War Metaphor Guy - poem

  This is a variant on an old poem and so possibly a re-post

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

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War Metaphor Guy

 

Does keyboard-war-guy truly mean that he

Will shoulder rifle, pack, and spares, and range

On blistered, bleeding feet into dead hell,

Obedient to an ill-considered oath

That calls upon his soul to deny itself?

 

How noble is his war -- upon the screen.

 

Does he intend to suffer sin-stained years

Of deprivation, lowest-bidder tins

Of surplus slime stored since some previous war,

Of murky water gassed with chemicals,

Of gasping, breathless, sodden, rotting heat?

 

How easy is his war -- upon the screen.

 

So does he really want a poor man’s soul

Ripped screaming, sh*tting, bleeding from his life,

Intestines flyblown in the devil’s sun?

Will he be satisfied with an eyeless corpse

Bloat-floating down another Vam Co Tay?

 

How glorious is his war -- upon the screen.

 

Now, keyboard war guy, march away, away

And how God wills, dispose the video games.

Oklahoma in the Spring of 2013 - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Oklahoma in the Spring of 2013

A young mother cradles her broken child
Amid the fragments of her world, her soul.
Blood drips. Rain-sodden insulation drips.
Stillness between storms. The trees are all gone.
A dark Sargasso Sea of shattered wood,
Bricks, clothes, books, toys, rags, glass, papers, bodies.
In the gasping heat the rot begins now.
No houses. No lights. A helicopter
Floating valley boys with plastic boxes
Taking cruel pictures and O-My-Godding
For the telescreen (between soda ads).
And in their fortresses of personal affronts

( Safely far away)

Keyboard commandos leap into inaction:

People who choose to live there deserve it.
We told you that global warming is true.
We didn’t have these things ‘til they kicked Jesus
Out of these here schools. And paddling, by God.
It’s Obama’s fault. Or is it George Bush?
It’s the Republicans. Public schools. Gaia.
British Petroleum. Coal. SUVs.
Suburbs. Not reading the Bible. Comets.
You’re stupid. Well eff you back. Eff you more.

While in the second lowering line of storms
A young mother cradles her broken child.

Oklahoma in the Spring

Mack Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Oklahoma in the Spring

A young mother cradles her broken child
Amid the fragments of her world, her soul.
Blood drips.  Rain-sodden insulation drips.
Stillness between storms.  The trees are all gone.
A dark Sargasso Sea of shattered wood,
Bricks, clothes, books, toys, rags, glass, papers, bodies.
In the gasping heat the rot begins now.
No houses.  No lights.  A helicopter
Floating valley boys with plastic boxes
Taking cruel pictures and O-My-Godding
For the telescreen (between soda ads).
And in fortresses of personal affronts
Keyboard commandos leap into inaction:

People who choose to live there deserve it.

We told you that global warming is true.
We didn’t have these things ‘til they kicked Jesus
Out of these here schools. And paddling, by God.
It’s Obama’s fault.  Or is it George Bush?
It’s the Republicans. Public schools. Gaia.
British Petroleum.  Coal.  SUVs.
Suburbs.  Not reading the Bible.  Comets.
You’re stupid. Well eff you back.  Eff you more.

While in the second lowering line of storms

A young mother cradles her broken child.

Poll: Armed Revolution Could be Necessary

Lawrence Mack Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com
May, 2013

Poll: Armed Revolution Could be Necessary

Those who have never bagged corpses

After a night of flarelit horror
Confused, concussed, their souls awash
With blood and smeary shards of flesh
Incensed in obscene stench of death
Are calling for armed revolution

Let us call instead for a cigar

And a quiet evening with Keats