Category: Poetry
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Quiet Hours
City lights glistenthrough the gold ofnight’s first kiss. And the bartender looks outthrough the twilight veil of gilded rain,wondering to himselfwhether the weather will let up,or if now is the best it will ever be. Poem and photography by Hazel J. Hall.Previously published by The Sunlight Press.
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I see my reflection in the orange juice cup
The porch talk is weighed down by crows& we look at the sun hoping it looks back.The eggs are scrambled & the dogcatches the scraps. I’m so sickof going through the motions.Same breakfast, same porch talk.I want to make orange juice by milkingstars. Space should be an ocean& tidal pools should be filled withoranges &…
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“Is anyone listening?”
My hands find their way onto the spaces between the piano keys. Even when the amnesia takes me over, I know, / I will still remember music. / I can’t picture where the notes laid on the lines, but I know every feeling in my fingers, where they seek to belong. I will still remember…
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The Shadow Cast by Gentleness
In the patter of city street puddles,I see the truth about chaos. In the center of everything, there is a light. A shining light.I see the truth: that a gentleness is also a longing, for then I glimpse a girl at a desk. I look into her while all at once lookinginto myself—I can only hopeat night she still…
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My agent asked for an updated author bio
This poem was written by a monster; this poet, too. A story of life when remembered by my mind would be an itemized list, which certainly tells a tale but not a very good one. I have dreams of another life. In between the joy of a memory, I pick apart my life and find…
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Oceania: The Last Beach
Humanity had lessened since its peak of billions; selfishness proved to be as mortal as they were. Now there is only one beach. One final shore before the abyss of clouds. Sky void remnants of what no longer shines. A woman stands before the water. Her toes feel the sand. Plastic. It feels like plastic.…
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Same Tunes, New Radio
there comes a time when the memory is so vivid it turns a double truth the grape pain meds and the stinging burn when it goes down dulled by time it all comes back when the music plays. remember when it was only words? the noises and these pitches have since become us every sound…
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Infelix
When the car headlights flash against the ceramic flowerpot, still sitting on the corner of the porch where you left it, I see your green feline eyes. Still waiting where I left them. Whoever first said black cats were unlucky never got to meet you. Every time I cried, you found all the hurting places.…
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After the Breath is Music
he sits atthe edge of his stool. atthe end of things.a tumultuous tower beforethe edge of void, pressing in;a piano key hit beforethe void of whatwe do not know. every sightto be seen stares back at us now.him pressing those keys,playing piano, head tossed back gazing up to sky and seeing our lasting resonanceour closing…
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heat death
we are a high school, honey-love crush, terribly beautiful at our tipping point to the contact. staring into abyssal zones. walking on water; wading; raising generations of fish through this finality. the poem steering directionlessness into its narrative. the death of oceans as a wicked strangling no one wants to solve. it is all simply too evil and we are…
Hazel J. Hall 