we are of the princes and of the love. our churches are built from love. our love can never be conquered or destroyed because kindness rules the world.

ta sa la ma la a la chi
china is

ta sa la ma la a la
love is

ta sa la ma la a la ma
kindness is

(we spoke to the evil it said it was sick of the evil and it just wanted to go)
this time we killed the evil with our kindness and our love of truth.

ta na la a a ma la
we will soon have a beautiful world again.

A once dear friend
And I met up;
Twenty years since we spoke,
And neither one could talk.
We left each other's company
On terms of disagreement.

The ice was thick;
The air was clouded;
We stood beneath the shade.

The mountain didn't fall;
The earth didn't swallow;
The roof stayed on.
Nothing cracked our uncertainty.

Then we misquoted some old
Misunderstood memories
Of why we went our ways.
And felt the same.

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

                                     A Moment Between Worlds

When I step outside to visit the stars
To gaze upon Venus and Jupiter
Who ask no questions, who make no demands
I hope to celebrate the universe in some small way

But maybe not

Coyote-wolf-dog thingies keen in the woods
And autumn cold comes creeping across the fields
There is no Grendel out there in the mist
That is, I don’t think there is, but maybe…

But maybe what?

They remind me that I am but a visitor
And that it’s time for me to go inside

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

                 Poor Quality Control in the Manufacture of Days

This was another poor-quality day:
The leaves were good enough, as was the sun
But the temperature-control was out of whack
And the humidity was again all wrong

I’m calling a staff meeting in this matter
To ask why the hummingbirds left early
(I’m sure we’d all like to winter in Mexico)
And if the squirrels will report on time tomorrow

I’m not going Pollyanna with this report -
Work in the department has fallen short

-


it is like the pulling of fish from
water that is now too shallow
for minnows to swim in

or a child's deceased hamster
inside of a shoe box leaning
against a dumpster

while a breeze pushes autumn leaves
in the opposite direction of
a one-way street

it is what remains after the
door to everything has been
padlocked from everybody–

these are the bubbles that
pop randomly in my
dishwater,

all of this soaking quietly into
an old wet sponge situated
just between my ears—

did you hear any
of this ?


s jones
2021



.

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

                                           Father Ron Croaks

We have heard the Mass sung in beautiful Latin
We have heard the Mass sung in dull vernacular
We have heard the Mass spoken (duller still)
And now today we have heard the Mass croaked

Here be allergens

Eyes snap like Polaroid:
that memory is captured
flat
so superficially it holds truths

but look more carefully at those colours
and the tunes they sing,
they make you think
something

something close to fingertips
on glossed pages
where other people's lives live
and mean little

but this is yours, ours,
and I’m holding the hours
holding on and shaking

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

                                     ­ Schrodinger’s Bullet

Is there a bullet in the cylinder?
The armorer thinks not
The assistant director thinks not
The actor thinks not

The dead…will know

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

                                   Ode on a Flintstones Tumbler

                        John Keats helped with this but refused
                        to take any credit. He must be modest

Thou still unmoving car of wood and stone
Forever carrying the Flintstones and the Rubbles
Off to the movies – Rock Hudson to be shown?
And a childhood half-hour of comic troubles

Heard yabba-dabbas are sweet, but those unheard
We’ll have to speak ourselves over milk and cereal
Wilma, of course, always has the last word
But we’ll contribute to the writers’ material

Fred’s feet are truth, not beauty, - but off they go
Taking us with them – so on with the show!