Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Does This Machine Kill Fascists?
Does this machine kill Fascists? Probably not
Unless it bores them to a yawning death
Through soporific clichés crudely imposed
Upon a few poor, battered chords that twang
Like the barbed wire of an Arctic gulag
Where happy comrades
Shiver in the snow
Wither in the wind
Starve on slops
Burn with typhus
Rot in the tundra
As they build the future upon mass graves
While the anti-Fascist cashes his checks
Monday, July 6, 2015
The Privileged Patriarchal Postcolonial Boy
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Privileged Patriarchal
Postcolonial Boy
To the tune of “The Wild Colonial Boy”
He vets his work for political tone
Writes nothing to annoy
And if his words offend – they’re gone!
The postcolonial boy
He was born and raised in poverty
His mother’s only joy
Still a child of privilege, you see
The postcolonial boy
No matter what he might dare say
No matter how polite, how coy
Nothing can excuse his DNA
The postcolonial boy
A shame it is that he submits
Agrees that he’s sans foy
He silences himself; he quits
The postcolonial boy
mhall46184@aol.com
The Privileged Patriarchal
Postcolonial Boy
To the tune of “The Wild Colonial Boy”
He vets his work for political tone
Writes nothing to annoy
And if his words offend – they’re gone!
The postcolonial boy
He was born and raised in poverty
His mother’s only joy
Still a child of privilege, you see
The postcolonial boy
No matter what he might dare say
No matter how polite, how coy
Nothing can excuse his DNA
The postcolonial boy
A shame it is that he submits
Agrees that he’s sans foy
He silences himself; he quits
The postcolonial boy
Some More Short Poems
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Widening World of Cookery
Old housewives cook, and talk about it so
Someone invented the cooking show
Where women watch the fashionable gas ring’s glow
And watch also their widening waistlines grow
Posting Grades
But the grades aren’t really posted at all
Just tapped by super-secret access code
Into an Orwellian telescreen
Thin tittle-tattle about test results
A Flicker of Life
Movies are but flickering images
Sometimes, to the observer, so is life
Dante
Dante Alighieri
Wasn’t very merry
Whenever he didn’t feel well
He imagined his enemies in (Newark)
A Funeral
The hymns have been sung, and the Gospel read;
We prayed for everyone except the dead
The Tedious Gatsby, Old Sport
I took up Gatsby, and I read,
And now I’m glad that Gatsby’s dead
mhall46184@aol.com
The Widening World of Cookery
Old housewives cook, and talk about it so
Someone invented the cooking show
Where women watch the fashionable gas ring’s glow
And watch also their widening waistlines grow
Posting Grades
But the grades aren’t really posted at all
Just tapped by super-secret access code
Into an Orwellian telescreen
Thin tittle-tattle about test results
A Flicker of Life
Movies are but flickering images
Sometimes, to the observer, so is life
Dante
Dante Alighieri
Wasn’t very merry
Whenever he didn’t feel well
He imagined his enemies in (Newark)
A Funeral
The hymns have been sung, and the Gospel read;
We prayed for everyone except the dead
The Tedious Gatsby, Old Sport
I took up Gatsby, and I read,
And now I’m glad that Gatsby’s dead
The Mild Ones
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Mild Ones
“What are you rebelling against?”
“Whaddaya got?”
“A philosophical matrix predicated
Upon experience analyzed rationally
Without incessant self-reference
Or submission to transient fashions.
This matrix considers natural law,
Epistemologically demonstrable,
Ecclesiastical law, which is subject
To discussion because of variant
Concepts of divine revelation
And then secular law, which grounds
Even a republic, in its origin,
In the Jewish-Christian Mosaic law
But which is subject to modification
According to the federal constitution
And the various state constitutions
Expressed by popular will according to
Due process of law, that is, elections.
Applying the Hegelian dialectic,
One can sort out for himself a mode of life
In harmony with both his conscience
And with the needs of a multi-cultural state.”
“Got a beer?”
mhall46184@aol.com
The Mild Ones
“What are you rebelling against?”
“Whaddaya got?”
“A philosophical matrix predicated
Upon experience analyzed rationally
Without incessant self-reference
Or submission to transient fashions.
This matrix considers natural law,
Epistemologically demonstrable,
Ecclesiastical law, which is subject
To discussion because of variant
Concepts of divine revelation
And then secular law, which grounds
Even a republic, in its origin,
In the Jewish-Christian Mosaic law
But which is subject to modification
According to the federal constitution
And the various state constitutions
Expressed by popular will according to
Due process of law, that is, elections.
Applying the Hegelian dialectic,
One can sort out for himself a mode of life
In harmony with both his conscience
And with the needs of a multi-cultural state.”
“Got a beer?”
Had Byron Lived a Few Years Longer
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Had Byron Lived a Few Years Longer
V:
She stalks in Makeup, like a fright
Of Senior Specials and takeout fries;
And all that’s worst of snark and bite
Meet in her painted layers of guise:
Thus billowed in fluorescent light
Which Heaven to youthful lads denies
R:
He talks of Makeup, silly old wight
Of faded beauties – through his old eyes!
And his slim waist and muscled might
Have long departed – he is no prize!
Thus now of greater width than height
Which Heaven to happy girls denies
mhall46184@aol.com
Had Byron Lived a Few Years Longer
V:
She stalks in Makeup, like a fright
Of Senior Specials and takeout fries;
And all that’s worst of snark and bite
Meet in her painted layers of guise:
Thus billowed in fluorescent light
Which Heaven to youthful lads denies
R:
He talks of Makeup, silly old wight
Of faded beauties – through his old eyes!
And his slim waist and muscled might
Have long departed – he is no prize!
Thus now of greater width than height
Which Heaven to happy girls denies
Song of Comrade Photocopier Operator
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Song of Comrade Photocopier Operator
From Le Chansons de Volga File Clerks Rouge
© 1962 by Les Chansons, Leningrad
O sing a song of reproduction
Accomplished by electrical induction
As workers’ hands insert the paper
Deep into the magic vapor
Chanting without a fuss or stink,
“Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of ink!”
Ions charge the chemical toner
Unless there’s none, ‘cause it’s all goner
Or even worse – if there’s a jam
And then the worker yells out (“Goodness!”)
But with a wrench and a mighty shout
Like that ol’ Czar, the jam is OUT
The Committee decrees a Print Command
This is their red-star’red demand
And out comes the paper, newly free
Fresh from a cartridge in a… (There! See?)
By Good Comrade Worker, Ivan-on-the-Spot
Alas, the message is for him to be…
shot
mhall46184@aol.com
Song of Comrade Photocopier Operator
From Le Chansons de Volga File Clerks Rouge
© 1962 by Les Chansons, Leningrad
O sing a song of reproduction
Accomplished by electrical induction
As workers’ hands insert the paper
Deep into the magic vapor
Chanting without a fuss or stink,
“Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of ink!”
Ions charge the chemical toner
Unless there’s none, ‘cause it’s all goner
Or even worse – if there’s a jam
And then the worker yells out (“Goodness!”)
But with a wrench and a mighty shout
Like that ol’ Czar, the jam is OUT
The Committee decrees a Print Command
This is their red-star’red demand
And out comes the paper, newly free
Fresh from a cartridge in a… (There! See?)
By Good Comrade Worker, Ivan-on-the-Spot
Alas, the message is for him to be…
shot
Instructions to the Chauffeur
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Instructions to the Chauffeur
Said the owner, most intently,
“Mind, now, how you drive my Bentley:
Always drive it confidently,
Never, ever insolently
‘Sure to watch the road intently
Take the sharp curves very gently
Follow my rules most excellently
Then you’ll never get a dent, see?”
mhall46184@aol.com
Instructions to the Chauffeur
Said the owner, most intently,
“Mind, now, how you drive my Bentley:
Always drive it confidently,
Never, ever insolently
‘Sure to watch the road intently
Take the sharp curves very gently
Follow my rules most excellently
Then you’ll never get a dent, see?”
Sola Scriptura
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Sola Scriptura
“It’s right here in the Bible!” she said,
Waving her MePhone over her head
mhall46184@aol.com
Sola Scriptura
“It’s right here in the Bible!” she said,
Waving her MePhone over her head
Pursued by Hallway Gideons
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Pursued by Hallway Gideons
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Exeunt omnes, pursued by a bore waving a little green book about
mhall46184@aol.com
Pursued by Hallway Gideons
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Exeunt omnes, pursued by a bore waving a little green book about
A Subversive Priest
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Subversive
Lapsing into 1968-Speak
The television priest says “subversive”
While waxing (and polishing?) discursive
He says it often, at least thrice a week
mhall46184@aol.com
Subversive
Lapsing into 1968-Speak
The television priest says “subversive”
While waxing (and polishing?) discursive
He says it often, at least thrice a week
Triptych for a Dipstych
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
A Triptych for a Dipstych
Raul Castro Find Jesus
Raul admits that Jesus saves,
Says nothing of his victims’ graves
The Sleep of the Innocent
Raul sleeps peacefully in his bed
Dreaming of his thousands dead
Raul Reflects
Thousands to their executions driven -
“It’s all right, ‘cause I am shriven.”
mhall46184@aol.com
A Triptych for a Dipstych
Raul Castro Find Jesus
Raul admits that Jesus saves,
Says nothing of his victims’ graves
The Sleep of the Innocent
Raul sleeps peacefully in his bed
Dreaming of his thousands dead
Raul Reflects
Thousands to their executions driven -
“It’s all right, ‘cause I am shriven.”
Pilgrimage Along the A1
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Pilgrimage Along The A1
For all the de Beauvilles, Beauvilles,
Bevilles, Bevills, and Bevils
From Peterborough drops a road
Across the Fens, into the past
(Where wary wraiths still wear the woad);
It comes to Chesterton at last
And we will walk along that track,
Or hop a bus, perhaps; you know
How hard it is to sling a pack
When one is sixty-old, and slow
That mapped blue line across our land
Follows along a Roman way
Where Hereward the Wake made stand
In mists where secret islands lay
In Chesterton a Norman tower
Beside Saint Michael’s guards the fields;
Though clockless, still it counts slow hours
And centuries hidden long, and sealed
And there before a looted tomb,
Long bare of candles, flowers, and prayers,
We will in our poor Latin resume
Aves for old de Beauville’s cares
mhall46184@aol.com
Pilgrimage Along The A1
For all the de Beauvilles, Beauvilles,
Bevilles, Bevills, and Bevils
From Peterborough drops a road
Across the Fens, into the past
(Where wary wraiths still wear the woad);
It comes to Chesterton at last
And we will walk along that track,
Or hop a bus, perhaps; you know
How hard it is to sling a pack
When one is sixty-old, and slow
That mapped blue line across our land
Follows along a Roman way
Where Hereward the Wake made stand
In mists where secret islands lay
In Chesterton a Norman tower
Beside Saint Michael’s guards the fields;
Though clockless, still it counts slow hours
And centuries hidden long, and sealed
And there before a looted tomb,
Long bare of candles, flowers, and prayers,
We will in our poor Latin resume
Aves for old de Beauville’s cares
A Few Frivolous Poems
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Fall of Man
A Christian walking down the street -
A dog came by and tripped his feet
The man fell down; oh, gosh, it hurt!
Another man (his name was Bert)1
Said
“We don’t agree on what’s essential;
I, you see, am existential
I’ll call my friend; you’re in a fix -
You’ll need two walking agnostics!
(Thank you. Thank you very much.)
1Father Raph suggests that this passerby might have been Bertram Russell
Wu Who?
One misses the British Empire
And the jolly old Hapsburgs too
The Czars beneath an onion spire
And Chinese emperors named Wu
The Heart of the House
In the place of honor, a great flat screen -
No sacred image of Our Lady Queen
No crucifix, cross, or ikon Hellene
No painting of some calm pastoral scene -
No, only a glowing, pulsing flat screen
On which nothing worthy is ever seen
The Latest Pew Poll
Sometimes you just don’t know what you should
do -
So park that problem in the nearest pew
mhall46184@aol.com
The Fall of Man
A Christian walking down the street -
A dog came by and tripped his feet
The man fell down; oh, gosh, it hurt!
Another man (his name was Bert)1
Said
“We don’t agree on what’s essential;
I, you see, am existential
I’ll call my friend; you’re in a fix -
You’ll need two walking agnostics!
(Thank you. Thank you very much.)
1Father Raph suggests that this passerby might have been Bertram Russell
Wu Who?
One misses the British Empire
And the jolly old Hapsburgs too
The Czars beneath an onion spire
And Chinese emperors named Wu
The Heart of the House
In the place of honor, a great flat screen -
No sacred image of Our Lady Queen
No crucifix, cross, or ikon Hellene
No painting of some calm pastoral scene -
No, only a glowing, pulsing flat screen
On which nothing worthy is ever seen
The Latest Pew Poll
Sometimes you just don’t know what you should
do -
So park that problem in the nearest pew
Bill Kristol Disapproves of Baby Boomers
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Baby Boomers
For William Kristol Epiphanes
Children of privilege getting up at four
To herd milk cows in from ice-sleeted woods
And then at dawn running late down the lane
To catch the rattling school bus into town
Self-indulgent baby-boomers sentenced
To the gasping heat of Indo-China
Along the banks of the Song Vam Co Tay
Not optimistic about seeing the dawn
A useless, indolent generation
Working double shifts at the shop by night
Chaucer, geometry, history by day
Coffee, noodles, used textbooks, the laundromat
Those insolent, unfocused layabouts
On pilgrimage along the American road
Jobs, families, house-notes, voting, and taxes
But judged and found wanting by The Divine Bill
mhall46184@aol.com
Baby Boomers
For William Kristol Epiphanes
Children of privilege getting up at four
To herd milk cows in from ice-sleeted woods
And then at dawn running late down the lane
To catch the rattling school bus into town
Self-indulgent baby-boomers sentenced
To the gasping heat of Indo-China
Along the banks of the Song Vam Co Tay
Not optimistic about seeing the dawn
A useless, indolent generation
Working double shifts at the shop by night
Chaucer, geometry, history by day
Coffee, noodles, used textbooks, the laundromat
Those insolent, unfocused layabouts
On pilgrimage along the American road
Jobs, families, house-notes, voting, and taxes
But judged and found wanting by The Divine Bill
The Indictment of Beowulf
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Indictment of Beowulf
A sad, sensitive, suffering soul,
Dwelling deeply down in a wetland,
Poisoned by perfidious polluters,
And cunning cultural imperialism,
Vacated vehement vegetarianism,
And dined on Danes, delicious Danes,
Who foolishly failed in their fatuous folly
To understand Grendel's special needs.
His hunger for delectable Danes in truth
A plaintive plea for pity, for grief counseling,
Because the demonic, devilish Danes
Forced Grendel to devour them
Through their ethnocentric failure to
inculturate,
Vividly vivifying Grendel's victimhood.
The harrowing of Herot, high Herot,
Was, as all the world knows,
The fault of the Danes themselves.
'Til that warrior came, that weaponed wonder,
That greatest of Geats, brave Beowulf,
Who slew misunderstood Grendel,
Grendel, who had a bad childhood,
His existential angst
Crying out among the fluorescent-lit cinder-
blocks,
Who just happened to be standing on dead
bodies,
Dead Danish bodies, waiting for his friend,
His friend, um, Bob, um, to
To drive him to his therapy.
Or maybe to his Bible class.
And the Danes cheered that brave Beowulf,
Deliverer of that people, leader of men,
Until office-hungry courtiers,
Perfumed, protected, precious princes
Loaded fantasies into their photo programs,
And promoted a perfidious pogrom,
Sacrificing truth, once again
Worshipping the old, old gods.
Then Hrothgar, as commanded by the Court,
The wonderful, worshipful Witan Court
Arrested Beowulf, woeful warrior,
For the worst of war crimes -- winning a war.
"Hwaet!" wailed the wise ones, wrapped in robes,
Judicial robes spun from the blood of workers.
"We accuse you of insensitivity, of Grendel-cide,
Of profiling, heterosexuality, and smoking
cigarettes.
We accuse you, in the name of The People,
The MePhone-passive, obedient People,
Who think as they are told, vote as they are told,
Dress as they are told, riot as they are told,
The People, in whose Name we fatten ourselves --
We accuse you, Beowulf, of thinking for yourself.
We accuse you of courage, of caring, of
compassion.
We accuse you of killing an innocent creature
Who was just expressing his or her existential
angst,
Undoubtedly abused by a meddlesome priest,
And of killing a mother, a caring mother,
An artist, an acclaimed artist
And an activist (we forget just for what)
Whose scraps of human skin on the walls of her
den
Won a 1985 Honorable Mention
In the Cutting-Edge Arts Show and Peace Rally.
"Did you try therapy, tender-touch therapy?
Did you offer Grendel, that forest-forager,
Your human hand in in humane humility?"
Then Beowulf, greatest of the Geats,
Deliverer of Danes, destroyer of dung-hearts,
Stood, and, almost unlocking words from his
pancreas...
Was told by his court-appointed attorneys
That his salvation reposed in silence.
"It was all Beowulf's fault!" cried The People,
Forgetting the slaughter of their friends.
"Punish Beowulf for lying about
Monsters of mad destruction!
Let us abase ourselves
For offending Grendel,
Cultural, colorful Grendel, and let us dialogue
And inculturate. Like, y'know."
And so beaten Beowulf, now baddest of the bad,
Retired to his country home
To spend more time with his family
to write his memoirs,
While his men, winning warriors all,
Rowed back to Geatland, and were ignored
By the MePhone People,
Who praised whomever in this hour’s Daily Mail
And had no more use for truth, justice,
Or the Geat way. They tore down statues
Of their warriors, and put up peace plazas,
And lapsed into languor, Lethe-ish languor.
And other Grendels, grinning Grendels,
Waited and watched.
mhall46184@aol.com
The Indictment of Beowulf
A sad, sensitive, suffering soul,
Dwelling deeply down in a wetland,
Poisoned by perfidious polluters,
And cunning cultural imperialism,
Vacated vehement vegetarianism,
And dined on Danes, delicious Danes,
Who foolishly failed in their fatuous folly
To understand Grendel's special needs.
His hunger for delectable Danes in truth
A plaintive plea for pity, for grief counseling,
Because the demonic, devilish Danes
Forced Grendel to devour them
Through their ethnocentric failure to
inculturate,
Vividly vivifying Grendel's victimhood.
The harrowing of Herot, high Herot,
Was, as all the world knows,
The fault of the Danes themselves.
'Til that warrior came, that weaponed wonder,
That greatest of Geats, brave Beowulf,
Who slew misunderstood Grendel,
Grendel, who had a bad childhood,
His existential angst
Crying out among the fluorescent-lit cinder-
blocks,
Who just happened to be standing on dead
bodies,
Dead Danish bodies, waiting for his friend,
His friend, um, Bob, um, to
To drive him to his therapy.
Or maybe to his Bible class.
And the Danes cheered that brave Beowulf,
Deliverer of that people, leader of men,
Until office-hungry courtiers,
Perfumed, protected, precious princes
Loaded fantasies into their photo programs,
And promoted a perfidious pogrom,
Sacrificing truth, once again
Worshipping the old, old gods.
Then Hrothgar, as commanded by the Court,
The wonderful, worshipful Witan Court
Arrested Beowulf, woeful warrior,
For the worst of war crimes -- winning a war.
"Hwaet!" wailed the wise ones, wrapped in robes,
Judicial robes spun from the blood of workers.
"We accuse you of insensitivity, of Grendel-cide,
Of profiling, heterosexuality, and smoking
cigarettes.
We accuse you, in the name of The People,
The MePhone-passive, obedient People,
Who think as they are told, vote as they are told,
Dress as they are told, riot as they are told,
The People, in whose Name we fatten ourselves --
We accuse you, Beowulf, of thinking for yourself.
We accuse you of courage, of caring, of
compassion.
We accuse you of killing an innocent creature
Who was just expressing his or her existential
angst,
Undoubtedly abused by a meddlesome priest,
And of killing a mother, a caring mother,
An artist, an acclaimed artist
And an activist (we forget just for what)
Whose scraps of human skin on the walls of her
den
Won a 1985 Honorable Mention
In the Cutting-Edge Arts Show and Peace Rally.
"Did you try therapy, tender-touch therapy?
Did you offer Grendel, that forest-forager,
Your human hand in in humane humility?"
Then Beowulf, greatest of the Geats,
Deliverer of Danes, destroyer of dung-hearts,
Stood, and, almost unlocking words from his
pancreas...
Was told by his court-appointed attorneys
That his salvation reposed in silence.
"It was all Beowulf's fault!" cried The People,
Forgetting the slaughter of their friends.
"Punish Beowulf for lying about
Monsters of mad destruction!
Let us abase ourselves
For offending Grendel,
Cultural, colorful Grendel, and let us dialogue
And inculturate. Like, y'know."
And so beaten Beowulf, now baddest of the bad,
Retired to his country home
To spend more time with his family
to write his memoirs,
While his men, winning warriors all,
Rowed back to Geatland, and were ignored
By the MePhone People,
Who praised whomever in this hour’s Daily Mail
And had no more use for truth, justice,
Or the Geat way. They tore down statues
Of their warriors, and put up peace plazas,
And lapsed into languor, Lethe-ish languor.
And other Grendels, grinning Grendels,
Waited and watched.
Somewhat Annoying Dan McGrew
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Somewhat Annoying Dan McGrew
A bunch of the guyyys were whooo-ing it up
in the Pomeranian Latte Café
The dude that works the cappuccino machine
was really making it play
Back of the expresso bar all afunk sat a tiresome
chap named Leather
And snooping out his ‘phone was his soul-mate
true, a person that’s known as Heather
When out of the night, which was fifty above,
and into the din of yuppies
There stumbled a designer fresh from a show, in
need of a shower, and loaded for puppies
He looked like a guy with a foot in Wal-Mart, and
scarcely the strength of an elf
Yet he tilted a credit card onto the bar, and
called for coffee for himself
There was no could place the new guy’s face,
though and nobody cared a feather
But we ignored his health, and the last to ignore
him was Somewhat Annoying Biff Leather
There’s guys that tire your eyes, somewhat like a
rotten tuna
And such was he, and he looked to me like a guy
who had lived in Buna
With a styled goatee (not a good look, you see),
and the half-and-half all swirled
Then I got to figuring who he was, in a sports
coat colored like (I’m all out of rhymes for
Leather)
And I turned my head – watching him was the
person that’s known as Heather
His eyes went latexing around the room…but the reader can take pen or gadget in hand and continue.
Robert W. Service is out of fashion at present, probably because writing rhyming doggerel is pretty much a crime, as is much of Service’s vocabulary. But he’s good. He insisted that he wrote verse, not poetry, and verse for miners, sailors, soldiers, and bums. He succeeded brilliantly. And what a life he lived!
mhall46184@aol.com
Somewhat Annoying Dan McGrew
A bunch of the guyyys were whooo-ing it up
in the Pomeranian Latte Café
The dude that works the cappuccino machine
was really making it play
Back of the expresso bar all afunk sat a tiresome
chap named Leather
And snooping out his ‘phone was his soul-mate
true, a person that’s known as Heather
When out of the night, which was fifty above,
and into the din of yuppies
There stumbled a designer fresh from a show, in
need of a shower, and loaded for puppies
He looked like a guy with a foot in Wal-Mart, and
scarcely the strength of an elf
Yet he tilted a credit card onto the bar, and
called for coffee for himself
There was no could place the new guy’s face,
though and nobody cared a feather
But we ignored his health, and the last to ignore
him was Somewhat Annoying Biff Leather
There’s guys that tire your eyes, somewhat like a
rotten tuna
And such was he, and he looked to me like a guy
who had lived in Buna
With a styled goatee (not a good look, you see),
and the half-and-half all swirled
Then I got to figuring who he was, in a sports
coat colored like (I’m all out of rhymes for
Leather)
And I turned my head – watching him was the
person that’s known as Heather
His eyes went latexing around the room…but the reader can take pen or gadget in hand and continue.
Robert W. Service is out of fashion at present, probably because writing rhyming doggerel is pretty much a crime, as is much of Service’s vocabulary. But he’s good. He insisted that he wrote verse, not poetry, and verse for miners, sailors, soldiers, and bums. He succeeded brilliantly. And what a life he lived!
Three Short Poems
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Sanctuary
There is nothing outside. Yes, there are doors
One can, for now, come in, for there are doors
And one can always leave, for there are doors
But to go where? There is nothing outside.
The Doors! The Doors!
The celebrant still cries “The doors! The doors!”
But now we shut them only on ourselves
Silly Old Ox
Two stockings make complete a pair of socks
And two physicians are a paradox
And two Greek fellows are, yes, Orthodox!
mhall46184@aol.com
Sanctuary
There is nothing outside. Yes, there are doors
One can, for now, come in, for there are doors
And one can always leave, for there are doors
But to go where? There is nothing outside.
The Doors! The Doors!
The celebrant still cries “The doors! The doors!”
But now we shut them only on ourselves
Silly Old Ox
Two stockings make complete a pair of socks
And two physicians are a paradox
And two Greek fellows are, yes, Orthodox!
The End of the World - There are Crumbs all Over Your Shirt
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
There are Crumbs all Over Your Shirt
For a friend who must remain anonymous
A man in silences sniffs the air and notes
That wolves are lurking in the nearby copse
And his wife says:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
A man in grief meditates a tragedy
And weigh its pain between scripture and prayer
And his wife says:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
A man observes a burning house; alarmed,
He rushes in to save an endangered child
And his wife says:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
A man has trouble opening the door:
“Dear Wife, there is a corpse upon the mat.”
And his wife replies:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
The missiles fall, the skies and moon turn red
The tides run high, are littered with the dead
The air is poisoned (which is always odd)
A man says “We must give our lives to God.”
And his wife replies:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.
And wipe your feet; I just mopped the
floor.”
mhall46184@aol.com
There are Crumbs all Over Your Shirt
For a friend who must remain anonymous
A man in silences sniffs the air and notes
That wolves are lurking in the nearby copse
And his wife says:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
A man in grief meditates a tragedy
And weigh its pain between scripture and prayer
And his wife says:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
A man observes a burning house; alarmed,
He rushes in to save an endangered child
And his wife says:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
A man has trouble opening the door:
“Dear Wife, there is a corpse upon the mat.”
And his wife replies:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.”
The missiles fall, the skies and moon turn red
The tides run high, are littered with the dead
The air is poisoned (which is always odd)
A man says “We must give our lives to God.”
And his wife replies:
“There are crumbs all over your shirt.
And wipe your feet; I just mopped the
floor.”
Even the Frogs are Plotting Against Us
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Shhhhh…Even the Frogs
are Plotting Against Us
Little green frog upon the window screen
What are your intentions? What do you mean?
No Yankee Doodle Frog lurks in the night
Devouring bugs with its reptilian bite
Perhaps you are the newest Vatican drone
Programmed to spy out this domestic zone
Reporting to your masters in Peking
Your victim’s times for sleeping and waking
And sending secret codes from ice cream trucks
Unmarked UN chickens whose lying clucks
Are beamed from behind those closed big-box
stores
Political prisoners locked behind their doors -
But we with our emails will overwhelm
The NATO conspiracy of Jade Helm!
mhall46184@aol.com
Shhhhh…Even the Frogs
are Plotting Against Us
Little green frog upon the window screen
What are your intentions? What do you mean?
No Yankee Doodle Frog lurks in the night
Devouring bugs with its reptilian bite
Perhaps you are the newest Vatican drone
Programmed to spy out this domestic zone
Reporting to your masters in Peking
Your victim’s times for sleeping and waking
And sending secret codes from ice cream trucks
Unmarked UN chickens whose lying clucks
Are beamed from behind those closed big-box
stores
Political prisoners locked behind their doors -
But we with our emails will overwhelm
The NATO conspiracy of Jade Helm!
A Bucketful of Short Poems
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Abercrombie & Wal-Mart
As vain as any Paris boulevardier
The mighty hunter stalks the latest fashion
The latest camouflage is his only way
If it’s declasse’, his face turns ashen
When hunting wary deer through mud and mire
He must have a new suit of latest sheen
For all of his good buddies to admire
In leaf-mold green - so that he won’t be seen!
Blocking Progress
We must shore up crumbling institutions
Not because they are crumbling
Or even because they are institutions
But because they are right
A Republic
No God and no kings, no givers of rings
Only the scripted yelpings of a mob
Admiring each other’s piercings and tats
By the flickering light of burning books
Premium Unleaded Dinosaur
Drive faster, farther, more and more!
The gas tank’s full of dinosaur -
Faster than feet, faster than mules,
Just gotta love those fossil fuels!
Teach a Man to Fish
Give a man a fish and he’ll eat that day
Teach a man to fish and then he will say
“Forget this; gimme another ****ed fish.”
Prose and Poetry
Prose is nothing more than an untanned hide
From a bunny rabbit beaten to death
With a large stick, a rock, an unwashed fist
Poetry is a Sheffield-crafted knife
Well-sharpened and well-oiled, a work of art
Carefully cradled in an artisan’s hand
A Windy Day in Rome
If hungry children ask their father for bread
Will he then give them climate lectures instead?
These Floors Have Character
“These floorrrrrrrrs have characterrrrrr,” the
buyer purrrrrred,
Dragging trailing consonants to their deaths
Along the continuum of puffery
And then she stepped on the charactered floors
A Wireless God
A crucifix, an ikon on the shelf -
But how does Talk Guy venerate himself?
“But They Didn’t Let Me Finish!”
For Isaac Babel
Babel, you hated Russian, Pole, and Jew
You wrote the same old bigotry, nothing new
You wrote as you were told, in ink all Red
In gratitude dear Stalin shot you dead
Kennkarte
In Hitler’s time the Kennkarte was required
As proof that Aryan blood had not been
mired
By interbreeding with us lesser folk
Thus contaminating that Nordic yolk
The Kennkarte…
Once properly despised as grievous sin
But now…
Who dreamed the Kennkarte would be back
again?
mhall46184@aol.com
Abercrombie & Wal-Mart
As vain as any Paris boulevardier
The mighty hunter stalks the latest fashion
The latest camouflage is his only way
If it’s declasse’, his face turns ashen
When hunting wary deer through mud and mire
He must have a new suit of latest sheen
For all of his good buddies to admire
In leaf-mold green - so that he won’t be seen!
Blocking Progress
We must shore up crumbling institutions
Not because they are crumbling
Or even because they are institutions
But because they are right
A Republic
No God and no kings, no givers of rings
Only the scripted yelpings of a mob
Admiring each other’s piercings and tats
By the flickering light of burning books
Premium Unleaded Dinosaur
Drive faster, farther, more and more!
The gas tank’s full of dinosaur -
Faster than feet, faster than mules,
Just gotta love those fossil fuels!
Teach a Man to Fish
Give a man a fish and he’ll eat that day
Teach a man to fish and then he will say
“Forget this; gimme another ****ed fish.”
Prose and Poetry
Prose is nothing more than an untanned hide
From a bunny rabbit beaten to death
With a large stick, a rock, an unwashed fist
Poetry is a Sheffield-crafted knife
Well-sharpened and well-oiled, a work of art
Carefully cradled in an artisan’s hand
A Windy Day in Rome
If hungry children ask their father for bread
Will he then give them climate lectures instead?
These Floors Have Character
“These floorrrrrrrrs have characterrrrrr,” the
buyer purrrrrred,
Dragging trailing consonants to their deaths
Along the continuum of puffery
And then she stepped on the charactered floors
A Wireless God
A crucifix, an ikon on the shelf -
But how does Talk Guy venerate himself?
“But They Didn’t Let Me Finish!”
For Isaac Babel
Babel, you hated Russian, Pole, and Jew
You wrote the same old bigotry, nothing new
You wrote as you were told, in ink all Red
In gratitude dear Stalin shot you dead
Kennkarte
In Hitler’s time the Kennkarte was required
As proof that Aryan blood had not been
mired
By interbreeding with us lesser folk
Thus contaminating that Nordic yolk
The Kennkarte…
Once properly despised as grievous sin
But now…
Who dreamed the Kennkarte would be back
again?
Feles Arcana
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Feles Arcana
A misty, mournful, mysterious dusk
In the far west, a dying, paling glow
Overhead, a cold, sinister half-moon
The back yard darkens to an evil grey
Cats sit eerily, silent, motionless
Posed in different artistic attitudes
Like statues in a murky pagan temple
They wait, they watch, they listen;
they do not move
Are they waiting for the ancient Cat-Goddess?
Do they ponder the end of Man and Time?
Is this the hour they worship dark powers?
Do they listen for voices from the nether world?
Sarah says they’re waiting to be fed
Women are like that
mhall46184@aol.com
Feles Arcana
A misty, mournful, mysterious dusk
In the far west, a dying, paling glow
Overhead, a cold, sinister half-moon
The back yard darkens to an evil grey
Cats sit eerily, silent, motionless
Posed in different artistic attitudes
Like statues in a murky pagan temple
They wait, they watch, they listen;
they do not move
Are they waiting for the ancient Cat-Goddess?
Do they ponder the end of Man and Time?
Is this the hour they worship dark powers?
Do they listen for voices from the nether world?
Sarah says they’re waiting to be fed
Women are like that
Advent at the Dollar Store
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Advent at the Dollar Store
The boozy, roachy desperation of
the unswept dollar store’s cellophane dreams
At Prices You’ll Love boxes of oilless
popcorn poppers deep-fat fryers massagers
to sweeten generational desperation
behind the counter cigarettes locked up
We Cash Work And Welfare Checks can’t afford
our own homes so we console ourselves with
electric hair-curlers and boxes of chips
singing NFL coffee machines
shiny new bicycles to be stolen
before the end of January or
left out to rust in the February rain
dusty plastic holly shiny CD
players for the administration of
anesthesia Jumbo Bargain Gift Wrap
for Your Happy Holiday Shopping Pleasure
No Shirt No Shoes No Service No, No, No
Hyphenated Industries of Chicago,
Tokyo, Seoul, and Taipei wishes us
a Merry Christmas
mhall46184@aol.com
Advent at the Dollar Store
The boozy, roachy desperation of
the unswept dollar store’s cellophane dreams
At Prices You’ll Love boxes of oilless
popcorn poppers deep-fat fryers massagers
to sweeten generational desperation
behind the counter cigarettes locked up
We Cash Work And Welfare Checks can’t afford
our own homes so we console ourselves with
electric hair-curlers and boxes of chips
singing NFL coffee machines
shiny new bicycles to be stolen
before the end of January or
left out to rust in the February rain
dusty plastic holly shiny CD
players for the administration of
anesthesia Jumbo Bargain Gift Wrap
for Your Happy Holiday Shopping Pleasure
No Shirt No Shoes No Service No, No, No
Hyphenated Industries of Chicago,
Tokyo, Seoul, and Taipei wishes us
a Merry Christmas
Haiku for Autumn
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Haiku for Autumn
Autumn grass browning
Pale, cold, high, austere blue skies
Children in Sweaters
An early chilling
Brisk north wind blowing away
Summer’s hot dampness
Autumn and a pipe
Smoked under a hill-top oak
Watching the geese fly
Early, icy fogs
In the rotting wood hollows
Wind in the pine tops
Men smoke, chew, and talk
Shotguns, dogs, woods, trucks, and bucks -
Almost deer season!
mhall46184@aol.com
Haiku for Autumn
Autumn grass browning
Pale, cold, high, austere blue skies
Children in Sweaters
An early chilling
Brisk north wind blowing away
Summer’s hot dampness
Autumn and a pipe
Smoked under a hill-top oak
Watching the geese fly
Early, icy fogs
In the rotting wood hollows
Wind in the pine tops
Men smoke, chew, and talk
Shotguns, dogs, woods, trucks, and bucks -
Almost deer season!
Existential Identity Crisis in the Student Commons
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Existential Identity Crisis
in the Student Commons
He wears a little plastic cap that says
Harley-Davidson
He wears a tee that says
Texas A & M
(he’s enrolled in Angelina College)
He wears a jacks that says
Go Climb a Glacier
He wears on the jacket a patch that says
Scorpio
He wears a belt-buckle that says
Peterbilt
He Wears a belt that says
John 3:16
He wears sneakers that say
Adidas
He carries a bag that says
Tennis is My Racket
He says
That he’s suffering an identity crisis
mhall46184@aol.com
Existential Identity Crisis
in the Student Commons
He wears a little plastic cap that says
Harley-Davidson
He wears a tee that says
Texas A & M
(he’s enrolled in Angelina College)
He wears a jacks that says
Go Climb a Glacier
He wears on the jacket a patch that says
Scorpio
He wears a belt-buckle that says
Peterbilt
He Wears a belt that says
John 3:16
He wears sneakers that say
Adidas
He carries a bag that says
Tennis is My Racket
He says
That he’s suffering an identity crisis
Three Short Poems from Viet-Nam
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Intensive Care Unit
A twilight world
A mad world
Peering down infected wounds
Mortars night building shiver
Down from the black sky flares float
Broken bodies from a few klicks away
Eyes of a shattered nineteen-year-old Marine
Staring at the door to Yokosuka
R & R in Sydney
On the corner of Bridge and Pitts
The wind is chilly, and little raindrops alight
On his spectacles
Sydney-siders dressed warmly in dark suits
And dark waistcoats
And dark raincoats
And carrying dark umbrellas
Bustle about, coming and going
Purposefully walking here and there
The skinny American in a pullover
And thin slacks
Shivers conspicuously
And marvels: this is July!
On the Corner of Bridge and Pitts
September on the Vam Co Tay
Rain is drizzling on the River
And the whole world has gone grey
Amid the muck and mud and sandbags
Stinking and hot and effing miserable
On the Cambodian border
But the chlorine-mud coffee is warm
And they usually don’t shoot us
in the daylight
And The World is only
Fifty-three days away
mhall46184@aol.com
Intensive Care Unit
A twilight world
A mad world
Peering down infected wounds
Mortars night building shiver
Down from the black sky flares float
Broken bodies from a few klicks away
Eyes of a shattered nineteen-year-old Marine
Staring at the door to Yokosuka
R & R in Sydney
On the corner of Bridge and Pitts
The wind is chilly, and little raindrops alight
On his spectacles
Sydney-siders dressed warmly in dark suits
And dark waistcoats
And dark raincoats
And carrying dark umbrellas
Bustle about, coming and going
Purposefully walking here and there
The skinny American in a pullover
And thin slacks
Shivers conspicuously
And marvels: this is July!
On the Corner of Bridge and Pitts
September on the Vam Co Tay
Rain is drizzling on the River
And the whole world has gone grey
Amid the muck and mud and sandbags
Stinking and hot and effing miserable
On the Cambodian border
But the chlorine-mud coffee is warm
And they usually don’t shoot us
in the daylight
And The World is only
Fifty-three days away
The First Day of Summer
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The 21st of June
Summer begins at eleven thirty-five
Say the boys in white coats. Oh, what a jive;
‘Cause that’s not the date it can ever arrive
Every school child knows summer comes alive
On the last day of school, at three thirty-five!
mhall46184@aol.com
The 21st of June
Summer begins at eleven thirty-five
Say the boys in white coats. Oh, what a jive;
‘Cause that’s not the date it can ever arrive
Every school child knows summer comes alive
On the last day of school, at three thirty-five!
Geriatric Park
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Geriatric Park
Yes, two by two aboard old Noah’s ark
Saved from the Flood, like the little skylark
And happy little dogs who run and bark
The poor, unfortunate, clumsy aardvark
And worse, the sleepless carnivorous shark
Another sad species to disembark
Who should perhaps have been left in the dark
Prehistoric creatures, slow off the mark
Who lurk in the Faculty Commons (now mark!)
Far better known as Geriatric Park
mhall46184@aol.com
Geriatric Park
Yes, two by two aboard old Noah’s ark
Saved from the Flood, like the little skylark
And happy little dogs who run and bark
The poor, unfortunate, clumsy aardvark
And worse, the sleepless carnivorous shark
Another sad species to disembark
Who should perhaps have been left in the dark
Prehistoric creatures, slow off the mark
Who lurk in the Faculty Commons (now mark!)
Far better known as Geriatric Park
Some Aspects of Popular Culture in Couplets
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Some Aspects of Popular Culture
Gilligan’s Island
With Ginger’s come-hither and Mary Ann’s smile
Why would anyone leave Gilligan’s isle?
Hogan’s Heroes
Plenty to eat, and stealing Schultz’s gun
The Second World War was sure lots of fun1
Did Samuel Colt Know About This?
John Wayne blasts the robbers right off the road
With a revolver he never needs to re-load
N.C.I.S.
Unlimited firepower to shoot every jerk
And never, ever any paperwork
Robin Hood
Richard Greene as Robin wins all his fights
But get a load of Marian workin’ those tights!
Dancing With the Stars
We’d love to see who wins the trophy cup
If only the judges would just shut up!
1Irony, Ms. Grundy, irony
mhall46184@aol.com
Some Aspects of Popular Culture
Gilligan’s Island
With Ginger’s come-hither and Mary Ann’s smile
Why would anyone leave Gilligan’s isle?
Hogan’s Heroes
Plenty to eat, and stealing Schultz’s gun
The Second World War was sure lots of fun1
Did Samuel Colt Know About This?
John Wayne blasts the robbers right off the road
With a revolver he never needs to re-load
N.C.I.S.
Unlimited firepower to shoot every jerk
And never, ever any paperwork
Robin Hood
Richard Greene as Robin wins all his fights
But get a load of Marian workin’ those tights!
Dancing With the Stars
We’d love to see who wins the trophy cup
If only the judges would just shut up!
1Irony, Ms. Grundy, irony
Freshman Year on the G.I. Bill
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Freshman Year on the G.I. Bill, I
From the pages of Mohammed and Charlemagne
To the porch to smoke and watch the rain
Falling in the dark afternoon, down, down
In a pitter-patter splatter
Car windows up, room windows down
Coffee warming on the stove,
lightning over the town
And raindrops breaking on the pavement
Like little dreams
Freshman Year on the G.I. Bill, II
The instructor talks about
Wellington at Waterloo
The British Square
Napoleon’s hemorrhoids
One student thinks about
The boat on fire
And bodies on the deck
Only a few months ago
mhall46184@aol.com
Freshman Year on the G.I. Bill, I
From the pages of Mohammed and Charlemagne
To the porch to smoke and watch the rain
Falling in the dark afternoon, down, down
In a pitter-patter splatter
Car windows up, room windows down
Coffee warming on the stove,
lightning over the town
And raindrops breaking on the pavement
Like little dreams
Freshman Year on the G.I. Bill, II
The instructor talks about
Wellington at Waterloo
The British Square
Napoleon’s hemorrhoids
One student thinks about
The boat on fire
And bodies on the deck
Only a few months ago
Joey
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Joey
A Joey is a baby kangaroo
He first begins to hop at the age of two
Or maybe even earlier; who can know?
But what a happy, hopping, happening show!
He hops and hops and flops all over the floor
And then he hops right out the wide front door
To hop around the lawn and leafy trees
And hop right past some buzzing busy bees
What marvelous, magical hopping powers!
He hops all through the sunlit summer hours
Until it’s time for bath and book and bed
When hopping dreams hop through his sleepy
head
And of this tale, what is the hoppiest part?
Our little Joey hops - into my heart
mhall46184@aol.com
Joey
A Joey is a baby kangaroo
He first begins to hop at the age of two
Or maybe even earlier; who can know?
But what a happy, hopping, happening show!
He hops and hops and flops all over the floor
And then he hops right out the wide front door
To hop around the lawn and leafy trees
And hop right past some buzzing busy bees
What marvelous, magical hopping powers!
He hops all through the sunlit summer hours
Until it’s time for bath and book and bed
When hopping dreams hop through his sleepy
head
And of this tale, what is the hoppiest part?
Our little Joey hops - into my heart
And Even More Things People Never Say
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
And Even More Things People Never Say
“Yogurt – it’s what’s for dinner.”
“I’m sure glad our federal government went after those soccer people in Yurp. The international soccer organizations should learn about fair play and honest dealing from all our fine American internet service providers.”
“Chicken – it tastes a little like rattlesnake.”
“The poems of Anna Akhmatova are just too frivolous and silly for me. Good enough for teens, maybe, but I prefer deeper stuff, like Rod McKuen.”
“We didn’t miss you in church last Sunday.”
“Time to rise and shine, and greet the new night.”
“I’m as fit as a bassoon.”
“I’m hoping Santa Claus brings me a copy of Eugenio Corti’s The Red Horse trilogy for Christmas.”
“The other day I saw a Supreme Court justice reading The Bible.”
“And, if you call now, we’ll add 15% to the price!”
“Trouble is not my middle name.”
“Aw, Mom, why can’t I go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep!?”
“You know, I really miss Dan Rather and Brian Williams.”
“I’m just not doing my job, ma’am.”
“Don’t bother covering me. I’m not going in.”
“Margaret Sanger for the twenty-dollar-bill, just to prove that we women can be as genocidal as men!”
“I was born not ready.”
“I can’t explain. This is exactly what it looks like.”
“You’ll probably get away with this.”
“There are probably several things you and anybody else can do to stop me.”
“You’ll never take me alive! Or maybe you will.”
“You look as if you haven’t seen a ghost.”
“Fire in the convexity!”
“You listen to me, and you listen good, because I’m going to say this only three or four times…”
“Is this some kind of healthy joke?”
“If there’s anything Beaumont businesses are known for, it’s good customer service.”
“I’m just fine without my Blue Bell™. Really. I’m okay…”
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
And Even More Things People Never Say
“Yogurt – it’s what’s for dinner.”
“I’m sure glad our federal government went after those soccer people in Yurp. The international soccer organizations should learn about fair play and honest dealing from all our fine American internet service providers.”
“Chicken – it tastes a little like rattlesnake.”
“The poems of Anna Akhmatova are just too frivolous and silly for me. Good enough for teens, maybe, but I prefer deeper stuff, like Rod McKuen.”
“We didn’t miss you in church last Sunday.”
“Time to rise and shine, and greet the new night.”
“I’m as fit as a bassoon.”
“I’m hoping Santa Claus brings me a copy of Eugenio Corti’s The Red Horse trilogy for Christmas.”
“The other day I saw a Supreme Court justice reading The Bible.”
“And, if you call now, we’ll add 15% to the price!”
“Trouble is not my middle name.”
“Aw, Mom, why can’t I go to bed early and get a good night’s sleep!?”
“You know, I really miss Dan Rather and Brian Williams.”
“I’m just not doing my job, ma’am.”
“Don’t bother covering me. I’m not going in.”
“Margaret Sanger for the twenty-dollar-bill, just to prove that we women can be as genocidal as men!”
“I was born not ready.”
“I can’t explain. This is exactly what it looks like.”
“You’ll probably get away with this.”
“There are probably several things you and anybody else can do to stop me.”
“You’ll never take me alive! Or maybe you will.”
“You look as if you haven’t seen a ghost.”
“Fire in the convexity!”
“You listen to me, and you listen good, because I’m going to say this only three or four times…”
“Is this some kind of healthy joke?”
“If there’s anything Beaumont businesses are known for, it’s good customer service.”
“I’m just fine without my Blue Bell™. Really. I’m okay…”
-30-
NIGHT OF TERROR ABOARD DOOMED AIRCRAFT!!!!!!
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
NIGHT OF TERROR ABOARD
DOOMED AIRCRAFT!!!!!!!!!!!
(Or something like that)
No, this is not a story about Air Canada flight attendants. If it were, “sneering disdain” and “snarling ill manners” would be added to the title.
Last week a Famous Name Brand airplane en route from Chicago to London made one of those famous unscheduled stops in Gander, Newfoundland because of an undisclosed malfunction. The desperate selfies / mefies / tweeties of the surviving passengers lead the free world to conclude that this was a Jade Helm kidnapping of Americans by unmarked invisible NATO / UN ninjas armed with deadly pictures of Miley Jenner twerking.
The Jade Helm operatives and their unmarked, green-powered nuclear tanks had been lurking in ambush in a series of abandoned Tim Horton’s restaurants across the frozen lunar landscape that is Newfoundland, home only to reindeer and venomous snow snakes. Eh.
Upon landing the passengers were brutally yanked out of the aircraft by knuckle-dragging OGPU agents and then flogged into icy barracks to be starved and humiliated. Such brutal maltreatment has not been inflicted on suffering people since the last of Uncle Joe Stalin’s merry gulags was shut down in the 1960s.
If any of this can be proven, the American Transportation Security Agency will have something to say about it because humiliating airline passengers is their job. As for depriving airline passengers of food, that’s Air Canada’s job.
The only comfort that can be offered to the friends and relatives of the prisoners of Jade Helm is that there is no evidence that they were forced to drink Screech rum.
The passengers were housed – possibly chained - overnight in (gasp!) barracks built by the United States Air Force. The beds were said to be uncomfortable (eeeeek!), and the inmates were given only two blankets each (oh, the humanity!).
Beyond the barbed wire the prisoners could see demented I’s d’ B’ys beating spotted owls to death with cricket bats. In Newfoundland, you see, this is their idea of a night out at Hooter’s. (Oh, I am so not going to be asked back to Newfoundland…)
As the prison barracks began to sink beneath the dark, barren wastes of bleak, icy, frozen, Godforsaken Newfoundland, the brave young men gave their blankies to women and children, and everyone held hands and sang “Nearer, my God to Thee” as Kommandant Klink accompanied them on the violin. Or maybe it was something about Gilligan’s Island – “…the Minnow would be lost…the Minnow would be lost…”
One news report said that the air crew were billeted in a hotel in Newfoundland and Labrador. This would require a demonstration of bi-location since Newfoundland is an island and Labrador is part of the Canadian mainland. The Canadian federal government, which at times can be as unclear about reality as the U.S. federal government, forced a marriage of hyphenation so that Newfoundland (which is an island about the size of Ireland) and Labrador (which is not) are on the map as one province. This is no more logical than declaring Texas and Florida to be one state.
The passengers were jealous that The Captain and Gilligan and all the rest of the flight crew got to sleep in a hotel instead of a genuine United States Air Force barracks. Yeah, and the captain and the co-pilot get to sit up front in the airplane all the time – what’s up with that, hah?
The logical passenger wants to the pilot to be well-rested, well-fed, and content with life. Passengers should be able to sit in on a job interview with the flight deck crew before every flight: “Did you get plenty of sleep last night? So how’s your personal life? Meet anyone nice lately? What are your plans for the future? Have you ever flown for Lufthansa? Were you ever a flight attendant for Air Canada?”
Two realities obtain: the first one is that whiny people whine on the whiny MeFaceSpaceBook thingies about everything. If you were to give them a new Mercedes-Benz they’d belly-ache about the paint job.
The second reality is that Newfoundland is one of the most beautiful islands on the planet. The people of Newfoundland are unquestionably the nicest group of folks anywhere, generous and hospitable, and still fond of us Yanks. Any Tim Horton’s has the best road coffee along the Trans-Can, not everyone in Newfoundland ends every sentence with “eh,” they’ve got icebergs and whales and mountains and camping and boat tours and cruise ships and universities and shopping malls and hunting and those really stupid mooses and the railway trail for walking and Gros Morne National Park and fresh fish, fish, fish and puffins (please don’t eat the puffins) and the site of Lord Baltimore’s first colony and history and culture and music and art and a ‘way-cool provincial flag.
Newfoundland does not have any snakes, mosquitoes, or stinging insects, thus proving it is not Texas.
If on a map you draw a line from Houston to London you’ll find that Newfoundland is on the way but most folks don’t think of visiting there, and that is a shame. You can look up Newfoundland at www.newfoundlandandlabrador.com.
Stuck for a day or two in Newfoundland? We should all be so lucky.
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
NIGHT OF TERROR ABOARD
DOOMED AIRCRAFT!!!!!!!!!!!
(Or something like that)
No, this is not a story about Air Canada flight attendants. If it were, “sneering disdain” and “snarling ill manners” would be added to the title.
Last week a Famous Name Brand airplane en route from Chicago to London made one of those famous unscheduled stops in Gander, Newfoundland because of an undisclosed malfunction. The desperate selfies / mefies / tweeties of the surviving passengers lead the free world to conclude that this was a Jade Helm kidnapping of Americans by unmarked invisible NATO / UN ninjas armed with deadly pictures of Miley Jenner twerking.
The Jade Helm operatives and their unmarked, green-powered nuclear tanks had been lurking in ambush in a series of abandoned Tim Horton’s restaurants across the frozen lunar landscape that is Newfoundland, home only to reindeer and venomous snow snakes. Eh.
Upon landing the passengers were brutally yanked out of the aircraft by knuckle-dragging OGPU agents and then flogged into icy barracks to be starved and humiliated. Such brutal maltreatment has not been inflicted on suffering people since the last of Uncle Joe Stalin’s merry gulags was shut down in the 1960s.
If any of this can be proven, the American Transportation Security Agency will have something to say about it because humiliating airline passengers is their job. As for depriving airline passengers of food, that’s Air Canada’s job.
The only comfort that can be offered to the friends and relatives of the prisoners of Jade Helm is that there is no evidence that they were forced to drink Screech rum.
The passengers were housed – possibly chained - overnight in (gasp!) barracks built by the United States Air Force. The beds were said to be uncomfortable (eeeeek!), and the inmates were given only two blankets each (oh, the humanity!).
Beyond the barbed wire the prisoners could see demented I’s d’ B’ys beating spotted owls to death with cricket bats. In Newfoundland, you see, this is their idea of a night out at Hooter’s. (Oh, I am so not going to be asked back to Newfoundland…)
As the prison barracks began to sink beneath the dark, barren wastes of bleak, icy, frozen, Godforsaken Newfoundland, the brave young men gave their blankies to women and children, and everyone held hands and sang “Nearer, my God to Thee” as Kommandant Klink accompanied them on the violin. Or maybe it was something about Gilligan’s Island – “…the Minnow would be lost…the Minnow would be lost…”
One news report said that the air crew were billeted in a hotel in Newfoundland and Labrador. This would require a demonstration of bi-location since Newfoundland is an island and Labrador is part of the Canadian mainland. The Canadian federal government, which at times can be as unclear about reality as the U.S. federal government, forced a marriage of hyphenation so that Newfoundland (which is an island about the size of Ireland) and Labrador (which is not) are on the map as one province. This is no more logical than declaring Texas and Florida to be one state.
The passengers were jealous that The Captain and Gilligan and all the rest of the flight crew got to sleep in a hotel instead of a genuine United States Air Force barracks. Yeah, and the captain and the co-pilot get to sit up front in the airplane all the time – what’s up with that, hah?
The logical passenger wants to the pilot to be well-rested, well-fed, and content with life. Passengers should be able to sit in on a job interview with the flight deck crew before every flight: “Did you get plenty of sleep last night? So how’s your personal life? Meet anyone nice lately? What are your plans for the future? Have you ever flown for Lufthansa? Were you ever a flight attendant for Air Canada?”
Two realities obtain: the first one is that whiny people whine on the whiny MeFaceSpaceBook thingies about everything. If you were to give them a new Mercedes-Benz they’d belly-ache about the paint job.
The second reality is that Newfoundland is one of the most beautiful islands on the planet. The people of Newfoundland are unquestionably the nicest group of folks anywhere, generous and hospitable, and still fond of us Yanks. Any Tim Horton’s has the best road coffee along the Trans-Can, not everyone in Newfoundland ends every sentence with “eh,” they’ve got icebergs and whales and mountains and camping and boat tours and cruise ships and universities and shopping malls and hunting and those really stupid mooses and the railway trail for walking and Gros Morne National Park and fresh fish, fish, fish and puffins (please don’t eat the puffins) and the site of Lord Baltimore’s first colony and history and culture and music and art and a ‘way-cool provincial flag.
Newfoundland does not have any snakes, mosquitoes, or stinging insects, thus proving it is not Texas.
If on a map you draw a line from Houston to London you’ll find that Newfoundland is on the way but most folks don’t think of visiting there, and that is a shame. You can look up Newfoundland at www.newfoundlandandlabrador.com.
Stuck for a day or two in Newfoundland? We should all be so lucky.
-30-
We'll Always Have Hagen-Daz - Yet More Things People Never Say
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
We’ll Always Have Hagen-Daz –
Yet More Things People Never Say
“Well, I’m not an engineer, so when the Texas Department of Transportation posts a 75 mph speed zone on a narrow, two-lane rural road that doesn’t even have a shoulder I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“June is not too early for back-to-school advertisements.”
“These new, made-in-China belts you’ve got on sale – were they made in Shanghai by prisoners or were they made in Shanghai of prisoners?”
“Is it just me, or is it true that the quality of movies has really gone up in the past few years?”
“We were saving up for a vacation in Hawaii, but have decided instead to visit Hagia Sophia in Constantinople.”
“I’m not worth a darn in the morning until I’ve had that first cup of lapsang souchong.”
“As a man I really appreciate those story radio ads that depict the husband, father, or boyfriend as an idiot. They’re imaginative, original, well-written, and well-spoken, and make me want to go right to that store and buy something.”
“Whenever I think of the TSA I get a warm, fuzzy feeling all over.”
“I’m sure glad our federal government went after those soccer people in Europe. Our domestic narco-terrorism can wait.”
“This computer has been doing me good for about ten years now, and I expect to get another ten years out of it.”
“Jade Helm – isn’t that one of those cheap aftershaves?”
“Mom, Dad, it’s not fair! Why won’t you let me read the poetry of John Keats or the short stories of Anton Chekhov? I’m tired of all those dumb video games you make play!”
“Sir, I have to ask you if your meal in our restaurant was okay, but really our company’s real customer service policy is from Rawhide: ‘Head ‘em up! Move ‘em out!’”
“A cigar, but not close.”
“Russian novels always help me find my happy place.”
“No real butter for my toast; give me one of those plastic tubs of yellow-stained grease, please.”
“I always vote in my local school board elections.”
“Am I tired of the time-wasting rhetorical technique of the speaker asking himself a question and then answering it? Absolutely!”
“Am I tired of people answering a question with ‘absolutely’ instead of a simple ‘yes?’ Absolutely!”
“Saudi Arabia is a solid ally, maybe the best friend this nation has.”
“The kids laughed so hard when Bambi’s mother died!”
“I was born and raised Texas tough, like a pickup truck commercial, and I’m okay with Hagen-Daz ice cream.”
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
We’ll Always Have Hagen-Daz –
Yet More Things People Never Say
“Well, I’m not an engineer, so when the Texas Department of Transportation posts a 75 mph speed zone on a narrow, two-lane rural road that doesn’t even have a shoulder I’m sure they know what they’re doing.”
“June is not too early for back-to-school advertisements.”
“These new, made-in-China belts you’ve got on sale – were they made in Shanghai by prisoners or were they made in Shanghai of prisoners?”
“Is it just me, or is it true that the quality of movies has really gone up in the past few years?”
“We were saving up for a vacation in Hawaii, but have decided instead to visit Hagia Sophia in Constantinople.”
“I’m not worth a darn in the morning until I’ve had that first cup of lapsang souchong.”
“As a man I really appreciate those story radio ads that depict the husband, father, or boyfriend as an idiot. They’re imaginative, original, well-written, and well-spoken, and make me want to go right to that store and buy something.”
“Whenever I think of the TSA I get a warm, fuzzy feeling all over.”
“I’m sure glad our federal government went after those soccer people in Europe. Our domestic narco-terrorism can wait.”
“This computer has been doing me good for about ten years now, and I expect to get another ten years out of it.”
“Jade Helm – isn’t that one of those cheap aftershaves?”
“Mom, Dad, it’s not fair! Why won’t you let me read the poetry of John Keats or the short stories of Anton Chekhov? I’m tired of all those dumb video games you make play!”
“Sir, I have to ask you if your meal in our restaurant was okay, but really our company’s real customer service policy is from Rawhide: ‘Head ‘em up! Move ‘em out!’”
“A cigar, but not close.”
“Russian novels always help me find my happy place.”
“No real butter for my toast; give me one of those plastic tubs of yellow-stained grease, please.”
“I always vote in my local school board elections.”
“Am I tired of the time-wasting rhetorical technique of the speaker asking himself a question and then answering it? Absolutely!”
“Am I tired of people answering a question with ‘absolutely’ instead of a simple ‘yes?’ Absolutely!”
“Saudi Arabia is a solid ally, maybe the best friend this nation has.”
“The kids laughed so hard when Bambi’s mother died!”
“I was born and raised Texas tough, like a pickup truck commercial, and I’m okay with Hagen-Daz ice cream.”
-30-
Hey, We've Still got That Other Ice Cream - Yet More Things People Never Say
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Hey, We’ve Still got That Other Ice Cream –
Yet More Things People Never Say
“Let’s pull the envelope.”
“Fiction is stranger than truth.”
“We love our internet service provider. The service is excellent, the rates are reasonable, and on the rare occasions we contact customer service the representatives are polite and knowledgeable. We’ve heard that’s true with most internet companies.”
“Better to curse the candle than to darkness the light…or something.”
“Last week I was a high school senior and people were giving me stuff and telling me how wonderful I am; this week I’m just another unemployed adult. What happened?”
“Oh, the places you won’t go.”
“These cans of beans aren’t flying off the shelves at any price. Groceries don’t fly.”
“I’m waiting for the first shoe to drop.”
“I am not announcing my candidacy for the Republican nomination. I think there should be at least one American not running for president.”
“Don’t buy gold from us; if gold were a good investment we’d be keeping it for ourselves.”
“Our company is not on the cutting edge of anything.”
“No, I don’t want to change the world. I need to do a better job of changing myself before I presume to run a planet.”
“No fresh half-and-half or cream for my coffee; hand me a brittle packet of that bleached and dried seaweed.”
“I’ve had enough of Duggars, swamp people, duck guys, shrieking harridans, and the creepy old man who wears lingerie and thinks he’s a centerfold. Instead of tellyvision I take my kid to the public library every week to check out a book to bring home.”
“If there really is a such a thing as the bird flu, why do all the buzzards look so healthy?”
“Those rotten soccer people got what they deserve. As for me, I’m a good American and look to the NFL and ESPN for moral and ethical leadership.”
“Is it just me or is it true that drivers are more skilled and more responsible than ever?”
“This new detective novel will not have you sitting on the edge of your seat – that’s a very uncomfortable place to sit.”
“Maybe the company closed the store because it wasn’t profitable. Maybe it’s not a secret government plot to take over the country from itself. At least that’s what the Russian guys dressed in Ninja outfits driving around in an ice cream truck told me.”
“Buy the first two, and we’ll sell you the third at the same price.”
“Finally, as a tribute to the can-do frontier spirit of Texas: We’ve still got Ben and Jerry’s.”
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Hey, We’ve Still got That Other Ice Cream –
Yet More Things People Never Say
“Let’s pull the envelope.”
“Fiction is stranger than truth.”
“We love our internet service provider. The service is excellent, the rates are reasonable, and on the rare occasions we contact customer service the representatives are polite and knowledgeable. We’ve heard that’s true with most internet companies.”
“Better to curse the candle than to darkness the light…or something.”
“Last week I was a high school senior and people were giving me stuff and telling me how wonderful I am; this week I’m just another unemployed adult. What happened?”
“Oh, the places you won’t go.”
“These cans of beans aren’t flying off the shelves at any price. Groceries don’t fly.”
“I’m waiting for the first shoe to drop.”
“I am not announcing my candidacy for the Republican nomination. I think there should be at least one American not running for president.”
“Don’t buy gold from us; if gold were a good investment we’d be keeping it for ourselves.”
“Our company is not on the cutting edge of anything.”
“No, I don’t want to change the world. I need to do a better job of changing myself before I presume to run a planet.”
“No fresh half-and-half or cream for my coffee; hand me a brittle packet of that bleached and dried seaweed.”
“I’ve had enough of Duggars, swamp people, duck guys, shrieking harridans, and the creepy old man who wears lingerie and thinks he’s a centerfold. Instead of tellyvision I take my kid to the public library every week to check out a book to bring home.”
“If there really is a such a thing as the bird flu, why do all the buzzards look so healthy?”
“Those rotten soccer people got what they deserve. As for me, I’m a good American and look to the NFL and ESPN for moral and ethical leadership.”
“Is it just me or is it true that drivers are more skilled and more responsible than ever?”
“This new detective novel will not have you sitting on the edge of your seat – that’s a very uncomfortable place to sit.”
“Maybe the company closed the store because it wasn’t profitable. Maybe it’s not a secret government plot to take over the country from itself. At least that’s what the Russian guys dressed in Ninja outfits driving around in an ice cream truck told me.”
“Buy the first two, and we’ll sell you the third at the same price.”
“Finally, as a tribute to the can-do frontier spirit of Texas: We’ve still got Ben and Jerry’s.”
-30-
Dialogue You Never Hear in Cowboy Movies
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dialogue You Never Hear in Cowboy Movies
“The jail hasn’t been built that can’t hold me.”
“I’ve been three months on the trail, and I’m parched from the alkali dust. Give me a nice cup of tea.”
“They’re cattle rustlers. We’re all going into town to discuss our issues and try to understand each other’s existential needs.”
“It’s not just a flesh wound.”
“We’re invitin’ you to a necktie party. All the coolest designers will be there with their autumn neckwear collections – Calvin Klein, Yves St. Laurent, Versace…”
“That’s the most dangerous stallion in the corral. He won’t be broken. He kicks. He bites. He’s put two cowboys in the hospital. His name is Fluffy.”
“Bugler - sound flip-flops and saddles!”
“I’ll be your huckleberry muffin.”
“This town’s probably big enough for the two of us.”
“They died with their open-toe sandals on.”
“That’s Beige Bart, the most mediocre hombre ever to stroll the streets of Dodge City.”
“I’ll see you in the street at high noon, marshal – wait, is that daylight savings time…?”
“Whiskey, bartender – and don’t leave the bottle.”
"I mean to hurt your feelings in one minute, Ned. Or see that you have therapy in Fort Smith at Judge Parker's convenience. Which'll it be?"
"I call that insensitive microaggression for a visually-impaired, overweight person!"
“When you say that, don’t smile.”
“I’ll see what the girls in the back room will have.”
“I’ve got a numb trigger finger.”
“We don’t have company.”
“Head ‘em down! Move ‘em in!”
“Eeeeeek! Native Americans!”
“Now Zeke, here, he’s into French New Wave. I wouldn’t bring up Italian cinema if I were you.”
“Had me a nice little Starbuck’s franchise in Tombstone…’til the Clantons moved in with their Panera Bread.”
“You be careful in the Bucket of Blood Saloon, Tex; I hear they can cut up rough over a game of chess.”
“We have an active shooting situation.”
“Hey, Shortbread! No steak and taters for me tonight. Just mix me up a nice salad.”
“Don’t shoot them rattlesnakes, Amarillo Slim; they’re an endangered species.”
“You caused a lot of trouble here today, pilgrim, and someone oughta punch you in the mouth. But I won’t. I won’t. Really, I won’t.”
“Indians, outlaws, stampedes, trail dust – I sure hope we get these here cows into Abilene in time for the Shakespeare Festival.”
“Yeah, that’s the new sheriff all right. ‘Course she’s only sheriffin’ until that job in graphics design opens up.”
“Why, heck, boys, I’d rather be hung by my friends than by a bunch of dang strangers…you know, that’s the stupidest line in fiction.”
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dialogue You Never Hear in Cowboy Movies
“The jail hasn’t been built that can’t hold me.”
“I’ve been three months on the trail, and I’m parched from the alkali dust. Give me a nice cup of tea.”
“They’re cattle rustlers. We’re all going into town to discuss our issues and try to understand each other’s existential needs.”
“It’s not just a flesh wound.”
“We’re invitin’ you to a necktie party. All the coolest designers will be there with their autumn neckwear collections – Calvin Klein, Yves St. Laurent, Versace…”
“That’s the most dangerous stallion in the corral. He won’t be broken. He kicks. He bites. He’s put two cowboys in the hospital. His name is Fluffy.”
“Bugler - sound flip-flops and saddles!”
“I’ll be your huckleberry muffin.”
“This town’s probably big enough for the two of us.”
“They died with their open-toe sandals on.”
“That’s Beige Bart, the most mediocre hombre ever to stroll the streets of Dodge City.”
“I’ll see you in the street at high noon, marshal – wait, is that daylight savings time…?”
“Whiskey, bartender – and don’t leave the bottle.”
"I mean to hurt your feelings in one minute, Ned. Or see that you have therapy in Fort Smith at Judge Parker's convenience. Which'll it be?"
"I call that insensitive microaggression for a visually-impaired, overweight person!"
“When you say that, don’t smile.”
“I’ll see what the girls in the back room will have.”
“I’ve got a numb trigger finger.”
“We don’t have company.”
“Head ‘em down! Move ‘em in!”
“Eeeeeek! Native Americans!”
“Now Zeke, here, he’s into French New Wave. I wouldn’t bring up Italian cinema if I were you.”
“Had me a nice little Starbuck’s franchise in Tombstone…’til the Clantons moved in with their Panera Bread.”
“You be careful in the Bucket of Blood Saloon, Tex; I hear they can cut up rough over a game of chess.”
“We have an active shooting situation.”
“Hey, Shortbread! No steak and taters for me tonight. Just mix me up a nice salad.”
“Don’t shoot them rattlesnakes, Amarillo Slim; they’re an endangered species.”
“You caused a lot of trouble here today, pilgrim, and someone oughta punch you in the mouth. But I won’t. I won’t. Really, I won’t.”
“Indians, outlaws, stampedes, trail dust – I sure hope we get these here cows into Abilene in time for the Shakespeare Festival.”
“Yeah, that’s the new sheriff all right. ‘Course she’s only sheriffin’ until that job in graphics design opens up.”
“Why, heck, boys, I’d rather be hung by my friends than by a bunch of dang strangers…you know, that’s the stupidest line in fiction.”
-30-
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
For Friends in Canada
Canada Day? Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
But Canada goes on; these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
But Canada goes on; these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Sunday, June 21, 2015
With True Prayers
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
With True Prayers
“…but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there”
-Measure for Measure II.ii.151-152
A study table is an Altar too
Whereon repose not only holy books
But also hopes and prayers and coffee cups
On Wednesday evening – there in fellowship
To crown the middle of the busy week
With an hour or two of quiet discourse
And, yes, laughter, joy, and merriment
Among dear friends, our happy gifts from God -
Evil cannot veto, even with our blood
The truth: this table is an Altar too
Mhall46184@aol.com
With True Prayers
“…but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there”
-Measure for Measure II.ii.151-152
A study table is an Altar too
Whereon repose not only holy books
But also hopes and prayers and coffee cups
On Wednesday evening – there in fellowship
To crown the middle of the busy week
With an hour or two of quiet discourse
And, yes, laughter, joy, and merriment
Among dear friends, our happy gifts from God -
Evil cannot veto, even with our blood
The truth: this table is an Altar too
Tuesday, June 16, 2015
The Photographs of D.T. Kent, Jr.
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. I
“Old men forget…”
-Henry V
We see them in D.T.’s old photographs
Still standing tall on a Kirbyville street
Leaning upon a crutch or stick or friend
Or sitting in the summer shade at home
Shelling peas, shucking corn, mending harness
Because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
Loggers, farmers, railroaders, sawmill men
Always summoned to the government’s wars
But never to the White House for a medal -
That honor is not for the likes of them
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. II
“...she is a woman / More worth than any man…”
-The Winter’s Tale
We see them in D.T.’s old photographs
Standing on the steps of the Methodist church
The worthy women of the Bible Class
More dutiful than any old bishop
In teaching, preaching, healing errant souls
Whether daughters or sons, husbands or mules
Shelling peas, shucking corn, mending a quilt
Because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
And never taking tea with the First Lady –
Who would be welcome in for supper, though
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. III
“…an aery of children…”
-Hamlet
We see them in D.T.’s old photographs
Playing on the steps of a country church
Or running barefoot in the cow-cropped grass
Before Ma’am rings the bell for Sunday school
Getting up the milk cows, fishing in the pond
Or sitting in the summer shade at home
Made to shell peas, shuck corn, mend harness
Because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
If they were asked to the White House to play
Momma would make them wash behind their ears
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. IV
“It was a lover and his lass…”
-As You Like It
We see the girls in D.T.’s photographs
Discreetly flirting on a Kirbyville street
Under the stern-browed matrons’ watchful eyes
Or jitterbugging to the new jukebox
In some joint Momma wouldn’t approve of
Cokes, Nehis, and Dr Peppers raised high
Because the sawmill hands got paid today
And the other boys are home from the war:
Oh, look how happy they are, our moms and dads
Forever young, forever in our hearts
Thank you, Mr. Kent
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. I
“Old men forget…”
-Henry V
We see them in D.T.’s old photographs
Still standing tall on a Kirbyville street
Leaning upon a crutch or stick or friend
Or sitting in the summer shade at home
Shelling peas, shucking corn, mending harness
Because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
Loggers, farmers, railroaders, sawmill men
Always summoned to the government’s wars
But never to the White House for a medal -
That honor is not for the likes of them
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. II
“...she is a woman / More worth than any man…”
-The Winter’s Tale
We see them in D.T.’s old photographs
Standing on the steps of the Methodist church
The worthy women of the Bible Class
More dutiful than any old bishop
In teaching, preaching, healing errant souls
Whether daughters or sons, husbands or mules
Shelling peas, shucking corn, mending a quilt
Because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
And never taking tea with the First Lady –
Who would be welcome in for supper, though
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. III
“…an aery of children…”
-Hamlet
We see them in D.T.’s old photographs
Playing on the steps of a country church
Or running barefoot in the cow-cropped grass
Before Ma’am rings the bell for Sunday school
Getting up the milk cows, fishing in the pond
Or sitting in the summer shade at home
Made to shell peas, shuck corn, mend harness
Because idle hands are the devil’s workshop
If they were asked to the White House to play
Momma would make them wash behind their ears
The Photographs of D. T. Kent, Jr. IV
“It was a lover and his lass…”
-As You Like It
We see the girls in D.T.’s photographs
Discreetly flirting on a Kirbyville street
Under the stern-browed matrons’ watchful eyes
Or jitterbugging to the new jukebox
In some joint Momma wouldn’t approve of
Cokes, Nehis, and Dr Peppers raised high
Because the sawmill hands got paid today
And the other boys are home from the war:
Oh, look how happy they are, our moms and dads
Forever young, forever in our hearts
Thank you, Mr. Kent
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Posing for Selfies at the Foot of the Cross
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Posing for Selfies at the Foot of the Cross
A Doctor Mengele can cut and sew
Fragments of human flesh into a lie
And hide with perfume, paint, and filtered lens
This mockery of the embalmer’s art
That writhes in coils around the Tree of Life
Dressed richly in the colors of decay
And hisses through an anaesthetic smile
“That’s just the way the world works now.”
And let The People say how brave it is
To pose for selfies at the foot of the Cross
mhall46184@aol.com
Posing for Selfies at the Foot of the Cross
A Doctor Mengele can cut and sew
Fragments of human flesh into a lie
And hide with perfume, paint, and filtered lens
This mockery of the embalmer’s art
That writhes in coils around the Tree of Life
Dressed richly in the colors of decay
And hisses through an anaesthetic smile
“That’s just the way the world works now.”
And let The People say how brave it is
To pose for selfies at the foot of the Cross
Sunday, May 31, 2015
More Things People Never Say
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
More Things People Never Say
So how is wearing a red clown nose going to help anyone other than the manufacturers of red clown noses? And what happened to that money I gave someone else last year when I threw a bucket of ice water over my head?
My son’s been arrested several times. Clearly I didn’t raise him better than that.
I really miss the Habsburgs and the Romanovs. The Saxe-Coburg-Gothas are okay in their own way, of course.
I think he’s found all his marbles.
It ain’t over until the skinny gentleman sings.
Vote for me – I’m a Washington insider.
I sure hope Japan kills more whales this year.
Blue Bell wasn’t all that good anyway.
Harp seal – it’s what’s for dinner.
A new tie is a great Fathers’ Day gift.
Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.
He’s an undecorated veteran.
My lips are unsealed.
Soon to be a minor motion picture.
Pay it backward.
At least he died doing what he didn’t like.
This new book is a must-not-read.
You’ve got some small shoes to fill.
When they made him they kept the mold.
The experience was jaw-lifting.
This next speaker will not change your life forever.
Why, yes, I am surgically attached to my MePhone.
Here’s how we attract the youth to church – we tell them the simple truth and cut out all the entertainment.
Ya gotta find your periphery, man; ya gotta find your periphery.
When I grow up I want to be a cop or a teacher.
Oh, do look at the house; it’s not such a mess.
My homework ate my dog – that was one wild biology experiment.
I’m going to the camera shop for a selfless stick.
The other kids and I are reading The Brothers Karamazov this summer. So cool!
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
More Things People Never Say
So how is wearing a red clown nose going to help anyone other than the manufacturers of red clown noses? And what happened to that money I gave someone else last year when I threw a bucket of ice water over my head?
My son’s been arrested several times. Clearly I didn’t raise him better than that.
I really miss the Habsburgs and the Romanovs. The Saxe-Coburg-Gothas are okay in their own way, of course.
I think he’s found all his marbles.
It ain’t over until the skinny gentleman sings.
Vote for me – I’m a Washington insider.
I sure hope Japan kills more whales this year.
Blue Bell wasn’t all that good anyway.
Harp seal – it’s what’s for dinner.
A new tie is a great Fathers’ Day gift.
Anything worth doing is worth doing badly.
He’s an undecorated veteran.
My lips are unsealed.
Soon to be a minor motion picture.
Pay it backward.
At least he died doing what he didn’t like.
This new book is a must-not-read.
You’ve got some small shoes to fill.
When they made him they kept the mold.
The experience was jaw-lifting.
This next speaker will not change your life forever.
Why, yes, I am surgically attached to my MePhone.
Here’s how we attract the youth to church – we tell them the simple truth and cut out all the entertainment.
Ya gotta find your periphery, man; ya gotta find your periphery.
When I grow up I want to be a cop or a teacher.
Oh, do look at the house; it’s not such a mess.
My homework ate my dog – that was one wild biology experiment.
I’m going to the camera shop for a selfless stick.
The other kids and I are reading The Brothers Karamazov this summer. So cool!
-30-
Embrace Your Inner Adult
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Embrace Your Inner Adult
With the last of the fictional, cliché-sodden, wish-fulfillment graduation speeches cluttering up our in-boxes we can now turn to the more casual summer pattern of talking back to the filler-language of reporters and interviewers:
This video is going bacterial.
We’re in charted territory.
We need to educate for the 12th century.
Follow your works.
Let’s think inside the box.
There is something new under the sun.
Be careful what you wish for; you might not get it.
Let’s throw more money at the problem.
This isn’t ridiculous! This isn’t ridiculous!
The times need to get with the Church.
That’s just the way the world doesn’t work now.
We didn’t dodge the bullet; the bullet dodged us.
OMZ! OMZ! (for “Oh my Zeus!”) on the repeated amateur footage of tornado porn on what used to be a weather channel.
I say “Kafka-esque” a lot, but I don’t know what that means.
He pushed in all the stops.
The storm was imperfect.
He’s not a lone wolf. Lone gerbil, maybe.
You need to give 95 percent.
Write from your pancreas, not from your heart.
Inexact change, please.
I’d like some extra cholesterol with that.
That is so new school.
And, as a farewell to graduation speeches until December,
I just love guest speakers at graduation. I only wish they would talk longer. After all, I’m not much interested in seeing my child receive her diploma.
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Embrace Your Inner Adult
With the last of the fictional, cliché-sodden, wish-fulfillment graduation speeches cluttering up our in-boxes we can now turn to the more casual summer pattern of talking back to the filler-language of reporters and interviewers:
This video is going bacterial.
We’re in charted territory.
We need to educate for the 12th century.
Follow your works.
Let’s think inside the box.
There is something new under the sun.
Be careful what you wish for; you might not get it.
Let’s throw more money at the problem.
This isn’t ridiculous! This isn’t ridiculous!
The times need to get with the Church.
That’s just the way the world doesn’t work now.
We didn’t dodge the bullet; the bullet dodged us.
OMZ! OMZ! (for “Oh my Zeus!”) on the repeated amateur footage of tornado porn on what used to be a weather channel.
I say “Kafka-esque” a lot, but I don’t know what that means.
He pushed in all the stops.
The storm was imperfect.
He’s not a lone wolf. Lone gerbil, maybe.
You need to give 95 percent.
Write from your pancreas, not from your heart.
Inexact change, please.
I’d like some extra cholesterol with that.
That is so new school.
And, as a farewell to graduation speeches until December,
I just love guest speakers at graduation. I only wish they would talk longer. After all, I’m not much interested in seeing my child receive her diploma.
-30-
Casablanca - The Remake
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Casablanca – The Remake
In the re-make of Casablanca most scenes take place in Rick’s Juice Bar
Americain, where a cast of international characters seek desperately for the
Downloads of Transit signed by the Belgian government. The villains are
agents of Boa Constrictor Wireless Service who want to prevent Victor and Ilsa
from switching to cheaper and better data access.
The dialogue must be brought up to date, of course:
“Perhaps tomorrow we’ll be on the Amtrak.”
“To all officers - two Belgian couriers carrying important official downloads murdered on Amtrak from Oran. Murderer and possible accomplices headed for Casablanca. Round up all suspicious taxpayers and search them for illegally downloaded games on their MePhones. And for made-in-China designer knockoffs. Important.”
Captain Renault: “What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?”
Rick: “Broadband access. I came to Casablanca for the broadband access.”
Captain Renault: Broadband access? What broadband access ? We're in
a dead zone.”
Rick: “I was misinformed by the ap.”
Rick: “I have the downloads right here.”
Captain Renault: “Tell me, when we searched the place, where were they?”
Rick: “Sam's MePod.”
Captain Renault: “Serves me right for not being musical. “
“I am shocked! Shocked! To learn that there is smoking going on in here.”
“Your Cuban cigars, monsieur.”
“Oh, thank you very much.”
“I remember every detail – the Germans wore grey; you wore a ‘Spawn of Satan’ baseball cap.”
Captain Renault: “Oh no, Emil, please. A bottle of your best champagne, and
put it on my bill.”
Emil: “Very well, sir.”
Victor Laszlo: “Captain, please...”
Captain Renault: Oh, please, monsieur. It is a little game we play. They put it
on the bill, I charge it to my Republican National Committee credit card. It is
very convenient.”
Sam: “We'll take the two-cylinder, environmentally-friendly car. We'll let the
computer drive all night. We'll play video games. We'll get matching Bro tattoos
and stay away until she's gone. “
Major Strasser: “You give him credit for too much cleverness. My impression
was that he's just another blundering American.”
Captain Renault: “We musn't underestimate American blundering. I was with
them when they blundered into Korea, Viet-Nam, Cambodia, Laos, Iran,
Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Somalia, Haiti, Sudan, Bosnia, Ethiopia,
Pakistan, Yemen, Libya, Cuba, Liberia, Panama, Serbia…”
“If you can program it for her you can program it for me. Program it, Sam.”
Rick: “And remember, this tazer is pointed right at your heart.”
Captain Renault: “That is my least vulnerable spot.”
“We’ll always have Louisiana State University’s $85 million swimming pool and kiddie-park…um…educational support center.”
Rick: “Now, you've got to listen to me! You have any idea what you'd have to
look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we'd both wind up
in a mandatory sensitivity training program. Isn't that true, Louie?”
Captain Reynaud: “I’m afraid Doctor Reverend Major Strasser would insist.”
“Round up the usual taxpayers.”
“Here’s looking at you, kid – and I say that without any hint of patronizing male chauvinism.”
Victor Laszlo: “Welcome back to the discussion. This time I know our side will
try to understand genocidal maniacs better.”
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship if the Federal Trade Commission and the Supreme Court are okay with it.”
(Rick and Louis walk away into the fog as Lindsey Khardassian twerks to the Belgian national anthem.)
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Casablanca – The Remake
In the re-make of Casablanca most scenes take place in Rick’s Juice Bar
Americain, where a cast of international characters seek desperately for the
Downloads of Transit signed by the Belgian government. The villains are
agents of Boa Constrictor Wireless Service who want to prevent Victor and Ilsa
from switching to cheaper and better data access.
The dialogue must be brought up to date, of course:
“Perhaps tomorrow we’ll be on the Amtrak.”
“To all officers - two Belgian couriers carrying important official downloads murdered on Amtrak from Oran. Murderer and possible accomplices headed for Casablanca. Round up all suspicious taxpayers and search them for illegally downloaded games on their MePhones. And for made-in-China designer knockoffs. Important.”
Captain Renault: “What in heaven's name brought you to Casablanca?”
Rick: “Broadband access. I came to Casablanca for the broadband access.”
Captain Renault: Broadband access? What broadband access ? We're in
a dead zone.”
Rick: “I was misinformed by the ap.”
Rick: “I have the downloads right here.”
Captain Renault: “Tell me, when we searched the place, where were they?”
Rick: “Sam's MePod.”
Captain Renault: “Serves me right for not being musical. “
“I am shocked! Shocked! To learn that there is smoking going on in here.”
“Your Cuban cigars, monsieur.”
“Oh, thank you very much.”
“I remember every detail – the Germans wore grey; you wore a ‘Spawn of Satan’ baseball cap.”
Captain Renault: “Oh no, Emil, please. A bottle of your best champagne, and
put it on my bill.”
Emil: “Very well, sir.”
Victor Laszlo: “Captain, please...”
Captain Renault: Oh, please, monsieur. It is a little game we play. They put it
on the bill, I charge it to my Republican National Committee credit card. It is
very convenient.”
Sam: “We'll take the two-cylinder, environmentally-friendly car. We'll let the
computer drive all night. We'll play video games. We'll get matching Bro tattoos
and stay away until she's gone. “
Major Strasser: “You give him credit for too much cleverness. My impression
was that he's just another blundering American.”
Captain Renault: “We musn't underestimate American blundering. I was with
them when they blundered into Korea, Viet-Nam, Cambodia, Laos, Iran,
Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Somalia, Haiti, Sudan, Bosnia, Ethiopia,
Pakistan, Yemen, Libya, Cuba, Liberia, Panama, Serbia…”
“If you can program it for her you can program it for me. Program it, Sam.”
Rick: “And remember, this tazer is pointed right at your heart.”
Captain Renault: “That is my least vulnerable spot.”
“We’ll always have Louisiana State University’s $85 million swimming pool and kiddie-park…um…educational support center.”
Rick: “Now, you've got to listen to me! You have any idea what you'd have to
look forward to if you stayed here? Nine chances out of ten, we'd both wind up
in a mandatory sensitivity training program. Isn't that true, Louie?”
Captain Reynaud: “I’m afraid Doctor Reverend Major Strasser would insist.”
“Round up the usual taxpayers.”
“Here’s looking at you, kid – and I say that without any hint of patronizing male chauvinism.”
Victor Laszlo: “Welcome back to the discussion. This time I know our side will
try to understand genocidal maniacs better.”
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship if the Federal Trade Commission and the Supreme Court are okay with it.”
(Rick and Louis walk away into the fog as Lindsey Khardassian twerks to the Belgian national anthem.)
-30-
The Heart of the House
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Heart of the House
In the place of honor, a great flat screen -
No sacred image of Our Lady Queen
No crucifix, cross, or ikon Hellene
No painting of some calm pastoral scene -
No, only a glowing, pulsing flat screen
On which nothing worthy is ever seen
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Heart of the House
In the place of honor, a great flat screen -
No sacred image of Our Lady Queen
No crucifix, cross, or ikon Hellene
No painting of some calm pastoral scene -
No, only a glowing, pulsing flat screen
On which nothing worthy is ever seen
The Fall of Man
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Fall of Man
A Christian walking down the street -
A dog came by and tripped his feet
The man fell down; oh, gosh, it hurt!
Another man (his name was Bert)
Said
“We don’t agree on what’s essential;
I, you see, am existential
I’ll call my friend; you’re in a fix -
You’ll need two walking agnostics!
(Thank you. Thank you very much.)
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Fall of Man
A Christian walking down the street -
A dog came by and tripped his feet
The man fell down; oh, gosh, it hurt!
Another man (his name was Bert)
Said
“We don’t agree on what’s essential;
I, you see, am existential
I’ll call my friend; you’re in a fix -
You’ll need two walking agnostics!
(Thank you. Thank you very much.)
Birdsong
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Birdsong
St. Matthew 10:29
A fledgling dead, its little body limp
Not yet devoured by cats and ants and time
New russet feathers shining back the sun
And silent wings that cannot weave the wind
A handsome beak that now will never know
The sensual savour of seeds and worms,
Or gossip and prate around the leafy lawn
Where summer romance sweetens the twilight air:
We only know that this small life was sent -
And that may well explain the universe
Mhall46184@aol.com
Birdsong
St. Matthew 10:29
A fledgling dead, its little body limp
Not yet devoured by cats and ants and time
New russet feathers shining back the sun
And silent wings that cannot weave the wind
A handsome beak that now will never know
The sensual savour of seeds and worms,
Or gossip and prate around the leafy lawn
Where summer romance sweetens the twilight air:
We only know that this small life was sent -
And that may well explain the universe
Decoration Day on A.M. Radio
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Decoration Day on A.M. Radio
Willing to die for their country subscribe
Made the ultimate sacrifice buy stuff
All gave some some gave all your credit card
On the beaches of Normandy buy now
In the jungles of Viet-Nam on sale
In Afghanistan this offer ends soon
We honor those who served at a discount
Thank you for your service to our profits
Obey us if you love America
And buy more stuff from us radio heroes
A Bonfire of the Tree of Life
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Bonfire of the Tree of Life
Ireland 2015
Who made a bonfire of the Tree of Life?
And grilled snakefingers on the glowing coals
With one last autumn apple for dessert
And one last walk through gardens of decay
Then out through wooshing automatic doors
Guarded by cameras with flaming lenses
Against fig leaves and the popular vote
And tattooed Albigensians at play
In the fields of evolutionary regress
Who made a bonfire of the Tree of Life
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Bonfire of the Tree of Life
Ireland 2015
Who made a bonfire of the Tree of Life?
And grilled snakefingers on the glowing coals
With one last autumn apple for dessert
And one last walk through gardens of decay
Then out through wooshing automatic doors
Guarded by cameras with flaming lenses
Against fig leaves and the popular vote
And tattooed Albigensians at play
In the fields of evolutionary regress
Who made a bonfire of the Tree of Life
The Mobius Strip
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Mobius Strip
What is more obvious than a smooth flat plane?
The clever Mobius begins as such
Thus promising an end somewhere out there
Deceiving soon the careless voyager
With loops that are not loops, and yet they are
With straights that are not straights, and yet they are
In disappearing back into themselves
They never go away or come again
Life twisting into a twist that is no twist -
What is more devious than a smooth flat plane?
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Mobius Strip
What is more obvious than a smooth flat plane?
The clever Mobius begins as such
Thus promising an end somewhere out there
Deceiving soon the careless voyager
With loops that are not loops, and yet they are
With straights that are not straights, and yet they are
In disappearing back into themselves
They never go away or come again
Life twisting into a twist that is no twist -
What is more devious than a smooth flat plane?
Why is the Man in the Moon Always Happy?
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Why is the Man in the Moon Always Happy?
The Man in the Moon is smiling tonight
His duty is his joy, to take his place
Within the celestial liturgy
Whose rubrics were appointed before time
So that the spheres in happy dignity
Perform their sacred offices to God,
Ab Introibo ad Benedicat,
As ceremonies of grateful creation
And that is why, with angels, stars, and us
The Man in the Moon is smiling tonight
Mhall46184@aol.com
Why is the Man in the Moon Always Happy?
The Man in the Moon is smiling tonight
His duty is his joy, to take his place
Within the celestial liturgy
Whose rubrics were appointed before time
So that the spheres in happy dignity
Perform their sacred offices to God,
Ab Introibo ad Benedicat,
As ceremonies of grateful creation
And that is why, with angels, stars, and us
The Man in the Moon is smiling tonight
Our Lady of Walsingham
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Our Lady of Walsingham
O how beautiful is Our Lady Queen!
Queen of our hearts and hopes, and of the May
Sweet Empress over forest, down, and dene,
And happy Sunrise over the pilgrim’s way
O let us crown Our Queen with leaf and flower
Gathered this morning in the dawnlit dew
For we in this island are Her true dower
Pledging our faith with thorn and rose and yew
She gives us Her feast day, cool and quiet and green -
O how beautiful is Our Lady Queen!
Mhall46184@aol.com
Our Lady of Walsingham
O how beautiful is Our Lady Queen!
Queen of our hearts and hopes, and of the May
Sweet Empress over forest, down, and dene,
And happy Sunrise over the pilgrim’s way
O let us crown Our Queen with leaf and flower
Gathered this morning in the dawnlit dew
For we in this island are Her true dower
Pledging our faith with thorn and rose and yew
She gives us Her feast day, cool and quiet and green -
O how beautiful is Our Lady Queen!
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Baby Boomers
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Baby Boomers
For William Kristol Epiphanes
Children of privilege getting up at four
To herd milk cows in from ice-sleeted woods
And then at dawn running late down the lane
To catch the rattling school bus into town
Self-indulgent baby-boomers sentenced
In the gasping heat of Indo-China
Along the banks of the Song Vam Co Tay
Not optimistic about seeing the dawn
A useless, indolent generation
Working double shifts at the shop by night
Chaucer, geometry, history by day
Coffee, noodles, used textbooks, the laundromat
Those insolent, unfocused layabouts
On pilgrimage along the American road
Jobs, families, house-notes, voting, and taxes
But judged and found wanting by Divine Bill
Mhall46184@aol.com
Baby Boomers
For William Kristol Epiphanes
Children of privilege getting up at four
To herd milk cows in from ice-sleeted woods
And then at dawn running late down the lane
To catch the rattling school bus into town
Self-indulgent baby-boomers sentenced
In the gasping heat of Indo-China
Along the banks of the Song Vam Co Tay
Not optimistic about seeing the dawn
A useless, indolent generation
Working double shifts at the shop by night
Chaucer, geometry, history by day
Coffee, noodles, used textbooks, the laundromat
Those insolent, unfocused layabouts
On pilgrimage along the American road
Jobs, families, house-notes, voting, and taxes
But judged and found wanting by Divine Bill
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Mockingbirds on Patrol
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Mockingbirds on Patrol
At dusk the slithering cat stalks mockingbirds
Oozing in silence ‘cross the no man’s lawn
Of bread and seed contested by raccoons,
Squirrels, birds, and an unhappy ‘possum
Her target those most insolent mockingbirds
Who bully the doves and cardinals about
There driving them from the supper they want
And mockingbirds in turn supper for the cat
But no! the victims form squadrons like Spitfires -
At dusk the mockingbirds stalk the cringing cat
Mhall46184@aol.com
Mockingbirds on Patrol
At dusk the slithering cat stalks mockingbirds
Oozing in silence ‘cross the no man’s lawn
Of bread and seed contested by raccoons,
Squirrels, birds, and an unhappy ‘possum
Her target those most insolent mockingbirds
Who bully the doves and cardinals about
There driving them from the supper they want
And mockingbirds in turn supper for the cat
But no! the victims form squadrons like Spitfires -
At dusk the mockingbirds stalk the cringing cat
A Keeper of Civilization
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Keeper of Civilization
A tie clasp serves no useful purpose now,
This ornament that keeps a tie in place
But no one wears a tie, so what’s the point?
Like cufflinks, collars, and humility
This bourgeois affectation is passé;
A tie is not Authentic like a tee
Garnished with a cartoon grotesquerie
Aggressively proclaiming empty noise.
A tie clasp serves no useful purpose now
And that is why it is useful indeed
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Keeper of Civilization
A tie clasp serves no useful purpose now,
This ornament that keeps a tie in place
But no one wears a tie, so what’s the point?
Like cufflinks, collars, and humility
This bourgeois affectation is passé;
A tie is not Authentic like a tee
Garnished with a cartoon grotesquerie
Aggressively proclaiming empty noise.
A tie clasp serves no useful purpose now
And that is why it is useful indeed
Dimitri in America
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dimitri in America
Did Mitya escape to America?
He might have changed his name to Bob or Al
Married Myrtle in the Methodist Church -
Myrtle, nee’ Agrafena Alexandrovna -
And worked the candy counter at Woolworth’s
Riding the trolley downtown every day
While saving up for a new Model T
In obedience to his New World staretz
Horatio Alger hissing behind a tree
Was Mitya sentenced to America?
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dimitri in America
Did Mitya escape to America?
He might have changed his name to Bob or Al
Married Myrtle in the Methodist Church -
Myrtle, nee’ Agrafena Alexandrovna -
And worked the candy counter at Woolworth’s
Riding the trolley downtown every day
While saving up for a new Model T
In obedience to his New World staretz
Horatio Alger hissing behind a tree
Was Mitya sentenced to America?
The Witanagemot
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Witanagemot
Under wide oaks men sit with pipes alight
And soft old amber single-malt to hand
The sun has just now set, the failing day
Resolves itself into a cooling dusk
Tobacco, talk, and time incense the air
And silent fireflies dance until the stars
Join with them in a festival of lights
While birds make wing to Shakespeare’s rooky wood
Crickets and frogs sing to celebrate the moon
And good men sit and talk, with pipes alight
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Witanagemot
Under wide oaks men sit with pipes alight
And soft old amber single-malt to hand
The sun has just now set, the failing day
Resolves itself into a cooling dusk
Tobacco, talk, and time incense the air
And silent fireflies dance until the stars
Join with them in a festival of lights
While birds make wing to Shakespeare’s rooky wood
Crickets and frogs sing to celebrate the moon
And good men sit and talk, with pipes alight
Subversive
Subversive
Lapsing into 1968-Speak
The television priest says “subversive”
While waxing (and polishing?) discursive
He says it often, at least thrice a week
Lapsing into 1968-Speak
The television priest says “subversive”
While waxing (and polishing?) discursive
He says it often, at least thrice a week
Pursued by Hallway Gideons
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Pursued by Hallway Gideons
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Exeunt omnes, pursued by a bore waving a little green book about
Mhall46184@aol.com
Pursued by Hallway Gideons
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Repeat
Hi there how are you doing isn’t this a
wonderful day would you like a New Tes
tament sir thank you hi ma’am good to see
you would you like a New Testament you
are so welcome Hi there how are you doing
isn’t this a wonderful day would you
like a New Testament sir thank you hi
ma’am good to see you would you like a New
Testament you are welcome Hi there how
are you doing isn’t this a wonderful
Exeunt omnes, pursued by a bore waving a little green book about
The Ten-Thirty / Seven-Thirty Shift
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Ten-Thirty / Seven-Thirty Shift
For Nurses
No one writes verses much about nurses
Though no one more deserves a few kind thoughts
No, not about the lady with the lamp
(Not with all that oxygen around!)
Nor the nurse with eternal sad-me crises
Who often calls in sick and leaves her work
To be taken up by others – by you
So these poor lines are for wonderful you
Driving to work in your ten-year-old car
And carefully tending life throughout the night
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Ten-Thirty / Seven-Thirty Shift
For Nurses
No one writes verses much about nurses
Though no one more deserves a few kind thoughts
No, not about the lady with the lamp
(Not with all that oxygen around!)
Nor the nurse with eternal sad-me crises
Who often calls in sick and leaves her work
To be taken up by others – by you
So these poor lines are for wonderful you
Driving to work in your ten-year-old car
And carefully tending life throughout the night
No One Ever Said the War was Over
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
No One Ever Said the War was Over
No one ever said the war was over
They were honest in that one thing, at least
Since that which never began cannot end
Not for those in a war that never was
Some made fortunes, some got a bus ride home
Some shook it off, and made it out okay
And some stare vacantly in lonely rooms
Red, yellow, green – what did they ever mean?
“Thank you for your service” – what does that mean?
No one ever said the war was over
Mhall46184@aol.com
No One Ever Said the War was Over
No one ever said the war was over
They were honest in that one thing, at least
Since that which never began cannot end
Not for those in a war that never was
Some made fortunes, some got a bus ride home
Some shook it off, and made it out okay
And some stare vacantly in lonely rooms
Red, yellow, green – what did they ever mean?
“Thank you for your service” – what does that mean?
No one ever said the war was over
Invasion of the Metaphors
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Invasion of the Metaphors
On the Orwellian telescreen a woman recently returned from Nepal said that the country looked like a war zone.
One never hears young men and women returning from any of this nation’s many undeclared wars saying that the ditches and gullies and rocky slopes where they fought to stay alive looked like an earthquake.
What, exactly, is a “war zone?” Is that just a two-syllable way of saying “war?” Just say “war.”
Congress won’t, of course.
In the neverending quest (how’s that for filler language?) for metaphors, “war zone” appears to be most fashionable just now. Earthquakes, storms, messy rooms, the litter left after a football game, leaf-fall after a storm – all are grist for the war zone mill (mixing several tired metaphors).
If a family is killed by a building collapsing in an earthquake, we do their memory no service by saying that the wreckage looks like a war zone. It doesn’t. It looks like the result of an earthquake, and that is because it is the result of an earthquake. It isn’t like anything else; it is itself.
A common metaphor along our stormy coast is to allege that trees snapped like matchsticks. Does anyone ever maintain that matchsticks snap like trees? Does anyone sit around snapping matchsticks anyway? No one ever says that trees snap like cheap plastic cigarette lighters, which would be slightly more logical because almost no one uses matches anymore. Anyone wanting a box of matches might be advised to check the newsstand, over by the pay telephones, in the railroad station down the street past the Packard dealership.
Our part of the planet is subject to strong winds because of tornadoes, hurricanes, and thunderstorms, and sometimes these winds break trees. We should state this simple fact, that winds break trees, and not pull from a rag-bag (another tired metaphor – what is a rag-bag?) any of a collection of old metaphors that occupy space and obscure clarity of thought.
If, in the same storm, the winds toss your 1956 Plymouth about, they toss it about like a 1956 Plymouth, not like a toy, because a 1956 Plymouth is not a toy. It is itself. The toy comparison has been done, over and over and over, for decades. Now if you say that your 1956 Plymouth was tossed about like a referee after a close soccer match between Sheffield and Arsenal you’d be making a fresh and praiseworthy metaphor. Even so, it would probably be better to state the plain, clear fact that strong winds blew your 1956 Plymouth about, especially when making your case to the insurance company: “Like a toy, eh? Okay, here’s a voucher good for a Fisher-Price replacement, with a Ken and Barbie deductible…”
In East Texas another tired metaphor is to say of a child’s room not that it needs tidying up but that it looks like a hurricane hit it:
“But Dad, my room’s not here. The whole house is gone!”
“Exactly right, my son. Your room looks like a hurricane hit it.”
Sometimes reality is not subject to a metaphor at all.
-30
Mhall46184@aol.com
Invasion of the Metaphors
On the Orwellian telescreen a woman recently returned from Nepal said that the country looked like a war zone.
One never hears young men and women returning from any of this nation’s many undeclared wars saying that the ditches and gullies and rocky slopes where they fought to stay alive looked like an earthquake.
What, exactly, is a “war zone?” Is that just a two-syllable way of saying “war?” Just say “war.”
Congress won’t, of course.
In the neverending quest (how’s that for filler language?) for metaphors, “war zone” appears to be most fashionable just now. Earthquakes, storms, messy rooms, the litter left after a football game, leaf-fall after a storm – all are grist for the war zone mill (mixing several tired metaphors).
If a family is killed by a building collapsing in an earthquake, we do their memory no service by saying that the wreckage looks like a war zone. It doesn’t. It looks like the result of an earthquake, and that is because it is the result of an earthquake. It isn’t like anything else; it is itself.
A common metaphor along our stormy coast is to allege that trees snapped like matchsticks. Does anyone ever maintain that matchsticks snap like trees? Does anyone sit around snapping matchsticks anyway? No one ever says that trees snap like cheap plastic cigarette lighters, which would be slightly more logical because almost no one uses matches anymore. Anyone wanting a box of matches might be advised to check the newsstand, over by the pay telephones, in the railroad station down the street past the Packard dealership.
Our part of the planet is subject to strong winds because of tornadoes, hurricanes, and thunderstorms, and sometimes these winds break trees. We should state this simple fact, that winds break trees, and not pull from a rag-bag (another tired metaphor – what is a rag-bag?) any of a collection of old metaphors that occupy space and obscure clarity of thought.
If, in the same storm, the winds toss your 1956 Plymouth about, they toss it about like a 1956 Plymouth, not like a toy, because a 1956 Plymouth is not a toy. It is itself. The toy comparison has been done, over and over and over, for decades. Now if you say that your 1956 Plymouth was tossed about like a referee after a close soccer match between Sheffield and Arsenal you’d be making a fresh and praiseworthy metaphor. Even so, it would probably be better to state the plain, clear fact that strong winds blew your 1956 Plymouth about, especially when making your case to the insurance company: “Like a toy, eh? Okay, here’s a voucher good for a Fisher-Price replacement, with a Ken and Barbie deductible…”
In East Texas another tired metaphor is to say of a child’s room not that it needs tidying up but that it looks like a hurricane hit it:
“But Dad, my room’s not here. The whole house is gone!”
“Exactly right, my son. Your room looks like a hurricane hit it.”
Sometimes reality is not subject to a metaphor at all.
-30
The Bates Motel and Recording Studio
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Bates Motel and Recording Studio
John Hinckley, Junior is a spoiled misunderstood, self-indulgent sensitive, vicious artistic, treacherous creative, disgusting delicate, back-shooting generous fecal impaction seeker after truth who all his life has been occupying space and breathing air that might have been used for better purposes trying to find himself. After all, we try to see the good in everyone.
In 1981 Hinckley, fascinated with a cinema actress instead of with life, decided that he would prove himself worthy of her by murdering the President. At close range he discharged a revolver and struck police officer Thomas Delahanty, White House Press Secretary James Brady, Secret Service agent Timothy McCarthy, and President Reagan. James Brady spent the remaining decades of his life paralyzed and in pain, and his death in 2014 was ruled a homicide.
Despite the movie scripts, no one, no matter how young and healthy, ever fully recovers from gunshot and fragmentation wounds. Everyone Hinckley shot that day received a life sentence of pain and disability.
For assault, treason, and murder, John Hinckley was sentenced to – the hospital.
Adolescent shoplifters have received sterner punishment.
Come to think of it, you’ve received sterner punishment. When you went to see the justice of the peace about that out-of-date inspection sticker the judge did not say, “You know, I understand your needs. I’m sure you forgot about the annual inspection because you had a rough childhood. Since your mumsy and dadsy are rich and connected, let’s skip that fine, and talk about your feelings.”
For the last three decades, gentle reader, you have been working and paying taxes to support John Hinckley’s hospitalization, psychiatric care, and, yes, music therapy. You get up and go to work every day; John Hinckley hangs out and practices the guitar.
For the past few years Hinckley has spending much of every month with his 89-year-old mother. Well, hey, family is everything, right? His family, of course, not yours, and certainly not the families he destroyed.
Having committed murder and ruining the lives of many individuals and families, this detritus inspirational singer-songwriter wants to start a band, which is pretty much the dream of every 60-year-old.
One can imagine the rehearsals – “Stan, you might want to strengthen that opening note when you come in on ‘Baby Baby Baby Yeah Yeah Yeah’ – or die. Just a thought, dude.”
If Mrs. Hinckley Senior suggests it’s time for Junior to go night-night, will our geriatric artiste respond with “Mumsy, don’t make me go all Bates Motel on you, okay?”
When Junior does achieve his dream of putting his band together, the first number could, appropriately, a cover of the Beatles’ “I’m a Loser.”
Music might not be Junior Hinckley’s thing, of course, in which case he seems perfectly fitted by disposition and experience to be a customer service representative for an internet company.
He could do something with drones.
Or maybe the new Secret Service.
And since Junior is soon to be released from hospital completely, perhaps his room will then be given to an injured worker, a war veteran, or someone else who has made an effort to do something meaningful in life.
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Bates Motel and Recording Studio
John Hinckley, Junior is a spoiled misunderstood, self-indulgent sensitive, vicious artistic, treacherous creative, disgusting delicate, back-shooting generous fecal impaction seeker after truth who all his life has been occupying space and breathing air that might have been used for better purposes trying to find himself. After all, we try to see the good in everyone.
In 1981 Hinckley, fascinated with a cinema actress instead of with life, decided that he would prove himself worthy of her by murdering the President. At close range he discharged a revolver and struck police officer Thomas Delahanty, White House Press Secretary James Brady, Secret Service agent Timothy McCarthy, and President Reagan. James Brady spent the remaining decades of his life paralyzed and in pain, and his death in 2014 was ruled a homicide.
Despite the movie scripts, no one, no matter how young and healthy, ever fully recovers from gunshot and fragmentation wounds. Everyone Hinckley shot that day received a life sentence of pain and disability.
For assault, treason, and murder, John Hinckley was sentenced to – the hospital.
Adolescent shoplifters have received sterner punishment.
Come to think of it, you’ve received sterner punishment. When you went to see the justice of the peace about that out-of-date inspection sticker the judge did not say, “You know, I understand your needs. I’m sure you forgot about the annual inspection because you had a rough childhood. Since your mumsy and dadsy are rich and connected, let’s skip that fine, and talk about your feelings.”
For the last three decades, gentle reader, you have been working and paying taxes to support John Hinckley’s hospitalization, psychiatric care, and, yes, music therapy. You get up and go to work every day; John Hinckley hangs out and practices the guitar.
For the past few years Hinckley has spending much of every month with his 89-year-old mother. Well, hey, family is everything, right? His family, of course, not yours, and certainly not the families he destroyed.
Having committed murder and ruining the lives of many individuals and families, this detritus inspirational singer-songwriter wants to start a band, which is pretty much the dream of every 60-year-old.
One can imagine the rehearsals – “Stan, you might want to strengthen that opening note when you come in on ‘Baby Baby Baby Yeah Yeah Yeah’ – or die. Just a thought, dude.”
If Mrs. Hinckley Senior suggests it’s time for Junior to go night-night, will our geriatric artiste respond with “Mumsy, don’t make me go all Bates Motel on you, okay?”
When Junior does achieve his dream of putting his band together, the first number could, appropriately, a cover of the Beatles’ “I’m a Loser.”
Music might not be Junior Hinckley’s thing, of course, in which case he seems perfectly fitted by disposition and experience to be a customer service representative for an internet company.
He could do something with drones.
Or maybe the new Secret Service.
And since Junior is soon to be released from hospital completely, perhaps his room will then be given to an injured worker, a war veteran, or someone else who has made an effort to do something meaningful in life.
-30-
The Face on the Twenty-Dollar Bill
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Face on the Twenty-Dollar Bill
“The Face on the Twenty-Dollar Bill” sounds like the title of a Robert W. Service poem, but is in fact a matter of some discussion – who should replace stern, handsome, Trail of Tears President Andrew Jackson on the price of a cup of designer coffee?
That President Jackson will be replaced is not in doubt, and a mature discussion (which you certainly will not find in my scribblings) of the matter by Steve Inskeepmay can be found at: www.nytimes.com/2015/05/05/opinion/should-jackson-stay-on-the-dollar20-bill.html.
Curiously, Mr. Inskeepmay proposes replacing President Jackson, a slave owner, with John Ross, another slave owner, but since Mr. Ross was a Cherokee that’s okay with Mr. Inskeepmay.
As we know, the one-dollar-bill features George Washington, inept British colonial officer in his youth, slave owner, general of the armies in the American secession from the British Empire, later president, and still a slave owner.
The five-dollar-bill gives us Railsplitter Abe, a handsome man save for that fungal growth at the end of his chin, a fashion statement he shared with Democrat Jefferson Davis and with Doctor Ben Carson, like Lincoln a Republican candidate for the presidency.
Gentlemen, please, if you love your country, step closer to your designed-in-Holland-and-made-in-China Norelcos. Please.
The tenner shows another dignified man, Alexander Hamilton, who later found fame as drummer for The Dave Clark Five. Or was he one of the guitarists?
Easy, The Alexander Hamilton Fan Club. Just a little attempt at humor. Your Alexander Hamilton posters are not threatened.
After Andrew Jackson the poor man’s wallet enjoys little familiarity with presidents, although President Grant is known to be on one of the holiday-in-Davos bills. But he drank whiskey and smoked cigars, and we can’t have that, no, sir.
Whose face will next grace the twenty? My prediction is Harriet Tubman or Sojourner Truth, who accomplished wonderful things without later becoming involved in genocide, land swindles, or the ownership of their fellow human beings.
In the meantime, we are free to indulge in a little whimsical wish-fulfillment in considering other possibilities for adorning our national currency:
How about a three-dollar bill with President Clinton on the front and Lindsey Lohan’s reverse on the reverse?
The problem with President Obama’s picture on a currency bill is that the reverse would read “You Didn’t Earn This,” and he would take the money away from you.
President Hilary Clinton’s twenty-dollar bill would have her “WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE!!??” moment embedded in a little audio chip.
President Hilary Clinton? Deal with the reality, Republicans: you complain but you don’t vote.
Hey, how about Louis Armstrong on the twenty? But, no, he made people happy, and that would never do.
Here is an idea for an image on the twenty-dollar bill that no one has yet considered: the now-forgotten American worker. Put a picture of a worker on our currency. I propose variants to be printed on the face of the twenty in monthly or yearly cycles: a farmer harvesting wheat, a woman behind the counter at a fast-foodery, a bus driver, a welder, a logger, a nurse’s aide, the nice lady in the ticket window at the movies, a (gasp!) police officer, a private in the Army, a miner, a railway engineer, a mechanic, a lineman in a thunderstorm, a kindergarten teacher, or any other worker, all without any reference to DNA.
Nah, it’ll never happen.
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Face on the Twenty-Dollar Bill
“The Face on the Twenty-Dollar Bill” sounds like the title of a Robert W. Service poem, but is in fact a matter of some discussion – who should replace stern, handsome, Trail of Tears President Andrew Jackson on the price of a cup of designer coffee?
That President Jackson will be replaced is not in doubt, and a mature discussion (which you certainly will not find in my scribblings) of the matter by Steve Inskeepmay can be found at: www.nytimes.com/2015/05/05/opinion/should-jackson-stay-on-the-dollar20-bill.html.
Curiously, Mr. Inskeepmay proposes replacing President Jackson, a slave owner, with John Ross, another slave owner, but since Mr. Ross was a Cherokee that’s okay with Mr. Inskeepmay.
As we know, the one-dollar-bill features George Washington, inept British colonial officer in his youth, slave owner, general of the armies in the American secession from the British Empire, later president, and still a slave owner.
The five-dollar-bill gives us Railsplitter Abe, a handsome man save for that fungal growth at the end of his chin, a fashion statement he shared with Democrat Jefferson Davis and with Doctor Ben Carson, like Lincoln a Republican candidate for the presidency.
Gentlemen, please, if you love your country, step closer to your designed-in-Holland-and-made-in-China Norelcos. Please.
The tenner shows another dignified man, Alexander Hamilton, who later found fame as drummer for The Dave Clark Five. Or was he one of the guitarists?
Easy, The Alexander Hamilton Fan Club. Just a little attempt at humor. Your Alexander Hamilton posters are not threatened.
After Andrew Jackson the poor man’s wallet enjoys little familiarity with presidents, although President Grant is known to be on one of the holiday-in-Davos bills. But he drank whiskey and smoked cigars, and we can’t have that, no, sir.
Whose face will next grace the twenty? My prediction is Harriet Tubman or Sojourner Truth, who accomplished wonderful things without later becoming involved in genocide, land swindles, or the ownership of their fellow human beings.
In the meantime, we are free to indulge in a little whimsical wish-fulfillment in considering other possibilities for adorning our national currency:
How about a three-dollar bill with President Clinton on the front and Lindsey Lohan’s reverse on the reverse?
The problem with President Obama’s picture on a currency bill is that the reverse would read “You Didn’t Earn This,” and he would take the money away from you.
President Hilary Clinton’s twenty-dollar bill would have her “WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE!!??” moment embedded in a little audio chip.
President Hilary Clinton? Deal with the reality, Republicans: you complain but you don’t vote.
Hey, how about Louis Armstrong on the twenty? But, no, he made people happy, and that would never do.
Here is an idea for an image on the twenty-dollar bill that no one has yet considered: the now-forgotten American worker. Put a picture of a worker on our currency. I propose variants to be printed on the face of the twenty in monthly or yearly cycles: a farmer harvesting wheat, a woman behind the counter at a fast-foodery, a bus driver, a welder, a logger, a nurse’s aide, the nice lady in the ticket window at the movies, a (gasp!) police officer, a private in the Army, a miner, a railway engineer, a mechanic, a lineman in a thunderstorm, a kindergarten teacher, or any other worker, all without any reference to DNA.
Nah, it’ll never happen.
-30-
Saturday, April 25, 2015
Upon Re-Reading The Brothers Karamazov
Just now I finished re-reading The Brothers Karamazov, not without relief but with more appreciation, especially for the trial. The defense speaks of Russian justice as redemptive, quoting Peter the Great’s aphorism that it is better that ten guilty men are acquitted rather than one innocent man be convicted. The defense attorney sees redemptive justice as Christian; I don’t think Peter the Great saw it that way.
Rachael and Eldon advised me to look for the humor, and they helped me to see that, both the ironic and the gentle, and Tod Mixson suggested that I remember that there is much drama of the old pulp magazines sort, and I became aware of that too. Ingrid said…oh, what did Ingrid say?
But the trial – that is something I mean to re-read soon.
So great is the worth of Dostoevsky that to have produced him is by itself sufficient justification for the existence of the Russian people in the world; and he will bear witness for his countrymen in the last judgment of the nations.
-Nicholas Berdyaev, quoted in The Brothers Karamazov: Worlds of the Novel, Robin Feuer Miller
Rachael and Eldon advised me to look for the humor, and they helped me to see that, both the ironic and the gentle, and Tod Mixson suggested that I remember that there is much drama of the old pulp magazines sort, and I became aware of that too. Ingrid said…oh, what did Ingrid say?
But the trial – that is something I mean to re-read soon.
So great is the worth of Dostoevsky that to have produced him is by itself sufficient justification for the existence of the Russian people in the world; and he will bear witness for his countrymen in the last judgment of the nations.
-Nicholas Berdyaev, quoted in The Brothers Karamazov: Worlds of the Novel, Robin Feuer Miller
Monday, April 20, 2015
Emmaus isn't on the Map
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Emmaus isn’t on the Map
The road from Emmaus is not in the book
Emmaus isn’t even on the map
Still, people walk to Emmaus every day
And then they go away to somewhere else
Because while everyone visits Emmaus
It’s only for supper and a new assignment
Although the directions seem somewhat vague
Those who have been there seem to know the way
The road to Emmaus is in the book
The road out of town is mapped in the heart
Mhall46184@aol.com
Emmaus isn’t on the Map
The road from Emmaus is not in the book
Emmaus isn’t even on the map
Still, people walk to Emmaus every day
And then they go away to somewhere else
Because while everyone visits Emmaus
It’s only for supper and a new assignment
Although the directions seem somewhat vague
Those who have been there seem to know the way
The road to Emmaus is in the book
The road out of town is mapped in the heart
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Had Byron Lived a Few Years Longer
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Had Byron Lived a Few Years Longer
V:
She stalks in Makeup, like a fright
Of Senior Specials and takeout fries;
And all that’s worst of snark and bite
Meet in her painted layers of guise:
Thus billowed in that fluorescent light
Which Heaven to youthful lads denies.
R:
He talks of Makeup, silly old wight
Of faded beauties – through his old eyes!
And his slim waist and muscled might
Have long departed – he is no prize!
Thus now of greater width than height
Which Heaven to happy girls denies.
Mhall46184@aol.com
Had Byron Lived a Few Years Longer
V:
She stalks in Makeup, like a fright
Of Senior Specials and takeout fries;
And all that’s worst of snark and bite
Meet in her painted layers of guise:
Thus billowed in that fluorescent light
Which Heaven to youthful lads denies.
R:
He talks of Makeup, silly old wight
Of faded beauties – through his old eyes!
And his slim waist and muscled might
Have long departed – he is no prize!
Thus now of greater width than height
Which Heaven to happy girls denies.
A Morning in March
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Morning in March
This morning is a sonnet sweetly sung
First by the breeze sighing through apple leaves
Then by the sun laughing across the grass
And by murmuring doves and nattering sparrows
Fussing with squirrels under a happy oak
Dressing itself in the fashion of spring
Covering the barrenness of winter with
Young leaves only now learning how to flirt
In anticipation of summer days:
This morning is a sonnet sweetly sung
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Morning in March
This morning is a sonnet sweetly sung
First by the breeze sighing through apple leaves
Then by the sun laughing across the grass
And by murmuring doves and nattering sparrows
Fussing with squirrels under a happy oak
Dressing itself in the fashion of spring
Covering the barrenness of winter with
Young leaves only now learning how to flirt
In anticipation of summer days:
This morning is a sonnet sweetly sung
The Styled One
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Styled One
“What are you rebelling against?”
“Whaddaya got?”
“A philosophical matrix predicated
Upon experience analyzed rationally
Without incessant self-reference
Or submission to transient fashions.
This matrix considers natural law,
Epistemologically demonstrable,
Ecclesiastical law, which is subject
To discussion because of variant
Concepts of divine revelation
And then secular law, which grounds
Even a republic, in its origin,
In the Jewish-Christian Mosaic law
But which is subject to modification
According to the federal constitution
And the various state constitutions
Expressed by popular will according to
Due process of law, that is, elections.
Applying the Hegelian dialectic,
One can sort out for himself a mode of life
In harmony with both his conscience
And with the needs of a multi-cultural state.”
“Got a beer?”
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Styled One
“What are you rebelling against?”
“Whaddaya got?”
“A philosophical matrix predicated
Upon experience analyzed rationally
Without incessant self-reference
Or submission to transient fashions.
This matrix considers natural law,
Epistemologically demonstrable,
Ecclesiastical law, which is subject
To discussion because of variant
Concepts of divine revelation
And then secular law, which grounds
Even a republic, in its origin,
In the Jewish-Christian Mosaic law
But which is subject to modification
According to the federal constitution
And the various state constitutions
Expressed by popular will according to
Due process of law, that is, elections.
Applying the Hegelian dialectic,
One can sort out for himself a mode of life
In harmony with both his conscience
And with the needs of a multi-cultural state.”
“Got a beer?”
The Morning Paper and a Cigarette
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Morning Paper and a Cigarette
The morning paper and a cigarette,
A cup of coffee to complete the theme
A booth with creaky, cracked leatherette seats
And a sticky-top table stained with stories
A joint called Al’s, just off the interstate
Dry desert cold lingering from the autumn night
Until the sun rises to light the way
To California, and The Hungry i
For now: the desert, a cup of coffee,
The morning paper, and a cigarette
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Morning Paper and a Cigarette
The morning paper and a cigarette,
A cup of coffee to complete the theme
A booth with creaky, cracked leatherette seats
And a sticky-top table stained with stories
A joint called Al’s, just off the interstate
Dry desert cold lingering from the autumn night
Until the sun rises to light the way
To California, and The Hungry i
For now: the desert, a cup of coffee,
The morning paper, and a cigarette
Said to be a Suicide
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Said to be a Suicide
Adrift among old sheets in a shadowy bed
Emptying breaths into an empty space
A purse, a bottle, a pack of cigarettes
No minutes left on a no-contract ‘phone
A truck-stop bracelet that was pretty on her
Pale bathroom light through a half-open door
Traffic rattling by on the two-lane
Beery laughter from the parking lot
But only stillness here, an empty form
Adrift among silence in a shadowy world
Mhall46184@aol.com
Said to be a Suicide
Adrift among old sheets in a shadowy bed
Emptying breaths into an empty space
A purse, a bottle, a pack of cigarettes
No minutes left on a no-contract ‘phone
A truck-stop bracelet that was pretty on her
Pale bathroom light through a half-open door
Traffic rattling by on the two-lane
Beery laughter from the parking lot
But only stillness here, an empty form
Adrift among silence in a shadowy world
Two in the Morning
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Two in the Morning
Two in the morning is its own Good Friday
When the insolence of catalogued years
Accuses the restless sleeper of age
Sends him out night patrol, and back again
To ponder through the empty, sleepless hours
An Altar stripped of light and hope and dreams
A unmade sacrifice in swirling chaos
Pillows and sheets and life formless and void
Cold, vaporous blue light dying in the air
Two in the morning is its own Good Friday
Mhall46184@aol.com
Two in the Morning
Two in the morning is its own Good Friday
When the insolence of catalogued years
Accuses the restless sleeper of age
Sends him out night patrol, and back again
To ponder through the empty, sleepless hours
An Altar stripped of light and hope and dreams
A unmade sacrifice in swirling chaos
Pillows and sheets and life formless and void
Cold, vaporous blue light dying in the air
Two in the morning is its own Good Friday
False Autumn
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
False Autumn
Dripping and damp, another dull, dark day
Heavy and low, months-old cold, drifting mist
And sodden leaf-mould from the autumn past
Scented with coming life as it decays
The morning frogs sing with enthusiasm
The mourning doves sing with reluctance
A solitary goose flaps sort of north
All uncertain about their calendar
But for now eccentrics are happy with
Dripping and damp, another dull, dark day
Mhall46184@aol.com
False Autumn
Dripping and damp, another dull, dark day
Heavy and low, months-old cold, drifting mist
And sodden leaf-mould from the autumn past
Scented with coming life as it decays
The morning frogs sing with enthusiasm
The mourning doves sing with reluctance
A solitary goose flaps sort of north
All uncertain about their calendar
But for now eccentrics are happy with
Dripping and damp, another dull, dark day
Secrets and Seasons
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Secrets and Seasons
Even a lover of autumn must yield this point:
This mild March morning disposes a world
Of flowers red and pink among the mist,
Bathed fresh with dew in anticipation
Of hours glorious but brief until the sun
Awakes, and shakes his fiery beams to fall
Upon the leafy, grassy, silent scene
Like a sergeant censoring an errant smile
Lest happiness corrupt the young recruits
Who only in secret may love the seasons
Mhall46184@aol.com
Secrets and Seasons
Even a lover of autumn must yield this point:
This mild March morning disposes a world
Of flowers red and pink among the mist,
Bathed fresh with dew in anticipation
Of hours glorious but brief until the sun
Awakes, and shakes his fiery beams to fall
Upon the leafy, grassy, silent scene
Like a sergeant censoring an errant smile
Lest happiness corrupt the young recruits
Who only in secret may love the seasons
Palm Sunday Travel Tips
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Palm Sunday Travel Tips
At last we have come to Jerusalem
Spiritual gawkers checking out the sites:
The Beautiful Gate today, the Temple tomorrow
Juices and maps from vendors who charge too much
That statue of Jupiter really doesn’t work -
What is that procession? A local folk thing?
We don’t want to get into trouble with the law
We’re only here for Passover, okay?
Let’s avoid whatever that is because
At last we have come to Jerusalem
Mhall46184@aol.com
Palm Sunday Travel Tips
At last we have come to Jerusalem
Spiritual gawkers checking out the sites:
The Beautiful Gate today, the Temple tomorrow
Juices and maps from vendors who charge too much
That statue of Jupiter really doesn’t work -
What is that procession? A local folk thing?
We don’t want to get into trouble with the law
We’re only here for Passover, okay?
Let’s avoid whatever that is because
At last we have come to Jerusalem
Instructions to the Chauffeur
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Instructions to the Chauffeur
Said the owner, most intently,
“Mind, now, how you drive my Bentley:
Always drive it confidently,
Never, ever insolently
‘Sure to watch the road intently
Take the sharp curves very gently
Follow my rules most excellently
Then you’ll never get a dent, see?”
Mhall46184@aol.com
Instructions to the Chauffeur
Said the owner, most intently,
“Mind, now, how you drive my Bentley:
Always drive it confidently,
Never, ever insolently
‘Sure to watch the road intently
Take the sharp curves very gently
Follow my rules most excellently
Then you’ll never get a dent, see?”
Sola Scriptura
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Sola Scriptura
“It’s right here in the Bible!” she said,
Waving around her smart ‘phone over her head
Mhall46184@aol.com
Sola Scriptura
“It’s right here in the Bible!” she said,
Waving around her smart ‘phone over her head
Rachel, Weeping for Our Children
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Rachel, Weeping for Our Children
From an idea suggested by Kelly Rogers
No soldiers come, with glaring eyes, with death
To drag our children out into the road
To thrust away their lives into the dust
With pilum, gladius, or manly fist
And Romans as advisors standing by
Amid obscenities, curses, and screams
A fog of witness for that old excuse:
It’s all about the quality of life
Confusion now persuades with soft, soft breath
And therapists come, soothingly, with death.
Mhall46184@aol.com
Rachel, Weeping for Our Children
From an idea suggested by Kelly Rogers
No soldiers come, with glaring eyes, with death
To drag our children out into the road
To thrust away their lives into the dust
With pilum, gladius, or manly fist
And Romans as advisors standing by
Amid obscenities, curses, and screams
A fog of witness for that old excuse:
It’s all about the quality of life
Confusion now persuades with soft, soft breath
And therapists come, soothingly, with death.
Chertkovo
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Chertkovo
For Eugenio Corti
Perhaps the site is now a garbage heap
A parking lot, a drainage ditch, a field
Where little children chase a soccer ball
Among the flowers of a Russian spring
Whispering a memory of Italy
For here a good Italian soldier died
His life ripped from him in a desolation
Of screams and violence and frozen horror -
But he is a candle, lit again, in Heaven where
His feet are always warm, and “Savoia!” is a hymn
Mhall46184@aol.com
Chertkovo
For Eugenio Corti
Perhaps the site is now a garbage heap
A parking lot, a drainage ditch, a field
Where little children chase a soccer ball
Among the flowers of a Russian spring
Whispering a memory of Italy
For here a good Italian soldier died
His life ripped from him in a desolation
Of screams and violence and frozen horror -
But he is a candle, lit again, in Heaven where
His feet are always warm, and “Savoia!” is a hymn
Old-People Coffee
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Old-People Coffee
A cup of senior coffee – forty-three cents
But coffee – how can it be a senior –
Is it graduating from high school?
Someone decided that I am not worthy
Of the Social Security I paid
And the Veterans’ Administration
Doesn’t even acknowledge my existence
But corporate America still loves me:
Every morning McDonald’s greets me with
A cup of senior coffee – forty-three cents
Mhall46184@aol.com
Old-People Coffee
A cup of senior coffee – forty-three cents
But coffee – how can it be a senior –
Is it graduating from high school?
Someone decided that I am not worthy
Of the Social Security I paid
And the Veterans’ Administration
Doesn’t even acknowledge my existence
But corporate America still loves me:
Every morning McDonald’s greets me with
A cup of senior coffee – forty-three cents
Economic Exile
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Economic Exile
Another dreary airport boarding gate
Ear-phones, MePhones, travelers huddled in
Leatherette seats between flickering signs
Feet up upon duffles and each other
Like refugees waiting long nights for trains
In Doctor Zhivago, with different dreams:
Youth longs for adventures in Italy
While age is often content to journey through books
Like Bilbo in Rivendell, not waiting here
At yet another airport boarding gate
Mhall46184@aol.com
Economic Exile
Another dreary airport boarding gate
Ear-phones, MePhones, travelers huddled in
Leatherette seats between flickering signs
Feet up upon duffles and each other
Like refugees waiting long nights for trains
In Doctor Zhivago, with different dreams:
Youth longs for adventures in Italy
While age is often content to journey through books
Like Bilbo in Rivendell, not waiting here
At yet another airport boarding gate
Pasch
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Pasch at St. Michael’s, 2015
What sort of man sits in the silent dark
And waits for a small candle to be lit
When he could reach over and flip a switch
For the miracle of electricity
Bravely to course through the building’s wired veins
The march of progress with a touch controlled
By the hand of humanity triumphant
Over old Byzantine superstition
What hopeful sort of man waits for the dawn,
For Light to appear from a cold, sealed tomb?
Mhall46184@aol.com
Pasch at St. Michael’s, 2015
What sort of man sits in the silent dark
And waits for a small candle to be lit
When he could reach over and flip a switch
For the miracle of electricity
Bravely to course through the building’s wired veins
The march of progress with a touch controlled
By the hand of humanity triumphant
Over old Byzantine superstition
What hopeful sort of man waits for the dawn,
For Light to appear from a cold, sealed tomb?
Contra Ivan Karamazov
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A little exposition: In The Brothers Karamazov Ivan is an agnostic who cannot reconcile faith and his Euclidian mind. My thesis (last line) is that everyone and everything, understood by us or not, is in unity with God.
Still, about those fire ants…
Contra Ivan Karamazov
Though some maintain that parallels don’t meet
And three-point-something is the sum of pi
And whether X is found; no one knows why
(Was it lost, perhaps wandering in the street?)
Curious matters all Euclidian
Even for the bold mathematician
Are as obdurate as obsidian
Each an illogical proposition
To the rationalist impossible, and yet -
Parallel lines are at the Altar met
Mhall46184@aol.com
A little exposition: In The Brothers Karamazov Ivan is an agnostic who cannot reconcile faith and his Euclidian mind. My thesis (last line) is that everyone and everything, understood by us or not, is in unity with God.
Still, about those fire ants…
Contra Ivan Karamazov
Though some maintain that parallels don’t meet
And three-point-something is the sum of pi
And whether X is found; no one knows why
(Was it lost, perhaps wandering in the street?)
Curious matters all Euclidian
Even for the bold mathematician
Are as obdurate as obsidian
Each an illogical proposition
To the rationalist impossible, and yet -
Parallel lines are at the Altar met
The Wandering Gentile
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Wandering Gentile1
For Tod on his 75th birthday
How odd to be Bilbo at Rivendell
Or Jack and Warnie in the Little End room
Finishing up that book you meant to write
From the long ago, but not knowing the subject
Until this now, when sunset-softened light
Makes clearer the Words on the eternal page
More morning than ever any morning was
Sunlight and moonlight on the pilgrim road
Until you realize, with a gentle laugh:
How odd ever to have been here at all
1An allusion by Rabbi Shulman in the last episode of Northern Exposure
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Wandering Gentile1
For Tod on his 75th birthday
How odd to be Bilbo at Rivendell
Or Jack and Warnie in the Little End room
Finishing up that book you meant to write
From the long ago, but not knowing the subject
Until this now, when sunset-softened light
Makes clearer the Words on the eternal page
More morning than ever any morning was
Sunlight and moonlight on the pilgrim road
Until you realize, with a gentle laugh:
How odd ever to have been here at all
1An allusion by Rabbi Shulman in the last episode of Northern Exposure
Searching for God and a Lost Shoe
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Searching For God and a Lost Shoe
For a university student
The morning sails through your window as light
Dark blue when winter rests upon the world
All green and golden in the happy spring
But welcome every day, in every way
The silence is soon broken by the noise:
A rattling faucet, a rattling roommate,
The merry chaos not yet organized
Into the poetry of this day in God
So sing while searching for that other shoe:
The morning shares with you its hymn of joy
Mhall46184@aol.com
Searching For God and a Lost Shoe
For a university student
The morning sails through your window as light
Dark blue when winter rests upon the world
All green and golden in the happy spring
But welcome every day, in every way
The silence is soon broken by the noise:
A rattling faucet, a rattling roommate,
The merry chaos not yet organized
Into the poetry of this day in God
So sing while searching for that other shoe:
The morning shares with you its hymn of joy
Mr. Dogg and the Copp
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Mr. Dogg and the Cop
Several weeks ago a Texas state trooper took an off-duty gig on his own time, providing security for a concert in the capital of our fair state. Afterward, one of the musicians asked the security guard to pose with him for a snapshot.
The photograph shows two middle-age men, one in a DPS uniform and another, balding and wearing eyeglasses, who looks much like a middle-school math teacher. This second man is Snoop Dogg (possibly not the name on his birth certificate), said to be a famous musician.
Some busy individual at the Department of Public Safety was not happy with this harmless photograph because Mr. Dogg is a convicted drug offender. Apparently Texas DPS troopers are not supposed to associate with convicted drug offenders. One supposes that if Rush Limbaugh, also a convicted drug offender, had been in the photograph along with Mr. Dogg the DPS would have been, like Marty the Martian, very, very angry.
As it is, an official with the Texas Department of Public Safety gave the DPS trooper a reprimand (in DPS-speak, “a one-time coaching opportunity”) for associating with Mr. Dogg. A DPS trooper may protect Mr. Dogg from harm but must not be seen to do so.
If a Texas DPS trooper helps provide security for a Wagner concert directed by James Levine, should the trooper run a computer check on Mr. Levine’s background? How about the trumpet section? And are drummers ever to be trusted?
And then, hey, about Richard Wagner – he didn’t pay his debts, he participated in revolutionary activities, his music instigated riots, and he was anti-Semitic. Would a DPS trooper who was seen at a concert featuring the music of such a disreputable character be given a “one-time coaching opportunity?”
A Texas state trooper cannot possibly know the criminal histories of everyone with whom he (the pronoun is gender-neutral) comes into contact, nor should he: firefighters, medics, reporters, tow-truck drivers, the shop assistant who sells him a new bullet, and, of course, the waitress at the doughnut shop.
Maybe some in DPS administration ought to leave their Austin offices on occasion and take a night shift on the streets in order to remind themselves where they started.
The trooper was not taking bribes.
The trooper was not being racist.
The trooper was not sexually harassing anyone.
The trooper was not smuggling drugs.
The trooper was not trafficking in human beings.
The trooper was not nekkid.
The trooper was not using his badge and his office for official oppression.
The trooper was not whooping it up with the Secret Service, the Drug Enforcement agency, and some, oh, fun dates.
The trooper was not doing any of these things. What got him into trouble was appearing in a snapshot by the request of an American citizen who, whatever his past, was not under indictment and who was going peaceably about his lawful daily business.
As for a “one-time coaching opportunity,” the only coaching that the trooper seems to require would be for a weight-loss regimen. To re-phrase an old gag, maybe Mr. Dogg stays so skinny by running laps around his favorite Texas DPS trooper.
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Mr. Dogg and the Cop
Several weeks ago a Texas state trooper took an off-duty gig on his own time, providing security for a concert in the capital of our fair state. Afterward, one of the musicians asked the security guard to pose with him for a snapshot.
The photograph shows two middle-age men, one in a DPS uniform and another, balding and wearing eyeglasses, who looks much like a middle-school math teacher. This second man is Snoop Dogg (possibly not the name on his birth certificate), said to be a famous musician.
Some busy individual at the Department of Public Safety was not happy with this harmless photograph because Mr. Dogg is a convicted drug offender. Apparently Texas DPS troopers are not supposed to associate with convicted drug offenders. One supposes that if Rush Limbaugh, also a convicted drug offender, had been in the photograph along with Mr. Dogg the DPS would have been, like Marty the Martian, very, very angry.
As it is, an official with the Texas Department of Public Safety gave the DPS trooper a reprimand (in DPS-speak, “a one-time coaching opportunity”) for associating with Mr. Dogg. A DPS trooper may protect Mr. Dogg from harm but must not be seen to do so.
If a Texas DPS trooper helps provide security for a Wagner concert directed by James Levine, should the trooper run a computer check on Mr. Levine’s background? How about the trumpet section? And are drummers ever to be trusted?
And then, hey, about Richard Wagner – he didn’t pay his debts, he participated in revolutionary activities, his music instigated riots, and he was anti-Semitic. Would a DPS trooper who was seen at a concert featuring the music of such a disreputable character be given a “one-time coaching opportunity?”
A Texas state trooper cannot possibly know the criminal histories of everyone with whom he (the pronoun is gender-neutral) comes into contact, nor should he: firefighters, medics, reporters, tow-truck drivers, the shop assistant who sells him a new bullet, and, of course, the waitress at the doughnut shop.
Maybe some in DPS administration ought to leave their Austin offices on occasion and take a night shift on the streets in order to remind themselves where they started.
The trooper was not taking bribes.
The trooper was not being racist.
The trooper was not sexually harassing anyone.
The trooper was not smuggling drugs.
The trooper was not trafficking in human beings.
The trooper was not nekkid.
The trooper was not using his badge and his office for official oppression.
The trooper was not whooping it up with the Secret Service, the Drug Enforcement agency, and some, oh, fun dates.
The trooper was not doing any of these things. What got him into trouble was appearing in a snapshot by the request of an American citizen who, whatever his past, was not under indictment and who was going peaceably about his lawful daily business.
As for a “one-time coaching opportunity,” the only coaching that the trooper seems to require would be for a weight-loss regimen. To re-phrase an old gag, maybe Mr. Dogg stays so skinny by running laps around his favorite Texas DPS trooper.
-30-
The Back Yard Hardware Store
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.om
The Back Yard Hardware Store
Several years ago Butch and Debbie Pachall sold me a nifty metal detector which has proven to be great fun. I don’t use it often enough to sort out the subtleties of sound like Debbie can, but I have never switched it on without finding something of interest. Since assisting in archaeology sites in California in my youth I’m easily interested in anything old, and a brass hinge or a long-lost knife are for me good finds. Debbie, however, has practiced the arcane (to me) art of interpreting beeps and the computer images so assiduously that she can identify most objects before taking out the trowel: “That’s a penny…another penny…ring tab…a piece of pipe…a quarter…”
Recently I learned to practice another form of metal detecting, with a big, heavy magnet from the hardware store. Several summers ago I had the lads make some modifications around Chateau D’Aula, and upon completion of the strengthening of fortifications I used a big magnet to pick up the unseen nails, screws, and other bits of metal before the lawnmower did.
In the event, the magnet is almost as much fun as the electronic metal detector. Most of the nails and screws I find are re-usable, as are many of the hinges and bolts. In Ye Olden Days, these objects really were manufactured better than they are now. Nails, screws, and bolts were made in the USA of extruded steel; what is sold now is often the unhappy result of odd scraps of pot metal melted down and cast in molds in China.
Using recycled ironmongery for my own back yard projects is thrifty in itself, and even after years of lying in the ground the American nail is often more durable than the Chinese one.
There was a dairy farm and another house on this site long ago, and in addition to ferric objects the ground often covers other modest treasures. Where there are nails and screws, there are often bottles (usually in fragments), coins, brass objects, ceramic doorknobs, game pieces of glass or lead, switch plates, expended bullets, axe heads, tractor parts, a sturdy length of chain, a canning lid made in Canada, marbles, and other oddments.
I haven’t yet found Jean Lafitte’s treasure, but I’m looking. Beep-beep-beep…bonk – maybe that’s it…
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.om
The Back Yard Hardware Store
Several years ago Butch and Debbie Pachall sold me a nifty metal detector which has proven to be great fun. I don’t use it often enough to sort out the subtleties of sound like Debbie can, but I have never switched it on without finding something of interest. Since assisting in archaeology sites in California in my youth I’m easily interested in anything old, and a brass hinge or a long-lost knife are for me good finds. Debbie, however, has practiced the arcane (to me) art of interpreting beeps and the computer images so assiduously that she can identify most objects before taking out the trowel: “That’s a penny…another penny…ring tab…a piece of pipe…a quarter…”
Recently I learned to practice another form of metal detecting, with a big, heavy magnet from the hardware store. Several summers ago I had the lads make some modifications around Chateau D’Aula, and upon completion of the strengthening of fortifications I used a big magnet to pick up the unseen nails, screws, and other bits of metal before the lawnmower did.
In the event, the magnet is almost as much fun as the electronic metal detector. Most of the nails and screws I find are re-usable, as are many of the hinges and bolts. In Ye Olden Days, these objects really were manufactured better than they are now. Nails, screws, and bolts were made in the USA of extruded steel; what is sold now is often the unhappy result of odd scraps of pot metal melted down and cast in molds in China.
Using recycled ironmongery for my own back yard projects is thrifty in itself, and even after years of lying in the ground the American nail is often more durable than the Chinese one.
There was a dairy farm and another house on this site long ago, and in addition to ferric objects the ground often covers other modest treasures. Where there are nails and screws, there are often bottles (usually in fragments), coins, brass objects, ceramic doorknobs, game pieces of glass or lead, switch plates, expended bullets, axe heads, tractor parts, a sturdy length of chain, a canning lid made in Canada, marbles, and other oddments.
I haven’t yet found Jean Lafitte’s treasure, but I’m looking. Beep-beep-beep…bonk – maybe that’s it…
-30-
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