Friday, January 31, 2020

"Deputies Have Discovered Human Remains" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

“Deputies Have Discovered Human Remains”

-headline

So that’s it, then. Human remains, that’s all
A barefoot child running around the yard
Then choosing what crayon as a favorite color
Learning to carve letters with a Number Two

First tooth, first school, first love, first kiss, first miss
Tricycle, bicycle, school bus, an old car
With a funny pet name, skint knee, toothache
Not understanding why she walked away

And at the end of all those loves and pains –
“Deputies have discovered human remains”

Thursday, January 30, 2020

Electric Groundhog - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Electric Groundhog

Electric groundhog – that sounds like the title of a 1960s book of free verse.

However, PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) wants an electric groundhog to replace the real groundhog that those old drunks…um…bon vivants in Pennsylvania wake up and display on Candlemas morning.

The bogus tradition is that if the groundhog sees his shadow on Groundhog Day there will be six more weeks of Super Bowl advertisements or something. Thus, for no logical reason, the boys put on funny hats, get tanked…um…merry, go out into the frosty dawn, and rouse a groundhog out of his sleep to observe whether the critter sees his shadow.

If a groundhog can see his shadow, the wobbly old fellows can too, so there is no point to bothering the groundhog.

Sometimes the groundhog also sees it that way. In 2009 New York’s Mayor Michael Bloomberg tried to hustle a grouchy groundhog into action and was justly bitten.

If that’s not a qualification for the presidency, well, I don’t know what is.

I’m talking about the groundhog, of course.

PETA feels that a groundhog shouldn’t be awakened at dawn, and there are millions and millions of workers who feel exactly the same.

Maybe the Groundhog Groupies could try waking up a sophomore? Now there would be a challenge.

If some mad scientist (“It’s alivvvvve!”) cobbles together an electric groundhog I will be interested in seeing it take a bite out of an electric mayor.

The news about the poor groundhog being awakened before dawn reminds us of this old wheeze:

Mother: “C’mon, child, get up; you’ll be late for school.”

Daughter: “I don’t wanna go to school!”

Mother: “You HAVE to go to school.”

Daughter: “WHYYYYYYY? The teachers don’t like me. The kids at school don’t like me. Even the lunch lady doesn’t like me. WHY do I have to go to school!?”

Mother: “Because you’re the principal, that’s why!”

Cheers!

-30-

But What About the High-Hanging Fruit? - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

But What About the High-Hanging Fruit?

The last of the autumn apples, perhaps
Or the long-ago love that passed us by
Never falling to the Telescopic Fruit Picker
From Garrett Wade, $37.50

(I’ve got one of those, and it works just fine)

Or maybe pears, ‘way up among the leaves
Where dreams of better days to come were lost
To the old and tattered bushel-basket
That rotted away in the tractor shed

Then was it wrong to look high up for truth
That flew beyond our reach, our sight, our hopes?

Wednesday, January 29, 2020

Chat Details - When an Internet Service Suffers Its Own Systems Failure - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Chat Details –
When an Internet Service Suffers Its Own Systems Failure,
and in Which this Scrivener Encounters that Rarity,
a Customer Service Agent with a Brain


Luis Z (9:15:51 PM):

Thank you for contacting (Anapest)
Internet Customer Care. I'm happy
to help you today! Please give me just a
moment to review your account information
and I'll be right with you.


Luis Z (9:16:42 PM):

                                           Hello, Lawrence.
How are you?


Me (9:17:10 PM):

                               Fine, thanks.


Luis Z (9:17:32 PM):

                                                      I see you've contacted
us due you're trying to pay your bill, is that
correct?


Me (9:17:41 PM):

Yes.


Luis Z (9:18:16 PM):

                                       Lawrence, at this time we are
currently experiencing a system outage
which prevents me from accessing your account.
We apologize for the inconvenience.
Would you kindly call us back in 2 hours so that
we can complete this transaction once our systems
are back to normal? Is there anything else
that I can assist you with?


Me (9:19:00 PM):

                                               There is an irony

in an internet service unable
to access the internet.


Me (9:19:15 PM):

                                       Thanks for your note,
but in two hours I will be asleep.


Me (9:19:30 PM):

I can try tomorrow morning, if that's okay.


Luis Z (9:20:07 PM):

Thanks


Luis Z (9:20:10 PM):

                   That's okay


Luis Z (9:20:27 PM):

                                           Besides informing you about
the network outage, is there anything else
I can do for you today?


Me (9:20:31 PM):

                                          I trust I
won't be receiving any late / overdue
notices from (Anapest)?


Luis Z (9:21:06 PM):

                                           No


Me (9:21:39 PM):

                                                   Very good.
Thanks.


Luis Z (9:21:50 PM):

Lawrence, it has been a pleasure helping you
out! If there is nothing else I can help
you with at this time, thank you for chatting
with (Anapest) Internet. We appreciate
your business. I hope you have a great day!

Tuesday, January 28, 2020

An Elegy in January - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

An Elegy in January

For Beverly Jean Keszeg Mixson
of Happy Memory

How very strange that this grey year has passed
In a confusing haste, amorphous and dim
Since that sad January day when life,
All meaning paused, collapsed within itself

Cold February rains fell upon her cairn
But then the happy leaf-time came to bless
That twice-blest earth where memories repose
Warmed by the sun, made golden in the fall

And now the cold has come again

How is it that the seasons flew so fast?
How very strange that one long year has passed

Monday, January 27, 2020

Plimsolls - a little doggerel about boat shoes

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Plimsolls

I didn’t know I was wearing plimsolls
I thought I was wearing tennies
But when I look down at the dim soles -
Plimsolls? Dollars to the pennies!




(When I consider the burdened bathroom scale -
My cargo, too, is at the plimsoll line)

Sunday, January 26, 2020

Robin Hood, Whitman Publishing, 1950s - Photograph


The Purpose of Civilization - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poetricdrivel.blogspot.com

The Purpose of Civilization

The apogee of civilization
Is a small boy sitting under a tree
On a summer day reading wonderful stories
About the adventures of Robin Hood

The small boy may well go to university
Fight in the wars, and someday have a boy
Of his own sitting under a summer tree
Reading those stories about Robin Hood

And we must always remember that the point
Of civilization is that small boys
Are free to sit under trees and read stories
About the adventures of Robin Hood

In youth, in books, and in the summer wood -
Finding there the true, the beautiful, the good

Saturday, January 25, 2020

Searching for a Lost Cemetery - MePhone Photograph


Searching the Woods for an Old Cemetery - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Searching the Woods for an Old Cemetery

For William Tod Mixson

The trail to the cemetery is mostly sand
Layered with leaves, debris, and memories
That fell upon the land, and were absorbed
Into the forest’s ancient unities

If a geologic catastrophe
Immortalizes the marks of our canes 1
In sedimentary rock, the future might wonder
What strange tripeds lived in the distant past

When a couple of ancients, you and I
Along this trail roamed under a winter sky


1 But surely not the Mark of Cain?

Friday, January 24, 2020

Mr. Peanut and the Doomsday Clock - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Mr. Peanut and the Doomsday Clock

…send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for Mr. Peanut

-as John Donne did not say

The Doomsday Clock (shudder) is menacing us again, much like the monsters under Calvin’s bed in the much-missed Calvin and Hobbes cartoon strip.

Children were first threatened with clockworkery around seventy years ago – if you don’t eat all your oatmeal the Doomsday Clock will get you.

Or something like that.

The American people were told that there was a metaphorical doomsday clock and that the hands were set at ten minutes until nuclear destruction and would tick-tock to our fiery end if we did not buy bonds and think pure thoughts.

As the decades have passed, the Doomsday Clock has been dusted off, oiled, and brought out like a fiery Moloch for every crisis that must not be wasted: Communism, the Russians, the Chinese, the military-industrial complex, pollution, global cooling, global warming, A.I.D.S., the Democrats, the Republicans, the Russians again, the Chinese again, Italians, Ukrainians, opioids (but pass me a legal joint, bro), robotics, autonomous cars – we’re ticking doomed, I tell you, dooooooooooooomed!

And, hey, maybe this time it’s true.

After all, Mr. Peanut has been disappeared by the Planters-Nabisco-Kraft-Heinz Continuum and their special operations squad of ticking vegan albino ninja monks.

Planters Peanuts was an American company was created by two Italian immigrants – hey, and you know what those Italians are like, and probably spying for Mussolini – and their mascot was Mr. Peanut Man, a dapper nut-about-town with a top hat, monocle, and cane. He cleverly dropped his Italian accent and became a symbol of all that is great in godly American legumes.

The Planters company, now absorbed by Nabisco-Kraft-Heinz, still makes all sorts of great foods and treats from the humble, nutritious, healthy peanut in the U.S.A., Canada, and the United Kingdom. This suggests the continuation of a nefarious Italian plot to take over the English-speaking world.

Why was Mr. Peanut offed in a purported car accident? Perhaps he knew too much. His death was convenient for someone, right? They say he was sipping on a New Coke while driving his Edsel past the exploding Jack-in-the-Box just before running into Elsie the Borden Cow, but that’s what they – They – would have us believe. And why weren’t the security cameras working?

Well, it was a quicker and more merciful end than that of Chuckles the Clown as Peter Peanut on The Mary Tyler Moore Show.

There are adults whose homes whose clocks and watches are all digital and who then complain that their children don’t know to tell time on a round-faced clock. Yeah, and why don’t they know how to plow behind a mule, hah?

How can our young be destroyed properly if they can’t tell time on a round-faced doomsday clock, hah? You answer me that, hah?

First they came for the tick-tock clocks, and then they came for Mr. Peanut.

It’s a pattern, I tell ya. We’re doomed.

-30-

Wooden Pulleys from my Grandfather's Farm - photograph


Ploughing Across the Gap - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Ploughing Across the Gap

Between old Monterey and Central Park
There must be other lands and other views
And different modes of discourse to be shared
Where surf and subway are not pillars of faith

Surely there are rough poets of the plough
Who speed it through the loam (and spell it “plow”)
Turning over words and ideas and love
And growing truth beyond the furrow’s end

A wheat field or an alligator slough -
Everyone is somewhere – so where are you?

Thursday, January 23, 2020

Dreary January - MePhone Photograph


The Green Meadow Through a Doorbell Camera - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The Green Meadow Through a Doorbell Camera

For Thornton W. Burgess
And all the Little Folk of the Green Meadow

Old Man Coyote and his comrades yip
And howl and bark out in the midnight fields
But closer by, images grey and green
Record the doings of the lesser folk:

Billy Possum ambles across the lawn
In hopes of carrot-ends and potato peels
Bobby Raccoon and Peter Cottontail
Each night stop and exchange the latest news

Timmy the Flying Squirrel is seldom seen
Young Flash the Deer on the edge of the screen
In shyness skitters away into the dark
And Bob Cat claims the whole world as his park

At dawn the little folk will slip away
But they’ll return tonight to browse and play

Wednesday, January 22, 2020

Pushkin for Christmas - MePhone Photograph


Is He Woke? - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Is He Woke?

Yeah, every night about nine ****ed o’clock
To get himself ready for the night shift
Busting his knuckles on those worn-out valves
Up on a cracking tower at the refinery

Yeah, he’s woke.

Tuesday, January 21, 2020

January Dusk - MePhone Photograph


Re-Imagining the University Yet Again - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Re-Imagining the University Yet Again

Federal financial aid cisgender nouns
Labor market outcomes program-level data
Trans-discipline accountability
Post-colonial tuition and fees

De-masculinize this inclusive space
A different business model admissions pool
Competency-based binary evaluations
(Let no one question the chancellor’s pay and perks)

No

If we want civilization among us
Let’s pour ourselves a drink and argue The Good




NB: I employed “chancellor” as a catch-all for administration and the layers of good ol’ boys / good ol’ girls on boards. A correspondent suggested:

As long as you're questioning the chancellor's pay and perks, please also look into the HEAD football coach's salary, housing allowance, automobile and other perks, AND each of the ever-increasing salaries of those many specialized ASSISTANT coaches ... for offensive coordinator, offensive line, quarterbacks, running backs, defensive coordinator, defensive line, linebackers, defensive backfield, special teams, scouting, ...just to name a few.

I reminded my correspondent of the house warden in Doctor Zhivago who resents the eponymous hero for telling the truth, and says, “Your attitude is noticed, you know!”

Monday, January 20, 2020

Teenagers in the Book Store - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Teenagers in the Book Store

“Only the solitary seek the truth”
-Boris Pasternak

There were three, two of them flitting about
The third was sitting cross-legged on the floor
In a sweater and jeans, her shoes kicked off
Quite lost in a slender paperback of verse

The gum-chewer in charge, flying a toy dragon
An obedient girl following him
Approached and announced “We’re going.
“I said we’re going. Hey, I said we’re going - NOW.”

In camouflaged defiance the reader arose
And shelved her book,
                                     and smiled,
                                                          and whispered to me



“Thank you”



And I don’t know why

Sunday, January 19, 2020

The Question Chernyshevsky and Lenin Asked - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com




The Question Chernyshevsky and Lenin Asked


 What is to be done?

On Monday there will be marches and rioting
Comrades and Activists and Anti-Thats
Bombs with the right hand, selfies with the left -
(Will anyone stay home and milk the cows?)

The tattoos of the Second Amendmenters
Will bristle at those of the New Red Guard
As trash bins burn in holy sacrifice –
(But who will wash the streets tomorrow dawn?)

They all scream for a Revolution, you’ll note -
(But did any of them ever bother to vote?)

Saturday, January 18, 2020

Socialist Capitalist Brutalist Health Care - a poem of protest

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Socialist Capitalist Brutalist Health Care

“Health care was affordable before it became free”
-many attributions

For FamousNameBrand Healthcare, Medicare, and a collection agency

Another bill for the CPAP today
This time from a collection agency
For an old machine paid for years ago
By Medicare, private insurance, and me

Contracts, receipts, copies of letters and notes
Are nothing to the computerized continuum
Along which elderly humans are abandoned
To drown in a miasma of incessant demands

Like the DVA they just seem to scoff:
Have the workers pay more and then
                                                  die off

Friday, January 17, 2020

Saint Anthony, Abbot, Had a Rabbit - nonsense

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Saint Anthony, Abbot, Had a Rabbit

Saint Anthony, Abbot
Had a rabbit
Who
Chewed his shoe



(This bit of nonsense came to me in the pre-dawn several years ago while noting the date, 17 January, on the nice church calendar the funeral home gave me.)

Thursday, January 16, 2020

The House Speaker's Souvenir Pens - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

The House Speaker’s Souvenir Pens

Not that a wise American quite trusts any news report, especially via the InterGossip, but apparently Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi really did hand out as souvenirs the dozens of pens she used with all due solemnity (cough) to sign the articles of impeachment. Even CNN found this somewhat embarrassing (https://edition.cnn.com/politics/live-news/trump-impeachment-live-01-15-2020/index.html).

The pens, stamped on the barrels with “Nancy Pelosi” in gold ink, were said to have been borne into the ceremony on a silver platter, but the photograph on CNN suggests that there were three platters in proletarian stainless steel. Maybe someone found a bargain at Goodwill.

The choice of metals could be a matter of controlling the budget or appealing to The People: one imagines that after the seven impeachment managers danced for the House Speaker she might have cried (but probably didn’t), “Bring me, on a proletarian stainless steel platter, the dignity of the congress!”

It could have been worse; the Speaker might have chosen to reflect the gravitas of a formal accusation of crimes against the nation by handing out balloons, helium-filled balloons at that, so that our conscript fathers and mothers could all talk like Donald Duck.

A few of them talk like Donald Duck anyway.

I believe that district attorneys and grand juries prefer to distribute fun-filled goodie bags for felony indictments.

Anticipate rubber duckies at the next state funeral.

If you look carefully at John Trumbull’s 1817 painting of the Declaration of Independence you can see, behind Hillary Clinton’s foot, the cardboard boxes of souvenir kazoos.

It is curious that in our state and local elections we the people are almost always presented with worthy choices of candidates for office. In local elections we are often presented with an embarrassment of riches, good men and women on both party tickets.

Why, then, do our two dominant parties fail to present Americans with serious candidates, men and women of genuine gravitas, for the highest offices, instead of oddballs of the sort who show up on YouTube and on doorbell cameras?


Bias note: Dear Reader, Y’r ‘Umble and Non-Nobel-Prize Winning Scrivener doesn’t like ANY of the personalities mentioned above, and would rather vote for you.

-30-


The House Speaker's Souvenir pens - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The House Speaker’s Souvenir Pens

On a stainless steel tray bring us the prize
The dignity of Congress, like a sightless head
Now as stacks of souvenir pens to be flung
Like elementary-school giveaway treats

And bring us the President’s latest twoots
Festooned with coarse slurs and obscenities
His feral howls to a republic in decay
Amid the plastic pillars of puffery

But let this be the theme of our closing hymn:
We truly have no respect for any of them

Wednesday, January 15, 2020

"I Went to Vietnam to Understand America's Role..." - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

“I Went to Vietnam to Understand America’s Role in Its History
and Was Blown Away by What I Learned”

A young writer for (Famous Travel Magazine)
Reports that she journeyed to Viet-Nam
And was blown away by what she learned there

Blown away

Sure

Tuesday, January 14, 2020

Death and Dentistry - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Death and Dentistry

How easy it is to cry “Invictus!”
And babble about one’s unconquerable soul
or even
“Rage, rage, against the dying of the light!”

On those days when one hasn’t chipped a tooth

Monday, January 13, 2020

Bus Fare for the Common Man - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Bus Fare for the Uncommon Man

With a transfer to Mission Beach

A set of civvies from the 4.0 Locker Club
Which fool no one; the hair is a sailor’s cut
That book of free verse everyone’s talking about
And a transfer to Mission Beach in hand

We rocket by stops down Lower Broadway
From Horton Square, palm trees and cigarettes
A KOGO radio ad on the back
Salesgirls on, sailors off, YMCA

I’m riding to Mission Beach to read and think –
We could have coffee. And talk. Will I see you there?

Sunday, January 12, 2020

Descartes Saw Nothing - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Descartes Saw Nothing

A Cartesian measures:

A pre-adolescent human xx centimeters tall displacing varying amounts of turbid water of a certain ph in a tributary stream which at 1326 hours Central Standard Time channels the flow of xxx liters of water a minute in a southeasterly direction through a climax forest of mixed hardwoods, predominantly oak (97%), and other species (3%, unmarketable). Append a minimum of five peer-refereed sources formatted as per the APA and submit – submit – via pdf.

But you and I see:

A little child laughing and splashing in joy
Laughing and splashing in the shady creek
Barefoot, muddy foot in the creek, probably
Against her loving parents’ stern instructions

On a glorious Robin Hood summer day

Saturday, January 11, 2020

The Beginning of Etiquette - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


The Beginning of Etiquette

Don’t lapse into low-prole defensiveness
About getting the settings properly spaced
Such is important, but for elegance
Just start with your heart; the rest falls into place

Don’t forget the napkins, set the plates so
Upon the tablecloth with its delicate lace
Silverware all in an orderly row
And never, ever neglect to say grace

Honor your guests and give thanks to God:
Anything less would be lacking and odd

Friday, January 10, 2020

Daf Yomi - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


Daf Yomi

The daily Daf Yomi will not make me
A better Jew; I am not a Jew at all
And Talmud is not a fashionable therapy
For it is not a therapy at all

Then why subscribe to a daily study page?
For much the same reason as one takes breath
Or turns aside to see a Burning Bush
Or wonders at that Voice whispering at night

The daily Daf Yomi will not make me -
I turn aside to read it because it burns



community@myjewishlearning.com

https://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/ritual-and-observance/296538/daf-yomi-288-siyum-final

Thursday, January 9, 2020

A Full Moon, a Vapor Trail, and a Star - MePhone Photograph 1.9.2020


A Full Moon, a Vapor Trail, and a Star - a happy poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

A Full Moon, a Vapor Trail, and a Star

The night is disturbed – there will be storms tomorrow
Wild wind, wild rain, tornado watches and warnings
The air has been warm and dark and heavy all day
And now grim clouds are massing for a rally

But suddenly the moon breaks free of them
Of wind, of clouds, of earth, of limitations
And joined by a vapor trail and a star
Sails a silent journey for all of us

The night is disturbed – there will be storms tomorrow
But know that soon the moon will sail us to

Our hearts’ desires











Wednesday, January 8, 2020

The President will Lie to the American People at Eleven - an unhappy poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

The President will Lie to the American People at Eleven

In illo tempore:

When President Eisenhower spoke on the radio
We stopped everything, and listened to him
He was the President, and spoke the truth
He was the President, and could do no other

When President Kennedy spoke on the tv
We stopped everything, and listened to him
He was the President, and spoke the truth
He was the President, and could do no other

In diebus nostris:

And now when a president speaks at all
We assume that he is lying again, and will do no other

Finding Iran on a Map - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Finding Iran on a Map

“Teheran moves fast – everywhere I went, Iran.”

-a very old wheeze

The ambush question is asked: Can you find Iran on a map? (https://morningconsult.com/2020/01/08/can-you-locate-iran-few-voters-can/)

Someone who asks you a trivia question has first looked it up himself (the pronoun is gender-neutral), of course, just to score a transient feeling of superiority over at The Old Men’s Corner.

Quick, find Bessarabia on this blank map. Ha. Thought so. You dummy. You don’t even know where Bessarabia is. And you think you’re so smart.

Morning Consult says that a third of American voters can’t find Iran on a map.

Well, really, do you want to find Iran on a map?

If so, just take out your MePhone, type in “Iran,” and you’ll find maps and statistics and the fascinating history of Persia / Iran, one of the oldest countries in the world.

A greater challenge for American voters is finding their local voting booth. Only about 50% of the electorate vote in presidential elections, while only a few, lonely souls, like tormented characters in a novel by Dostoyevsky, vote in local and school board elections, which are far more important.

If you read anything about the geography, history, and culture of Persia, even on a Wickedpedia site, you will probably know more about the reasons for conflict than our leaders.

A good place to begin with the modern history of Iran is: http://origins.osu.edu/article/frenemies-iran-and-america-1900. There are reasons why Iran, Britain, Russia, and the USA have such complex love-hate relationships.

There are, by the way, lots of now middle-aged Americans who were born in Iran in happier times.

Pictures of life in pre-revolutionary Iran are easily sourced. This site is typical:

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5103795/Fascinating-photos-Iran-1979-revolution.html

By the way, there is no draft, hasn’t been since 1973, and there will never again be a draft. Young men (not women) still must register, and no one seems to know why.

Finally, feel free to challenge me to find Bessarabia on a map. I did look it up, but now I have forgotten.

-30-

Sunlight on the Floor of the Flying J - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Sunlight on the Floor of the Flying J

“Light breaks where no sun shines”

-Dylan Thomas

To get to the floor light starts with the sun
About 92 million miles from here
Eight minutes
Unless a photon wrecks along the way
And everyone must wait for a cosmic tow

Sunbeams slant silently across the sky
And in formation past our coffee cups
So fast
Down past our table, and ever more down
Until they land on the freshly-mopped tiles

I take a picture of the sunlit floor
Because I am so easily amused

Light is fun

Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Doorbell Spy Cameras of Omnipresent Spookery - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Doorbell Spy Cameras of Omnipresent Spookery

“Be seeing you.”

-Patrick McGoohan, The Prisoner

Electric eyes and subtle microphones
Click and glow in anticipation of crimes
Against the sanctity of packages and porch
By trespassers (sometimes my dearest friends)

Beyond the nightly possums, Bob the Cat
Deedra’s little Tuxedo, squirrels, and raccoons
We humans mostly see and hear each other
So I must learn to mind what I do and say

We need no baleful elves upon bookshelves -
We pay a fee to spy upon ourselves!

Monday, January 6, 2020

But the Magi Did Arrive - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


But the Magi Did Arrive

We can’t be sure when the Magi arrived
Or where
                       But if they hadn’t arrived at all
They still would have arrived because they began
Even if their bones in the desert disappeared

We can’t be sure of the meanings in their gifts
Or why
                       But if they had been stolen
The gifts would still have been given anyway
Because the Magi gave themselves to Him

We can’t be sure of most things, only of the journey
And the journey always leads to where He is

Sunday, January 5, 2020

Feast of the Epiphany (which is not about Epiphany) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
From 2006:

Feast of the Epiphany

Grey days recede into dreary, drizzling dusks
Baptismal rains across the windows slip
And even the candlelight is not proof
Against the gathering gloom of heartfall

Shakespeare leans uncertainly on the shelf
And agonizes over his writer’s block
Milton is writing yet another tract
On faith while smoking Players cigarettes

Warnie and Jack are out for a brisk walk
And Tollers is busy correcting proofs
Under a yellow puddle of lamplight
Bleak Spenser in his grief Kilcolman weeps

We all hold castles abandoned and burnt
Friendships grown mouldy, squabbles unresolved
Walks not taken, rough drafts uncorrected
Pipes gone quite out, cups of tea gotten cold

Has it been that long since I saw you last?
Come in; I’ll put the kettle on for tea
Just leave your coat and brolly by the door
Come sit by the fire; come, and talk with me

Saturday, January 4, 2020

Old Men Rattling Their Made-in-China Forks of War - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Old Men Rattling Their Made-in-China Forks of War

For us lads of eighteen they ought to have been mediators and guides…
While they continued to write and talk, we saw the wounded and the dying.

-Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front, p. 11

The old men rattle their made-in-China forks
And, yes, their dentures too, gumming stern death
Upon the breakfast special with war-like barks
Killing sausage and treason with their coffee-breath

Their stereotypes fly like missiles in the mist
By-Gods and f-bombs and quotes from Patton
Blasting targets that don’t even exist
Imaginary machine guns rat-a-tat-tattin’

“All these here snowflakes, they oughta go!”
The waitress asks, “Another cuppa joe?”

Friday, January 3, 2020

A Box of Tissues in the Top, Right-Hand Desk Drawer - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

A Box of Tissues in the Top, Right-Hand Desk Drawer

Every good teacher keeps a box of tissues in reach
(The bad ones don’t)
For adolescents racketed in tears
For adolescence bracketed by fears

One must not, dare not hug a hurting child
(Oh, fashionable fear!)
But a tissue is safe, and gentle words
And after school a tissue-silent prayer

Every good teacher keeps a box of tissues in reach
And kindness too

Thursday, January 2, 2020

Celebrating Talmud - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Celebrating Talmud

How could it be otherwise?
For even as the Temple burned
Our teachers gathered
     Their thoughts
     Their notes
     And us
And made the Mishna and the Gemera
Our Temple in exile

Wednesday, January 1, 2020

No Dead Bodies on the Lawn, Please - a poem for the new year

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

No Dead Bodies on the Lawn, Please

There are no dead bodies on the lawn at dawn
So the new year is beginning well enough
No worse than last year at least, when each day
Featured on the calendar of disappointments

There are no dead hopes on the lawn at dawn
The air is cool, the overcast is low
Early-morning silence promises peace
And squirrels are frisking in the front-yard oaks

There are no dead dreams on the lawn at dawn
But both the day and the year are new – just wait