Mr. Big Businessman in Knee-Pants - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Mr. Big Businessman in Knee-Pants

There wiste no wight that he was in dette

-Chaucer, General Prologue, line 279

If this were fifty years ago he’d sport
A cheap brown suit and a loud, too-wide tie
But now he wears knee-pants and cartoon tees
And fashion shoes that look like cancerous growths

And speaks like Chaucer’s merchant of his gigs
Contacts and contracts and deals to be made
Important ‘phone calls that must be taken now
In a voice of in-crowd guffawery

But when he clicks off his shiny MePhone
He asks for gas money to get him home

A Little Child Dancing in Prison - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Little Child Dancing in Prison

But it’s not a prison; it’s a unit
(Euphemisms make everything all better)
The morning sun rising above the fog
Sparkles merrily on bright razor wire

A barefoot little girl dances and sings
She has already been wanded and searched
Her princess shoes examined for contraband
She’ll put them back on after Mommy’s turn

She gets to see her daddy again this week
And that is why she is dancing in prison



Please understand that prison staff are not Disney baddies; adults sometimes hide drugs and other contraband in their children’s clothing.

When Life is a Waiting Room - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

When Life is a Waiting Room

A waiting room is not a room that waits
A waiting room is not a room who waits
Although in life there are bleak waiting rooms
A life itself is not a waiting room

Except when it is

Now, Children of Privilege, March Away - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Now, Children, March Away 1

Now, children, march away through Hamelin town
Obedient to the gauleiter’s wish
You must admire the emperor’s new gown
Shoal mindlessly ashore like grunion fish

And most obey, and upspeak programmed lines
Assembly-line rebels, they look alike
They wear their masters’ thrall-rings ‘round their minds
And call their servitude a climate strike

But who is strong? I really want to know
That one reflective child who just says

                               No.



1 As Henry V did not say

When Did Our Federal Government Become an Episode of THE VIEW? - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

When Did Our Federal Government Become an Episode of The View?

“You in the West have no idea what it’s like to be ruled by peasants.”

-Mihai in Robert D. Kaplan’s Balkan Ghosts, p. 138

In majestic solemnity our great republic moves toward impeachment.

Oh, yeah.

Given that there are two obvious sides in the impeachment squabble, let us consider both positions.

The argument, or strophe, of one side seems to be:

They said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you said that he said that they said that you…

But you get the idea.

The opposing side’s counter-argument, or antistrophe, appears to be:

Twitterkrieg toxic talkininity #poopypants manhood thing witch hunt garbage
removal battle look into risky unanimous point-of-privilege crime dog whistle fake news lock ‘em up nasty person twitterkrieg toxic talkininity #poopypants manhood thing witch hunt garbage nasty person removal battle look into risky unanimous point-of-privilege crime dog whistle fake news lock ‘em up toxic talkininity #poopypants manhood thing witch hunt garbage removal battle look into risky unanimous point-of-privilege crime dog whistle fake news lock ‘em up nasty person twitterkrieg toxic talkininity #poopypants manhood thing witch hunt garbage nasty person removal battle look into risky unanimous point-of-privilege crime dog whistle fake news lock ‘em up …

And, yes, we have seen it in HD and heard it in stereophonic they’ve-got-you-surrounded sound.

As for the epode, or resolution, that’s obvious:

A little of that governmental energy now wasted by both sides in palace gossip and in the great expense of another ill-considered show trial (remember Bill Clinton?) could be better directed to flood victims in Puerto Rico, Florida, the Carolinas, and now a few miles away, along the Texas gulf coast.

-30-

Gilligan's Island of Castaway Verse - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Gilligan’s Island of Castaway Verse

The discipline of reading at least one poem each day

The meter started getting rough aboard
A scheduled poetic three-minute tour
Across a sonnet or a blue haiku
Broken up by a wave of indolence

The Professor repairs an iamb or two
With a clam shell, seaweed, and coconuts
While Mary Ann recites “The Road Not Taken”
And the Skipper chases poor Gilligan

Who trips and falls, and finds a misplaced rhyme -
Maybe we’ll all get off the island this time!

In Majestic Solemnity Our Great Republic Moves Toward Impeachment - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

In Majestic Solemnity Our Great Republic Moves Toward Impeachment

Strophe, but not especially tidy:

They said that you said that he said that they
Said that you said that he said that they said
That you said that he said that they said that
You said that he said that they said that you

Antistrophe, but not especially tidy:

Twitterkrieg toxic talkininity
#poopypants manhood thing witch hunt garbage
Removal battle look into risky
Unanimous point-of-privilege crime

Epode, tidy in itself but there are human fragments in the street:

While unblinking security cameras
Watch the poor beating each other to death

Ad was Inappropriate Not Interested in This Ad Seen This Ad Multiple Times Ad Cover Content - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Ad was Inappropriate Not Interested in This Ad

Seen This Ad Multiple Times Ad Covered Content

Predatory ads from the N.R.A.
Site-blocking ads from them throughout each day -
O obtuse Google, make them go away

Poetic Solitude and Public Tension - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Solitude and Tension

Tension comes from a lack of solitude
When even a thought is interrogated
Examined, suspected, found to be flawed
Through our loving Article 58

What is your religion? Your politics?
Why do you write your words with the wrong hand?
Why do you write at all? Is that about us?
Why don’t you I.M. like normal people?

In nature an artist finds only delight
In his fellow humans only suspicion

Beating the Gums of War - a poor poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Beating the Gums of War

“Hell hath no fury like a non-combatant”

-this phrase, attributed to many, dates back at least to the American civil war

Channeling John Wayne, their semi-autos on show
Leather-boy bandoliers draped with lots of ammo

          Hell hath no fury like a deer-stand commando

Old men beating their gums for war; oh, yes, it’s so
Each wearing his made-in-China camouflage chapeau

          Hell hath no fury like a café commando

Idle hookah heroes in Houston, don’cha know
Want their country liberated – our children must go

          Hell hath no fury like a narghile commando

Studs at their ‘puter games, screens all aglow
There’s nothing about George Patton that they don’t know

          Hell hath no fury like a keyboard commando

And corpses for the lamps of China to make the oil flow
They want your child to die for profits – just tell ‘em to blow

          Hell hath no fury like a private-jet commando

None of them made the first day of boot camp, oh, no
Though their thousand-yard stares are perfected guano

          Hell hath no fury like a ‘way-back commando

Dwarf Porn Star in the News - couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Dwarf Porn Star in the News

“Dwarf Porn Star Accused of Stabbing Boyfriend”
Maybe he got a little short with her.
                                                                  The End.

Never Pass Up an Opportunity to Flee for Your Life - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Never Pass Up an Opportunity to Flee for Your Life

Several years ago a young person of my acquaintance came close to death by drowning.

Her first mistake was trusting her local government and the local dam authority to get anything right.

When the Harvey rains came the local government, via the usual media, urged the residents not to evacuate because they would only clog the roads and get in the way. Besides, the rain wouldn’t be all that bad.

Then, in the dark hours of the night, the dam authority upriver opened up the dam floodgates. They dam well didn’t bother telling anyone.

Even as the waters rose to the first floor of her building at dawn the local government kept telling people to shelter in place. The local government kept saying this even as the crew of a rescue boat told the young person of my acquaintance that there might not be another.

She was passed along a sequence of boats and a Houston Airport Authority dump truck in wind and rain, and at one point with others was wading waist-deep in foul and flowing waters, fearing at one point that she might have to release her two kittens and herself to the flood, giving them and herself to God.

At the end of this metaphorical chain she found shelter in a church. A few days later she wisely took a tetanus shot.

When we were able to able to drive through the muck to survey her apartment – there was much looting in the area – we found her car, well-mudded over and irretrievably ruined.

We could not open the doors to sort among her sodden belongings because her car was one of those whose features are entirely electric. The horrible reality then occurred to us – if many models of cars hit the water, you can’t get out. The door bolts are electrical, not mechanical.

You can’t get out.

You will scream out the horrible end of your life trapped in your car because some S.T.E.M. genius, a board of designers, and a board of corporate overlords are okay with you screaming out the horrible end of your life trapped in your car.

And then there’s the dam committee. In charge of the dam.

But, hey, plastic straws…

(https://dashcamtalk.com/forum/threads/can-you-unlock-your-door-lock-manually-if-not-it-could-be-dangerous.11993/)

-30-

"Now We're the People They Take Pictures Of" - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

“Now We’re the People They Take Pictures Of”

A Harvey Refugee Reports:

When she with cats, papers, a change of clothes
And her old college bag to hold them all
Was one refugee among others in a dump truck
A Houston Airport Authority dump truck

Dieseling through rain and water and fear
With muck and mud sloshing across their feet
A woman next to her then laughed and said,
“Now we’re the people they take pictures of”

But there was no Capa to frame the scenes
Only oh-my-Godders with MePhone screens



(As the old saying goes, this isn't half the story. A young person of my acquaintance was caught in the flooding in Houston two years ago because she trusted her local government and the dam (and damn') authority when they told the people not to evacuate because they would only clog the roads.)

Why is Saint Jude Annoyed with Me? - rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Saint Jude Prayer Card

I thought to pray for a serious need, you see

But

Saint Jude seems a little annoyed with me




Really! He looks a bit like my high school principal.

The Ministry of Beer - rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Ministry of Beer

“The sun looks down on nothing half so good as…

two friends talking over a pint of beer...”

― C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"

They may keep their dark Ministry of Fear -
We joy in our bright Ministry of Beer

Tropical Storm Imelda - a poem of sorts

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Tropical Storm Imelda

As Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet did not say with his dying breath:

No, 'tis not so deep as a Harvey, nor so wide as a
Rita; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve.



Just because a tropical storm isn’t technically a hurricane doesn’t mean it won’t kill your children or you. Use your brain.

"AR-Style Weapon" - couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“AR-Style Weapon”

In ‘Nam they jammed with jinx and jump and jerk
But now against children the d*mned things work

Taking the Pulse of the American People - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Taking the Pulse of the American People

I don’t want to take the pulse of the American people, she said

Only yours

You Had One Job - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

You Had One Job One Job One Job

You had one job. I mean, really, one job
Just one job, and you didn’t do that job
Right? Right? Just that one job. And you didn’t
You didn’t do that one job, just that one job

All you had was that one job, that was all
Just that one job. What’s the matter with you?
One job. Just one job. One job, am I right?
And you couldn’t be bothered to do that one job

And what was that one job you didn’t do?
TO STOP SAYING, “YOU HAD ONE JOB!”
                                                                                 STOP IT!

An Old Man on the First Day of School - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An Old Man on the First Day of School

Okay, I’m scared. Seventy-one years old
And scared. What if the teachers don’t like me?
What if those old principals don’t like me?
And what if the children don’t like me, huh?

I’m apprehensive about my first day
The librarian likes me, though. She’s nice
She asked me to be there. I’ll shine my shoes
And wear a clean shirt and tie – still, I’m scared

Oh, yes, there’s tension in the atmosphere
For this library reading volunteer!

With a Side Order of Screaming Child - weekly column

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Lunch with Friends 

With a Side Disorder of Screaming Child and Bellowing Mother

Pajama Child, running and screaming: “Bye-bye. Bye-Bye! BYE-BYE! HEY!!! BYE-BYE!!!!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Don’t run, honey. No. Don’t run! I SAID, ‘DON’T RUN!!!”

Pajama Child, standing in her seat and chewing her food over diners’ backs: “Wlb. Glb. Blrt! Uerk! Blye-blye!

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone:: “One…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child: “NO! CAN’T MAKE ME! NO, YOU! NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!!!!!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Twoooooooooooooooooooooooooo…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child, throwing food: (SHRIEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!”)

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “NO! I MEAN IT THIS TIME! One………!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child, running and screaming around the restaurant: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Twooooooooooooooo…!!!! I mean it this time!!!! Twooooooooooooooooooo…!!!!!!”

Pajama Child: “NO, YOU! CAN’T MAKE ME! BYE-BYE! BYE-BYE-BYE!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Do you need a spanking? I mean it this time!”



I blame the teachers and Donald Trump. I mean it. No, really. I mean it this time.

Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco

He sat on the old board fence, his chair of state
All spiffy in his Sunday-pressed khakis
Though he wasn't much for going to church
And his Other Hat, still a farmer’s hat

With his teeth and his workworn, sunburnt hand
(The other hand somehow mislaid in France)
He played the paper and ‘baccy and tag
Into a censer of sacred sweet smoke

And all us little boys watched him in awe
And hoped for the bag with its little string draw

"Killed in Uncertain Circumstances" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“Killed in Uncertain Circumstances”

In re John Cornford, 1936

One of the many bad things about being
A fervent Communist organizer is
That pretty soon some other Communists
Organize you

Crew Quarters and the Mafia - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Crew Quarters and the Mafia

When I was a-serving of their majesties Brown and Root

Rows of racks under aquarium lights
And scattered paperbacks: Louis L’Amour
Bravo Company battlefield yarns, (love)-books
About blonde hot rod babes with really big (pretties)

The crew, all older than I, were better books:
Mechanics, enginemen, crane operators
Welders, riggers, radiomen, divers
Draftsmen for the “as built” modifications

The cook was a nervous man from New Jersey
He looked over his shoulder and dropped things

Sailing a September Sea with You - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Sailing a September Sea with You

When you sigh, tucked cozily beneath my arm
Are you thinking of a lover in the past
That worthy youth who was the first to sail
With you out into that wider, wilder sea?

How vain of me to wish that I had been
that sailor, how foolish, for here you are -
I think you’re laughing at me, and well you should
Are you as happy to be here as I am?

Growing old was not part of my master plan
The sea and I are both old now, but you –

                                           You are forever young

No Doubt the Polyester is Decaying as it Should - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

No Doubt the Polyester is Decaying as it Should

Is there a man of such steely self-control
Of such virtue, character, fortitude
Strength and pride in his manly role
Confidence and heart and stern attitude

Valor, endurance, resolution, will
Courage, patience, defiance, intellect
Manliness, ruggedness, rock-like, chill
Decision, quality, all cool and collect

That he doesn’t have to go and upchuck
Whenever he hears that “Desiderata” muck?

A Farm Boy Smiles at the Moon; the Moon Smiles Back - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Farm Boy Smiles at the Moon; the Moon Smiles Back

A child smiles at the moon; the moon smiles back
For they are friends, you see, both peek-a-boo
Behind and through the leaves of their favorite oak
In an ancient world that is forever young

Adults are children who have forgotten how
To see, and who have lost their bearings, their course
Their pirate-maps for sailing to the stars
And their lunar love-letters to be read in dreams

Among the fireflies, on the cooling-dusk field
A child smiles at the moon; the moon smiles back

Nova Scotia and Newfoundland Do Not Exist - rhyming doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Nova Scotia and Newfoundland Do Not Exist

An American weather boy considers the storm
And all its tracks upon a glowing map
A hurricane by shape and scale and form
Roaring northeast through a low-pressure gap

There is nothing beyond holy New York City
Some unexplored land masses, it may be
Lost in the Atlantic (which is blue and pretty)
Where the hurricane will be harmless, you see

With a flip of his hand, they are dismissed:
Nova Scotia and Newfoundland do not exist

The School-to-Jail Pickup Truck Ride - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

County Prisoners

In the back of a county pickup truck
Odd jobs in lifting this and shifting that
And clearing the other – work gloves, chain saws
A rake, some shovels, water in the cooler

He wipes hot sweat with his zebra-stripe shirt:
“Better than the cells, Mr. H, much better
Sun and fresh air; it ain’t so bad, you know
A little hard work never hurt nobody

It was that old devil dope; I couldn’t say no…”

“Enough of that now, boys; we got to go.”

Senior Year - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Senior Year

You wake up in the morning and you know

You’ll only be all wrong again today
A prisoner of constant condemnation
And even your silence is suspicious

Your soul dissected for any dissent

Examined with sneering disapproval
And any hope is hissed with decent scorn
Your silence is especially suspicious
 
But maybe…

Maybe today – maybe it will be different…

You foolish boy; how wrong you always are

Harris Famous Roach Tablets - Doggerel (or roachherel)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Harris Famous Roach Tablets

Since 1922

When roaches sense the coming winter
Into your palace, house, or flat they enter

Remember this, as each critter encroaches:
If you have a clean house you’ll have clean roaches

But…

They’ll eat your books, your food, your shoes, your clothes
Give them a chance and they’ll bite off your nose!

They’ll eat your cat, your hat, your baby brother -
They are even pleased to eat each other!

Unless you give them a taste of the Harris
Roaches – oh, ick! - might devour all of Paris

So serve them with Harris, and watch them die
With their quivering feet straight up to the sky

It’s up to you…

No queen, no king, no president, no pope
Need ever think about some cockroach dope

But you do



(I have no connection with the fine folks of Harris Famous Roach Tablets; however, my short-lived household roaches do.)

For the First of September - poem (possibly a re-post)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

September Twilight

The gasping summer heat withdraws at dusk
The hot winds still themselves, and now defer
To autumn’s promise and an easy truce
Sol slips behind the trees; the empty sky

Takes little note and fades among the stars
The summer grass is tired, but, bravely green,
Hosts cricket games for pouncing cats and dogs
Points cheered by choirs of cicadas and frogs

This is the thinking time. The book’s at rest
Unread, face down upon a lichened bench
While votive fire glows in its copper bowl
And dryads whisper in the gathering dusk

Ancestors seem to gather round, to mark
The changing seasons on their holy earth
And tho’ their tread no longer makes a sound
Their merry tales more remembered than heard

Their happy presence in the first-star-hour
Reminds us that whatever-was remains
And will remain until the calling of time