empire masters will return
And leave fresh offerings, remnants of the young:
A British Enfield, a Moghul’s lost shoe,
A cell phone silent beside the Great Khan’s skull

2012, The Road to Magdalena

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

                               An Executioner Feels Bad

One of the state’s executioners
Is feeling bad about what he does
He’s speaking out about PTSD
Sleeplessness and thoughts of suicide

Speaking out

Lethal drugs, poison gas, maybe firing squads
Hands as skillful as those of an abortionist
“None of us wanted to do it,” he says
But he does it. A ticket to promotion

Don’t do drugs, kids

The chief executioner gets to be a Commander
He doesn’t tell his children about his work

It’s for the children

it is enough
to be in your arms
when all the stars are falling
nothing i have found
approaches your
                                   embrace
no words of prophets or messiahs
have your faith
what you so innocently touch

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

                                    Maslow’s Hierarchy of Nerds

Okay, I’m the nerd, not part of the hierarchy
But you are core of my hierarchy of needs
Where do I place you on the pyramid?
But I don’t place you at all – you are

You are a hierarchy of, well, you:
‘Way up around self-actualization
And definitely among belonging and love
And the base, and the peak, and the center -

You are my hierarchy of truth
You are my pyramid of love

I looked up “demagogue” in my Websters
And there a previous President was
In a smiling photo with fists in the air
Worried the wind would mess up his hair.
I didn’t bother to study the words -
The picture was worth several thousand.
ljm

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

  WHITE BREAD! I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE!

                            Pancake House on Crack Street II
        With a Chorus of One Cook in Need of Some White Bread

A cold and dreary morning along Easy Street
The comforts of coffee and cholesterol
The Senior Special two fresh eggs your way
Farm fresh bacon or sausages your way

I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE! WHITE BREAD!

Down-home hash brown potatoes your way
Whole wheat toast with farm fresh butter your way
Fresh brewed Colombian coffee your way
“I’ll be with you in a minute, honey, okay?”

OVER HERE! I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE!

There aren’t any newspapers anymore
“In a minute!” So I studied my MePhone

WHITE BREAD! I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE!

I don’t think the cook was yelling about me
I don’t know, of course

The beggar at the door shivered quietly

he wasn’t so much a peddler
(as many had quietly assumed)
more of a rural shuffler
or social inchworm
than a mover and a shaker

but boy
could he dish out those jabs
and ad lib on a whim
and draw sweet melodies
from that broken 6 string
all night long

carving out reflections
oh, those deep intuitive divinations!
steadily preaching
on the breathtaking joys
and fruits
of the vibrant land

grow your own
seeds to be sown
clean and green
a nourishing machine!
silver linings (straight from truth room)
clearly seen
from those uncompromised
garden views

casting his baited lines
from softly pebbled shores
(his nanna, and poppa
were there, years before)
giving grace…
and basking deeply
in the bounty of the fenua

his love of life was insatiable
moving from town to town
to nourish his soul
digging way beyond the deep
for that shrouded purpose
that soulful existence
that many spend a lifetime
looking to find

three boats settle
in the quiet harbor
a net shed basking in the sand
peaceful and serene
(with a hint of emerald green)
Sunset red
with crawfish (and lemongrass)
to keep us
bountifully fed

You, my dear, are a ****
You flaunt the fact that
You flout the rules
That other people live by.

You smoke and drink and swear blue air
Truck drivers learn new words from you.
The ones who are not boffing you
Are writing your name on men’s room walls.

You, my dear, are a *****
Society’s precepts mean nothing to you.
A wedding ring is but a challenge;
Another notch on your bedstead.

You pose and you preen
And you bat your eyelashes
But on a coming day not too far away
You’ll finally get your comeuppance.
           ljm