Well we jumped on the wing
for a good Irish fling
kicked off the week
with a boiler

The banter was high
as we took to the sky
nothing in sight
was a spoiler

And the red eye at night
was a captain’s delight
we spread on the seat
of the liner

Arrived just in time
for a whale of a time
at the Temple Bar
and Diner

Well the Dublin scene
in the Old College Green
was wired and alive
on the corner

Where me and me' mates
paired in at the gates
there were welcoming arms
to us foreigners

And we sang through the night
and grinned in delight
with banjos, pipes
and lasses

Drinking whiskey and beer
in a boatload of cheer
the rooster got lost
in the masses

The **** in the walk
was out on the stalk
a wee little flute
on display

His shoulders were pinned
with a great big grin
they were such
peculiar ways!

Well we found em next day
(in a sauntering way)
got tossed in
all the commotion

What happened to you?
said he hadn’t a clue
or any
baldy notion!

Hit the road to Howth
little east, little south
the seaside town
was groovin

Found the Cobblestone Pub
for a jar and a scrub
the seabird sounds
were soothin

Then we jumped a train
in the lashing rain
the Belfast craic
was mighty

Hit the Thirsty Goat
with a parching throat
some Tullamore Dew
for a nighty

In the Crumlin jail
the spirits set sail
the IRA
was gaffin

There was Bobby Sands
in celestial lands
alive and proud
and laughin

The Griffin dance
was the final chance
the evening closed
in nigh

And we made our way
through the Chelsea lanes
to say our
final good bye

~ ~ ~ ~

Singing
Ay, oh…let it all go
safe haven in the wasteland!

Singing
Slainte’…take me away
to the old Irish sounds
of the band!

A cello’s open C
nearly derailed me.
Cerys snuck it in,
slow Sundaying,
nearly made me stop the car
and howl
as the bow drew on my guts
like blissful punishment,
the sullen throb
calling human

Sometimes you just have to rattle
outside
like an over excited child
or pup with energy to spare

You’ll feel the breeze there
and smell leaf and soil
all seasons

Though the language changes
with the days
the message is consistent:
stay

It’s not really difficult:
the golden rule,
walking in others’ shoes,
giving two ***** about
the lives of others.
It’s right there.
Has been since the days
of squatting in caves
planning mammoth takedowns

But the clowns have weaponised caring
to become a choice.

It’s not. Raise your voice.

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

                              What my Face Mask Signifies

     A reflection on an excellent essay by Rebecca Tuhus-Dubrow


My face mask signifies nothing at all
It is only a matter of good hygiene
Like washing my hands and brushing my teeth
And eating a balanced, nutritious diet

My mask is not an ideology
No more than my eyeglasses, hairbrush, or shoes
It is not a statement; it is paper on a string -
I simply want all of us to be safe and well

If you must find significance to construe -
Construe that my mask is to honor you

We can’t blame words
for showing us truths
that make us cry
or selling us lies
that make us fall in love so hard
the north wind knocks from us

We can’t praise words
for revealing paradise
allowing us to stroll there
quiet, some days,
and know better

We can only intone the syllables,
wrestle syntax to some semblance
of meaning
for the clicks, croons and chatter
we utter, or fix in lines
for others to know us

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

                                       Neither a King nor a Boss

A gas station close by the overpass
A display case of shiny knives and knucks
One of the knives features a naked lady
Some of the knucks are labeled “KING” and “BOSS”

But would the object of a metallic punch
Have time to read either the “KING” or “BOSS”
Before he fell among his blood and pain?
A legless man in a wheelchair rolls by

To his blue tarp and sleeping bag close by
The gas station close by the overpass