Friday, January 3, 2025

The Stray 'Possum Cafe - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

 

The Stray ‘Possum Café

 

The only comparisons in Western literature might be with the Romantics or the Beat Generation, but the Russian Silver Age poets outdazzled them in glamour and intrigue.

 

-Darran Anderson

 

 

We lay our scene not in Saint Petersburg

Where Anna Ahkmatova flirted and rhymed

With Gumilyov, Mandelstam, and Tsvetaeva

Among champagne, cigarettes, tears, and pearls

 

In the old and storied Stray Dog Café 

But in a field on a December night

Where two opossums meet in quest of love

And wrangle in the leaves of intimacy

 

Poor strays making…art…without any fear

Of execution by the Kremlin Mountaineer

 

 

Saint Petersburg’s Stray Dog Café was a matrix for art, music, dance, and poetry from imperial Russia to the Soviet horror, and thence into the world.  It almost serves as a sort of hinge between the 19th century and the 20th. Please read Darran Anderson’s professional and thus accessible article in City JournalAnna Akhmatova’s Bravery.

 

I am having fun with intruding ‘possums among the Silver Age poets, but as for them, yes, they are essential. Their brilliance still shines for us and influences what we write even if we are unaware of them – and for that most of them were murdered by the mad tyranny of Communism.

Wednesday, January 1, 2025

So This is the New Year - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

So This is the New Year

 

 

The road goes ever on and on…

 

-from at least three variations of a song in The Lord of the Rings

 

 

About this new year – it doesn’t look so new

A metaphorical kick of the tires suggests

It’s been down many roads before

But then, so have we

 

About this new year – it doesn’t look so new

But the first sunlight in the bare oak trees

And upon last summer’s ground-shoaling leaves

Lead me to pull on my boots and step outside

 

Frost, sky, sunlight, cardinals, squirrels, life

About this new year – it looks pretty good now

Sunday, December 29, 2024

The Last American Westclox Baby Ben - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

The Last American Westclox Baby Ben

 

(Maybe)

 

 

It ticked into my heart at the Goodwill store

Two dollars’ worth of Americana

A charmer in a battered metal shell

Hiding behind a tired plastic face

 

The tick, the tock, the talk of Peru, Illinois

The clock that woke America each dawn

For work and study, and to meet the Chicago train

For a century until time ran out

 

It clicks and clanks and ticks and tocks and talks

 

All-day dutiful hands, a jangling bell -

How long will this old clock last?

 

Only time will tell

Saturday, December 28, 2024

Hanukkah is a Light That Always Gets In - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

Hanukkah is a Light That Always Gets In

 

 

There is a crack in everything.

That’s how the light gets in.

 

-Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”

 

 

Eight candles of the mind, then, of the soul

In a time of hooded pursuivants

Seeking for truth so that it might be suppressed

Seeking for light that it might be extinguished

 

 

There mustn’t be any candles, then, in the windows now

In this Abomination of Desolation

Where wrapped in reptilian rags from Amazon

Sullen illiterates screw their eyes against the light

 

If you are somewhat broken, read from the scroll

Beneath the lights of Hanukkah

Eight candles of the mind and of the soul

 

 

Note on the quotation: Babblings on the InterGossip led me to verify the above quote, which is from the poem “Anthem” published in Leonard Cohen, ed. Robert Faggen, Everyman’s Pocket Poetry series.

Thursday, December 26, 2024

A Porch of Worms on the Feast of St. Stephen - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Porch of Worms on the Feast of St. Stephen

 

These winter squalls are almost springtime rains

Warm days, cool nights, and windblown showers at dawn

And on the porch appear some curious stains

Dark squirming squiggles progressing up from the lawn

 

Up from the lawn, up from their earthen beds

In desperate trails of iridescent slime

As peristaltic tubes with wavery heads

Rhythmically marking out their march in time

 

But all too brief their escape, alas -

A feast for robins who will not let them pass

Did You Enjoy Your Christmas? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Did You Enjoy Your Christmas?

 

 

Christmas Night

 

 

That merry little Christmas that they sing about –

Did you open your gifts around a tree

Tinsel and ornaments and a brilliant star

Pajamas and cocoa and merriment

 

Did you enjoy a dinner with someone special

Or with happy children and a few friends

Then coffee and cake and quiet memories

Everyone free from telescreens and devices

 

And now with a fire and soft candlelight

Is this another gentle silent night?

 

I hope it is so, dear friend

Monday, December 23, 2024

O Little Front Line of Bethlehem - for Christmas Eve

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

O Little Front Line of Bethlehem

 

Stopped and questioned multiple checkpoints

A search of their persons and their vehicle

And a stern warning from the local patrol:

“You are not permitted to draw on public funds”

 

The Holy Family arrives at last at a no-tell inn

“I need to see two forms of identification

And a major credit card from any on this list

Fresh linens are extra; the ice machine is broken”

 

Surly men in grubby camouflage smoke cigarettes

Occasional gunfire lights up the noisy night

Sunday, December 22, 2024

Last Christmas I Gave You my Pancreas - a wheeze

(From The Saint Tibbs' Day Songbook)

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Last Christmas I Gave You my Pancreas

 

I thought there was an idea here

But maybe not

                             Just a few questions, ma’am

About the guy who received your heart and gave it away

Did he drop it off at a re-sale shop?

 

Giving a body part at Christmas is sing-able

Because

“Last Septuagesima Sunday I gave you my heart”

Is not something you can dance to easily

Especially if you have no cardio-pulmonary functions

 

I thought there was an idea here

Maybe it’s those Nyquil dreams again…

For Two Dear Children on Christmas - couplet

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

For Cate and Jack

 

Or Jack and Cate?

 

On Christmas

 

 

Certain joys about Christmas are always true

For among the season’s constant blessings

                                                          Are you!