Monday, November 11, 2024

Which Karamazov are You? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Which Karamazov are You?

 

Wise Dostoyevksy

Writes with holy words the mysteries  

Of the Russian soul

Which Karamazov are You? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Which Karamazov are You?

 

Wise Dostoyevksy

Writes with holy words the mysteries  

Of the Russian soul

Saturday, November 9, 2024

For Remembrance Day / Veterans' Day: An Old G.I. Belt Buckle - Poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

An Old G.I. Belt Buckle

 

 

For Storekeeper Third Class Thomas of Knoxville, Tennessee

 

“What he believed, he did.”

 

-Laurence Binyon

 

“In Memory of George Calderon”

 

 

An old belt buckle in the back of a shelf

Greening brass on a belt now much too short

Maybe the same one I wore on the Vam Co Tay

Scattered thoughts shift to Thomas; I don’t know why

 

A good man with a clipboard and a fifty-cal

Sitting on the edge of a bunk feeding a child

Spooning c-rats and making the kid laugh

“One for meeee…and one for youuuu!”

 

I wonder whatever happened to good ‘ol Thomas

I wonder whatever happened to the child

 

I wonder whatever happened to all of us

Friday, November 8, 2024

Atheist Chaplains Forging Mixed Metaphors - poem (of a sort)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Atheist Chaplains Forging Mixed Metaphors

 

“Atheist chaplains are forging a new path in a changing world”

 

-CNN 7 November 2024

 

One seldom thinks of chaplains at a forge

Work-weary, work-stained from hours of smoke and sweat

With mighty hammer strokes bending hot iron

To the will of the artisan in useful things

 

Some writers forge nothing but metaphors tired

From overuse, and mixed as verbal soup

In music, art, literature, and life paths can be

 

Cleared

Paved

Traveled

Surveyed

explored

Followed

Noted

Marked

Mapped

Found

 

But it is not in the nature of paths to be forged

 

Atheist chaplains and metaphor soup

Are nothing more than an ouroborosian loop

 

(Look upon this fresh metaphor and neologism

And despair)

Monday, November 4, 2024

Election Night 2024: Dry Bones - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Election Night 2024: Dry Bones

 

 

“All we are, basically, are monkeys with car keys”

 

-Grandma Woody in Northern Exposure, “Animals R Us,” 1991

 

 

An early dusk falls under clouds from the Gulf

Yellow houselights wink on as daylight winks off

Supper in greasy bags from fast-fooderies

That everyone argues they can’t afford

 

Then like the lozenge in A Space Odyssey

A screen appears and dominates all

And family groupings center themselves around it

In excited cavortings before the images

 

Of brightly-colored cultic election scores

As fists swinging dry bones crush enemy skulls

Sunday, November 3, 2024

Nora, Theo, and Pushkin-the-Rescue-Cat - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Nora, Theo, and Pushkin-the-Rescue-Cat

 

After rough adventures Pushkin has found his way home

The children celebrate with him his happy new life

By crowning their purring prince with vines and flowers

And he is pleased to accept their adoration and love

 

Too soon children must leave their merriments

And rebuild civilization among the wreckages

In a time of hatreds and ideologies

When all seem to have forgotten the way to Jerusalem

 

And so for now

 

May children enjoy the springtime of their lives

For they (and the cat) remind us of our appointed path

Friday, November 1, 2024

Porta Coeli - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Porta Coeli

 

“I pray you, sir, remember the porter”

 

-Macbeth II.iii.20ff

 

We are all porters; we open doors for others

Sometimes we open them for ourselves

If we close a door, it is against the rain and cold

And not against each other

 

(Yes, in Macbeth the Porter is drunk and inept, and when he says “remember the porter” he is asking for a tip in spite of his incompetence. I put the line in anyway because we are all porters.)

Monday, October 28, 2024

The Most Embarrassed Young Father in All of Christendom - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Most Embarrassed Young Father in All of Christendom

 

I will go in to the Altar of God.

To God who giveth joy to my youth.

 

The Roman Missal, 1962

 

The processional had hardly ended

With each minister and server in place

Each knee for a moment respectfully bended

In acknowledgement of God’s gentle Grace

 

When came to our ears a frightening assault

Of sirens and horns, and then flashing lights

Beneath the sanctuary’s sacred vault

A catalogue of wild electronic frights

 

To the narthex door a father rushed

Awkwardly in the sight of God and man

His handsome manly face was deeply flushed

His son’s toy helicopter was clutched in his hands

 

He carried the noisy gadget far away -

(A true helicopter parent we may say!)

We delight in our children; for them we pray

And thank God for all families this Sabbath day

 

I will go in to the Altar of God.

To God who giveth youthful joy to old age.

 

-Parenting 1301

Sunday, October 27, 2024

The Sunday Evening News in a Time of Elections - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Sunday Evening News in a Time of Elections

 

“Good things of day begin to droop and drowse”

 

-Macbeth III.ii.58

 

Suddenly the yellowing afternoon is still

For Indian Summer breezes have slipped away

While clouds of silent midges swirl against the sun

For reasons of nature known only to themselves

 

The treeline is blue as evening comes on

But the hayfields glow golden for a little while

Until Old Sol falls asleep at last

And the firstling stars come out to play

 

A rabbit shyly nibbles at the dewing grass –

The day is over; we have to let it pass

Saturday, October 26, 2024

A Plumber's Assistant, a Nazi, and an Artificial Tree - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Plumber’s Assistant, a Nazi, and an Artificial Tree

 

Nazi Rally in Madison Square Garden, 10 February 1939

 

Isadore Greenbaum wanted to punch a Nazi

And so he charged – he didn’t get very far

And was beaten up by Real Americans (cough)

          (It took only four or five of ‘em)

And arrested by the New York City Police

 

One Nazi stopped kicking Greenbaum to set aright

An artificial tree that was about to fall

Which is a curiosity – what remnant of good

Was in that man that he kept a decoration in place?

 

Greenbaum is a hero in our nation’s history -

The tidy Nazi remains a mystery

I Hear America Whining - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

I Hear America Whining

 

The world’s fattest people, packin’ the pounds

Driving in to McDonald’s whenever struck by the mood

And then to the beer joint, drinking in rounds

While complaining about the price of food

Friday, October 25, 2024

Torah is Written with Flames - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Torah is Written with Flames

 

English letters are as orderly as a battle line

But Hebrew letters are flames in their shining shapes

Even on a printed page they dance in light

And with Light comes Truth; you can see God in them

 

For Hebrew letters are the Burning Bush

The fires of Mount Horeb, the Temple sacrifice

The light of a Talmud scholar’s study lamp

The light of Torah upon civilization

 

We don’t know our letters as well as we should

But God has written them upon our hearts

Tuesday, October 22, 2024

Driving Home After Work: "Thus Spake Zarathustra" on the Radio - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Driving Home After Work:

“Thus Spake Zarathustra” on the Radio

 

The first few bars must always remind us of

That space movie from the future long ago

With sophomores beating each other up

Or anyone trying to spell “Zarathustra “

 

Without looking it up; no spelling now

Driving into a drought-red setting sun

The vapours of chemicals, road tar, dust

Allergens drifting among the toxins

 

Poetry sorts meaning from chaos seeming -

Maybe not tonight (Sneeze!)

We are All Children When We Attempt Haiku

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

We are All Children When We Attempt Haiku

 

We all write Haiku

We’re not any good at it

But we honor the Shijin

SNL: Because Men Who Betray women are so Amusing

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

SNL: Because Men Who Betray Women are so Amusing

 

Re: Bang-Bang Baldwin

 

A man shoots a woman

For which another woman takes the fall

And Saturday Night Live

Is okay with it all

Saturday, October 19, 2024

Cardinal Dolan Kisses King Herod's (Hands) - doggerel

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The High Priest Kisses King Herod’s (Hands)

 

His Eminence the Cardinal of New York

 

The High Priest kisses King Herod’s (hands)

And joins him for a feast of mockeries and lies

Giving the tyrant for his crimes a pass

Laughing at Truth as civilization dies

 

Over lobster and beef they pity the poor

While robed in white ties and evening gowns

And silken ecclesiastical couture

(One of them has visions of papal crowns)

 

Gluttony and scorn at a rented manse -

All that is missing is Salome’s dance

 

2024 Al Smith dinner raises record $10 million, but decorum takes a back seat: Photo gallery - The Dialog

Thursday, October 17, 2024

The First Barn-Jacket Morning in Autumn - haiku

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The First Barn-Jacket Morning in Autumn

 

Dawn – windy and cold

The first barn-jacket morning

Wild geese singing south

Tuesday, October 15, 2024

The Kittens Come on Little Fog Feet - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Kittens Come on Little Fog Feet

 

As Carl Sandburg did not say

 

At dawn: coffee and the Wordle and thoughts

The moon’s still full, but one last star winks out

The dew-bathed oaks drip onto a tricky word

Fog drifts in silence among the tricky light

 

A little paw stirs soft autumn’s molding leaves

And then two eyes appear, and a greeting tail

The forming image of the cat completes itself

And then another – two abandoned cats

 

These tiny orphans approach – and love begins

To them I pledge

They will never be hungry or lonely again

Sunday, October 13, 2024

On Reading THREE HUNDRED TANG POEMS - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

On Reading Three Hundred Tang Poems

 

From The Jade Mountain they came

300 Tang dreams

Each in its well-ordered frame

Cups adrift in streams

 

The ancients speak to us still

Wisdom from the high

Each word a clear-flowing rill

Each a song, a sigh

 

 

Three Hundred Tang Poems

Translated and edited by Peter Harris

© 2009 by Peter Harris

Typeset in Somerset, England

Printed and bound on Possneck, Germany

Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets

New York: Knopf

Toronto: Penguin Random House

London: Everyman’s Library

Saturday, October 12, 2024

An Autumn Flight - haiku

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

An Autumn Flight

 

A leaf fell, a leaf

A life of summer in flight

In bright golden flight

Friday, October 11, 2024

A Dixson Ticonderoga #2 Pencil from 1955 - poem and photograph

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Dixon Ticonderoga #2 Pencil from 1955

 

Neither plans nor bathroom vents last forever

The workmen pulled down the old one from ‘55

Amid a tumble of old nails and bits of wood:

A Dixon Ticonderoga #2

 

The yellow paint a little aged now

The green metal ring a little bit dull

The eraser now hardened beyond all use

The point well-sharpened with a pocketknife

 

What sturdy craftsman from the long ago

Measured out his work - I’d like to know


Thursday, October 10, 2024

One Does Not Pre-Imagine Pre-Edward R. Murrow Pre-Babbling - not exactly a poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

One Does Not Pre-Imagine Pre-Edward R. Murrow Pre-Babbling

 

A Lesson in Clear Writing for Journalists

 

Hunker down, swath of destruction, hunker down, write your Social Security number on your arm, hunker down, eerie, hunker down, monster, hunker down, time ticking down / away, hunker down, pre-positioned, hunker down, pre-planned, hunker down, pre-need (and maybe even pre-hunker down), hunker down, pre-deployed, hunker down, spooky (and possibly pre-spooky), hunker down, snapped like matchsticks (“Daddy, what’s a matchstick?”), hunker down, doomed paradise, hunker down, paradise lost, hunker down, lost paradise, hunker down, apocalypse, hunker down, biblical, hunker down, storm of the century (again?), hunker down, doomed, hunker down, doomed, hunker down, pummeled, hunker down, pummeled, hunker down, pummeled, hunker down, power lines brightly bursting, hunker down, eerie calm, hunker down, eerie quiet, hunker down, birds chirping, hunker down, unexpected sparks, hunker down, hazards are unfolding, hunker down, street lamps waver, hunker down, one-two punch, hunker down, what we know, hunker down, hunker down, hunker down

Tuesday, October 8, 2024

A Treatise on the Burrowing Habits of Dachshunds - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Treatise on the Burrowing Habits of Dachshunds

 

A dachshund will burrow under the garden fence

For every dachshund thinks she is a wolf

A fearsome apex predator with a squeaky toy -

This is in the nature of dachshunds

 

A dachshund will burrow into your tightly-closed hand

Nosing out the doggie treat you have hidden there

A fearsome apex predator and omnivore -

This is in the nature of dachshunds

 

A dachshund bill burrow into your end-of-day lap

Watching both the television and the cats

A fearsome apex predator drooling on your book -

This is in the nature of dachshunds

 

A dachshund will burrow, borrow, beg, and bark

And in her foreshadowing of that better World to come

A dachshund will burrow deeply into your heart -

And love you forever

 

This is in the nature of dachshunds

 

And of you

Friday, October 4, 2024

Falling Into Truth - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

                                 Falling Into Truth

 

The fall of October’s leaves is nothing new

Except that it is – this leaf never fell before

And we were never here to watch this leaf

Because we and the leaf were somewhere else

 

Except that we were, we are, we will be

A little leaf, each of us, springtime-new

Then dancing merrily the summer through

Now floating gently into a winter’s sleep

 

A coverlet soft, a hymn, a night-light moon

Sleep - sleep – another spring is coming soon

Thursday, October 3, 2024

WE ARE AMERICANS! We Buy Toilet Paper and Fight, Fight, Fight! - a sort-of poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Dock Workers’ Strike – BUY TOILET PAPER!

 

WE ARE AMERICANS!

 

Whenever threatened by enemies furry or domestic

By hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes, storms

By shortages of food, water, and electric power

By aliens stalking us and eating our cats

By famine, fire, dispossession, revolution

 

WE BUY TOILET PAPER! WE ARE AMERICANS!

 

We are armed with our AK-16s and AR – 47s

Uniformed in our Wal-Mart camo from China

Size 89XXXXL-Lard-ass

And we will by God stand together as ONE -

And fight each other to the death for toilet paper!

 

Oh, and do you know Jesus?

Saturday, September 28, 2024

His Check Engine Light is On - weak excuse for a poem but there's a nice fresh metaphor

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

His Check Engine Light is On

 

He came by today, a friend from long ago

“I haven’t seen you in a hamster’s age.”

“Yep, too long.”

“How ya doin’?”

“Good enough for government service.”

“Wanna beer?

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“Kids all doin’ good?”

“Yeah; real proud of ‘em. All grown and gone. Yours?”

“Oh, yeah, doin’ doin’ just fine.”

“Heard you was in th’ hospital last year.”

“Yep, made almost about three months of of it.”

“Too much fun.”

“Yep.”

“At our age…”

“Yep.”

“Kids these days.”

“Yep.”

“You okay now?”

“Better’n I deserve. You?”

“Well, you know, my Check Engine light’s on.”

 

 

Fresh metaphors are scarcer than crocodile feathers. Thanks, Chris.

Meditation and Merriment in Early Autumn - poem

 


Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Meditation and Merriment in Early Autumn

 

     We cannot stay young and strong for long -

     Both of us have grey hair at the temples

 

-Du Fu, “To the Recluse Wei the Eighth”

 

After summer rains the earth is still green

In the cooling breeze oak leaves dance happily

Old lawn chairs are the humble chairs of poets

Old lawn chairs are the glorious thrones of kings

 

The seasons remind us of our mortality

We sit and ponder the mysteries of change

We will die, to be replaced by other poets

Who will sit and ponder the mysteries of change

 

And still, whatever these deep thoughts betoken -

I need to mow, but the lawn mower is broken

 

 

Three Hundred Tang Poems

Translated by Peter Harris

London: Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, 2009

An All-You-Can-Eat Buffet of Summer Bugs - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

An All-You-Can-Eat Buffet of Summer Bugs

 

(He was small in the spring)

 

When a tree frog moves up in the world

He becomes a fashionable window frog

No longer the pain of a rough tree bark life

But rather the pane of easy living

 

(He grew larger during the summer)

 

My bedroom window is his buffet

An all-he-can-eat buffet of bugs

Delicious summer bugs shared around

With an uncommon house gecko of style

 

(He’s really big now)

 

I look out at a hungry tree frog, you see

But now – is he looking hungrily in at me?

The Cosmic Inertia of a Six-Pound Dachshund - short poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Cosmic Inertia of a Six-Pound Dachshund

 

Why is the resistance factor

In shifting a six-pound dachshund

Who does not want to be shifted

Greater than that of tons of iron?

Thursday, September 26, 2024

Boeing, Studebaker, John Deere, and my Tupperware Coffee Cup - an elegy

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Boeing, Studebaker, John Deere, and my Tupperware™ Coffee Cup

 

 

“The days are gone…

When wonderful things were worked among them”

 

-The Seafarer, trans. Burton Raffel

 

 

My Tupperware coffee cup is as a chalice

With which I salute the beginning of each day

Cool, colorful, comforting craftsmanship

An honest, utilitarian work of art

 

We are told such things will be no more

“Made in USA” is “Factorum Romae

Younger nations will find us camping among the ruins

Of works and arts we no longer comprehend

 

A colonial soldier might note that once we were a great people

His colonel will reply, “Tosh! They’re simple savages.”

 

Smart*ss Watch - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Smart*ss Watch

 

It clings to my wrist like a faithless friend

Good fun to pal around when we met

But getting just a little tiresome with time

Unreliable in his many promises

 

He fails to make the appointments that we set

Or note the weather or mark activities

I dunno; maybe he’s making time with that Timex

My long-time steady who could sure tick my tock

 

Sweet face, delicate hands - she’d been around, but

Maybe I was wrong – I think I’ll dial her

Wednesday, September 25, 2024

On Reading a Poem by Du Mu - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

On Reading a Poem by Du Mu

 

Everything is far away

China is ever so far away

The dynasties are far away

A golden dragon might fly us there

 

The moon is across the river

The blue-black river in the mist

A fishing boat is tied to the gate

The water-gate of our inn

 

What do they mean, the moon and boat?

Maybe the moon and the boat mean nothing

They simply are; they are themselves

Or perhaps we mean the moon and boat

 

Because of Du Mu and his words

The moon and the boat are forever

The blue-black river is forever

In reading of them so are we

 

 

“A Night at the Inn While Travelling”

Three Hundred Tang Poems

Translated by Peter Harris

London: Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets, 2009

Monday, September 23, 2024

Hobbit Day (short poem)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Hobbit Day

 

22 September

 

I read that today is Hobbit Day

On the autumn equinox every year

I was both delighted and surprised

Even though in our shared adventures, dear friends,

 

Every day is Hobbit Day



I first read The Hobbit in Viet-Nam in a discarded paperback I found at the Station Hospital in DaNang

Sunday, September 22, 2024

Someday Such Men Will Live in Palaces - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Such Men Will Someday Live in Palaces

 

Cf. Saint Matthew 11

 

I am only a visitor here, unqualified to speak

Of the incessant sufferings of men of God

Who may not go beyond the compassing wire

To see a reed shaken with the wind

 

For they sometimes are wind-struck reeds themselves

Planted for a time in this desert of penance

But they are men, and do not easily shake -

When the bitter wind blows they stand up straight

 

They do not raise their fists against the wind

But rather their hearts in manly strength and faith

 

Such men will someday live in palaces

Friday, September 20, 2024

At Rao's Bakery - Coffee, Croissants, Children, and the Constitution - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

At Rao’s Bakery - Coffee, Croissants, Children, and the Constitution

 

At dawn - hot coffee and a fresh croissant

A family grouping at the table next

And a little child whispering to her mother

The Preamble to the Constitution

 

I turned and said, “Oh, I want to hear that again”

Proudly the little girl stood beside her mom

And in a strong, clear voice began: “We the People…”

 

 

We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.

 

 

I can’t do that anymore. Can you?

 

The child certainly earned an ‘A’ today

This coffee / croissant / American day

A Road Crew Singing "Red, Red Wine" - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Road Crew Singing “Red, Red Wine”

 

A road crew of only two riding with the fill

In the bed of a county pickup truck

Patching potholes in the late summer heat

Singing “Red, Red Wine” over and over

 

“Red, Red, Wine”

 

One takes off his sweat-soaked striped shirt

A voice from the cab tells him to put it back on

They stop and take shovels and out they leap

To shovel with the shovels fill into holes

 

“Red, Red Wine”

 

They sing those three words over and over

The only words of that song they know

 

“Red, Red Wine.”

 

On a road cratered with holes and emptied dreams