Thursday, May 7, 2020

So That's Why Texas Jails Beauticians - weekly column


Lawrence (Mack) Hall, HSG


 

So That’s Why Texas Jails Beauticians

 

The concept of essential jobs and nonessential jobs eludes many of us. If you have a job it’s an essential job because food, clothing, and shelter are essential.  Who is it who sits enthroned on high with the authority from some planetary overlord to determine whether your job is essential?

 

Beauticians, whose daily practices and spaces have always been required to meet strict education, re-education, safety, health, and hygiene requirements, have of late been shut down, shut out, and shut up, and when several of them got all uppity about needing to work – work – have been investigated and sometimes jailed (https://reason.com/2020/05/07/texas-governor-greg-abbott-will-not-jail-people-shelley-luther-for-violating-coronavirus-social-distancing/).

 

And we the people understand: law-abiding citizens must be protected from wild-eyed barbers and beauticians wielding semi-automatic assault scissors with 30-round banana magazines. No one knows the horrible death rate inflicted on innocents by those out-of-control clipper-crazies.

 

Why can’t beauticians and barbers be more like, oh, hot-air balloon pilots who charge people for flights?

 

According to the FAA (http://www.pilotfriend.com/training/flight_training/faa_bal.htm), requirements to fly as a commercial balloon pilot begin with:

Subpart E -- Commercial Pilots

·         The age requirement for a commercial pilot certificate is 18 years.

·         Read, speak and understand the English language.

·         No medical certificate required. Same as paragraph 3 above.

·         The applicant must pass a more advanced written test on the subject matter listed in paragraph 4 above, additional operating procedures relating to commercial operations, and those duties required of a flight instructor.

·         Advanced training must be received from an authorized instructor including those items listed in paragraph 5 above plus emergency recovery from a terminal velocity descent.

·         The applicant for a commercial certificate must have at least 35 hours of flight time as a pilot, of which 20 hours must be in balloons, 6 under the supervision of an instructor, 2 solo flights, 2 flights of at least one duration, and one flight to 5000 feet above the take-off point.

The holder of a commercial pilot's certificate may operate a balloon for hire and may give flight instruction.

 

Want to go for a balloon ride?

 

According to the State of Texas, requirements to work as a cosmetologist or barber (https://www.tdlr.texas.gov/cosmet/cosmetlaw.htm) (pour yourself a cup of coffee; this is going to take a while) begin with:

 

OCCUPATIONS CODE

TITLE 9. REGULATION OF BARBERS, COSMETOLOGISTS, AND RELATED OCCUPATIONS

CHAPTER 1602. COSMETOLOGISTS

(Effective date September 1, 2019)

Table of Contents






 






 



 















 








 







 










 

















 

These strict requirements wisely keep beauticians and barbers from killing people by flying them into power lines or by dropping them thousands of feet to their deaths when the balloon catches fire.

 

So, yeah, that’s why Texas jails beauticians.

 

-30-

 

Barnes & Noble - and the nice young lady is making a fresh pot of coffee - MePhone Photograph


Upon Release from Lockdown - poem

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

Upon Release from Lockdown

But we keep a-comin’. We’re the people that live.

-Ma Joad, The Grapes of Wrath

With friends for lunch after two dreary months
How we looked forward to it! The neon café
Along the interstate, tourists and truckers
All waiting to be seated – how many, sir?

But how desolate it is in the dimness
Almost empty - half the furniture gone
No merriment, no hum of activity
One masked server, flickering about like a ghost

The road out past the empty parking lot
Leads to California. Maybe we should go

Wednesday, May 6, 2020

Preacher's Daughter


A Television Ad for the Virus Time - poem

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

A Television Ad for the Virus Time

Begin the same old insta-emo piano music; roll stock footage of beautiful, happy families having far more fun in isolation than you ever will.

Voice-over narrator in the slow, soft, persuasive tones we associate with some of our nation’s more accomplished mass-murderers:

We’re here for you we’re here to help together
Trust together we’re in this together
We care together we’re listening together
We will rise to the challenge together                      [Keep it SLOW]

The indomitable human spirit together
We’ll learn something about each other that
We just didn’t know before together
We are all on the same team together                      [SLOWWWW]

And when this is over, when we all smile again     [Slow and then pause]

Together                                                                   [SLOW and ‘WAY LOW, pause]

We’ll all buy a bottle of Bob’s Boysenberry Gin!   [PATRIOTIC EXUBERANCE!]

Tuesday, May 5, 2020

In Troibo ad Altare Dei - MePhone Photograph


Water-Stained Pages in a Missal - poem

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

Water-Stained Pages in a Missal

Crinkly, wrinkly pages in a missal
They’re water-stained – how did that come to be?
Maybe it was when the bishop visited
And sloshed us with his shaky aspergillum

Or when an infant at her baptism
Protested the proceedings with a splash
The stains might be from another child’s sippy-cup
Or a careless moment at the holy-water font

And so

The pages aren’t water-stained; they’re water-blessed
With beautiful mysteries – Word, water, and child

Monday, May 4, 2020

Dole (tm) Banana #4011 - MePhone Photograph

Dole Banana #4011. Is there a Dole Banana #4010? #4012?

"Dole Central Command to Banana #4011. Come in, #4011. I repeat, come in, #4011..."


(Thanks to Dole, my potassium level is where it should be.)

Magnesium for the Militia Movement - poem

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


Magnesium for the Militia Movement

The Declaration of Independence,
The Constitution, the Majesty of the Republic
Are ruined foundations upon which now squat
Clangery fat men and their tiny guns

https://thehill.com/blogs/blog-briefing-room/news/495800-auschwitz-museum-condemns-nazi-slogan-at-re-open-illinois


(I wanted to write “Milk of Magnesia” in the title but that term is trademarked.)

Sunday, May 3, 2020

Once Again Removing First Nations from Their Ancestral Homelands - MePhone Photograph


Most of Our Penguins are Scotch-Taped Now - poem

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

Most of Our Penguins are Scotch-Taped Now

Civilization is sometimes held together
By the stern parsimony of Scotch Tape™
Which locks tattered covers and pages in bond
To await opening by old hands or young

Young is better; for we were young, and too
The world was young, and is, as Camelot
Sends forth each day noble adventures, ideas 1
In battle luminous against chaos and evil

Civilization is always held together
When old and young face the dragon in unity


1 An allusion to Tennyson’s Idylls of the King

Saturday, May 2, 2020

Where the Santa Fe Depot Used to Be, April 2020, Me-Phone Photograph in Monochrome


Small Town in East Texas, 2 May 2020 - MePhone Photograph in Monochrome


Where's MeeMaw? - poem

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

Where’s MeeMaw?

“A nameless number on a list that was afterwards mislaid.”

-Yevgrav in Doctor Zhivago

She always gave her grandchildren kisses for luck
After their visits when she picked them up from school
After spoiling them with candy and sody-pop
Over the protests of her diet-conscious daughter

She always gave her daughter kisses for luck
“My house, my rules – I get to treat ‘em!”
“Oh, MeeMaw, you’ll turn them into rotten kids!”
“And you can feed them twigs and leaves at home!”

She always gave her grandchildren kisses for luck –
Her sheeted corpse was shoved into a rented truck




https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/us/license-for-new-york-funeral-home-where-dozens-of-bodies-were-removed-from-trucks-has-been-suspended/ar-BB13ulp5

Friday, May 1, 2020

The Last Supper as Takeout - poem

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

The Last Supper as Takeout

The command, after all, was Take, eat; not Take, understand.

-C. S. Lewis, Letters to Malcolm

His Grace the Bishop has given his blessing
To a drive-through Eucharist on Saturday night
From six to six-thirty in the parking lot
While maintaining distance and decorum

Maybe

With creamers, sweeteners, paper napkins, plastic straws,
Salt, pepper, sporks, and our super-secret sauce
In a paper sack bearing as a motto
A sentiment left over from last year’s Earth Day

Well, I will go and take and eat, not understand –
A little humility is always in order

Thursday, April 30, 2020

The Poetics of Tomato Plants - weekly column

Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
30 April 2020

The Poetics of Tomato Plants

The enforced isolation of The Virus-Time has led y’r ‘umble scrivener to plant a garden and to read more poetry

The garden is mostly unplanned, for I meant to be happy with a few sunflowers and some tomato plants and my existing apple trees. However, a young friend who haunts the big-box stores at the ends of seasons brought me tomato seedlings, marigold seedlings, squash seedlings, nasturtiums (nasturtia?), lavender and other mints, zinnia seeds, a little mulberry tree, three little lemon trees, and two little apple trees.

With the lockdown I did not find sunflower seeds, and so scouted out old packets, including one I bought in South Dakota years ago, and while the germination rate was low, I have about twenty young plants who turn their heads to the rising sun each dawn. Biologists tell us that heliotropes don’t really choose to greet the sun; their DNA is programmed to blah, blah, blah. Poor biologists – they seldom perceive the magic.

Some of the squash failed, and I replaced them with eggplant I found at Darrell and Kathy’s The Barn in Kirbyville while buying a sack of chicken scratch for the birds and squirrels.

Curiously, I don’t care for about half these fruits and vegetables, feeling that if God wanted us to be vegetarians He would not have invented and blessed Jenny’s Fried Chicken and Sonic’s Breakfast Toaster. But tomatoes and such are easy and rather fun to grow, and are aesthetically pleasing in appearance.

I was raised on the farm, but this is about as agricultural as I want to get now, although I am a Life Member of the FFA courtesy of Jody Folk and Kirbyville High School. The FFA is a great program for young people, and teaches mature self-governance and mutual respect as a requisite for any activity, including raising cattle and crops.

After a few hours of dragging hoses these dry spring days, the cool, breezy late afternoons are perfect for lingering outside with a refreshing beverage and some of the books we perused only lightly and under duress in school.

Poetry was culturally significant in all social and economic classes in England, Europe, Canada, and the U.S.A. until after the First World War, whose death and desolation led to a cultural collapse that remains with us (https://www.history.com/news/how-world-war-i-changed-literature). The works of John Milton, Lord Byron, Percy Shelley (unhappy name), William Wordsworth, John Keats, Rudyard Kipling and thousands of published, unpublished, and parlour-poets celebrated all the challenges, sorrows, and victories of life. Every newspaper once published poetry, and all school functions featured original student work. If it was often clunky and derivative, well, practice is how we make good work in the end.

My uncle, Bob Holmes of happy memory, a farmer and dairyman, over coffee recited from memory John Milton’s “On His Blindness.” I’m not sure he finished high school, but he remembered this favorite from his boyhood.

Despite the post-war infestation of free verse (which is not verse at all), such poets as Robert Frost, James Weldon Johnson (“Lift Every Voice and Sing,” George McKay Brown, Randall Jarrell, Langston Hughes, Wendell Berry, Claude McKay (his “If We Must Die” was quoted by Churchill in defiance of the Nazis), and so many others, in spite of fashionable despair continued to write poetry that addressed and celebrated the human condition meaningfully and skillfully.

In 1945 Field Marshal Wavell (https://www.nam.ac.uk/explore/wavell), who in 1915 lost an eye (but never his true vision) at Ypres, published an anthology of poems that had been important to him in his military career. Despite its unfortunate title, Other Men’s Flowers (a quote from Montaigne), this little book demonstrates the strength and skill and muscularity of real poetry as opposed to the weak, self-pitying, I-I-I-Me-Me-Poor-Me free verse drivel now occupying shelf-space that could be used for something more substantial – Mickey Mouse funny books come to mind.

Those who teach at home (there are no such constructs, either as nouns or verbs, as “home school” or, worse, “homeschool”) or who work within more formal school situations, could hardly do better than to introduce a boy or girl to Wavell’s anthology from perhaps the fifth grade.

Poetry, like farming and the family, is part of the fertile soil of civilization, not an accessory.

Besides, the bees and hummingbirds will enjoy hearing you read to them.

That’s the latest buzz, anyway.

-30-

I am not one of the Masses - rhyming couplet

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


I am not one of the Masses

To Smithsonian Magazine

Get off your lazy editorial *sses -
Respect all readers; we are not “the Masses”


“As Popular in Her Day as J.K. Rowling, Gene Stratton-Porter Wrote to the Masses About America's Fading Natural Beauty” https://www.smithsonianmag.com/arts-culture/books/

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

On Reading Thomas Merton: I Didn't Know an Eyebrow was Involved - poem

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

On Reading Thomas Merton:
I Didn’t Know an Eyebrow was Involved

To read Thomas Merton, we are scold-told
Is middlebrow spirituality 1
I never knew that a brow was involved
Because I see the barber every week

But I like Father Louis (bourgeois or not)
And his brave travelogues of life and soul
And that he missed his pen and pocketknife
When he surrendered all through his holy vows

So, yeah, that man is flawed, as flawed as can be
And thus flawed Thomas is just the man for me

1 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Seven_Storey_Mountain

Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Plautus and Tarzan - poem

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

Plautus and Tarzan

The plays of Plautus all repose in peace
Next to my boyhood’s tattered Tarzan books
University classes and summer days
I suppose Mercury brought his own vines

Kafka is up against Rilke and Parzival
They seem to get along with each other
Cavafy and Plath talk out their issues
As do Hammarskjold and Dostoyevsky

I mean to organize my books someday
But Thoreau suggests I go fishing instead

Monday, April 27, 2020

Zoomstreaming - poem

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

Zoomstreaming

All my co-workers are kind and just and fun
Consistent in their professionalism
Both in the office and on the loading dock
And now on screens among the Zoom-ery

I miss so much our daily merriment
Our morning hellos, how was your weekend
The secular liturgy of each day’s work
The rhythm of appointments, files, and ‘phones

Zooming with office-pals is Work’s new way -
But I don’t want them in my apartment all day!

Sunday, April 26, 2020

The President's Haircut - poem

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

The President’s Haircut

Dear Governor Abbott:

I can’t help but notice that your hair is trim
As is your little buddy’s, Dannie Scott
I want to be as neat as you and him
But as for getting a haircut, I may not

Because you have closed all the hair-care shops
I can’t visit a barber, not any, not one -
I would be arrested by one of your cops
(Just whisper to me where you get your hair done)

But…

Whatever hair-envy I might harbor
Please don’t refer me to the President’s barber!

Saturday, April 25, 2020

This is not a (sniff) Teabag - rhyming couplet

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

This is not a (sniff) Teabag

Per Harney & Sons

Well, whaddaya know, and whaddaya say
It’s not a teabag; it’s a swank sachet!

Friday, April 24, 2020

Harris County Judge Lena Hidalgo Sued over Face Mask Requirement - poem (of a sort)

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







Harris County Judge Lena Hidalgo Sued over Face Mask Requirement
 
“Who was that masked man?”
 
-various minor characters in The Lone Ranger

Once upon a time masks were forbidden
Those fashion statements of outlaws and Klan
Whose faces and crimes they kept hidden
Behind funny facewear, like Batman
 
But the Hidalgo who rules over us
As if we were Spanish colonials
Dismisses our rights as superfluous
Written off by her edicts baronial

So speaking of masks – where is our Zorro?
To tell the Alcalde – “Masks no more-oh!”

 

 

(Relax, Ms. Grundy, it’s just a bit of fun with layered allusions to Texas history; I have my mask.)

Thursday, April 23, 2020

The Shifting Vocabulary of Whatever We're Calling That Disease This Week - weekly column

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
23 April 2020

The Shifting Vocabulary of Whatever We’re Calling That Disease This Week

In the last few months all the peoples of the earth have been impacted by and are dealing with a disease that has killed thousands of our fellow humans – even a few supercilious Darwinians – and we don’t even agree on what to label it. Consider these many documented terms crowding up and down the steps of that Babylonian ziggurat:

Wuhan virus
Wuhan flu
Chinese virus
CCP Virus
Bat virus
Bat flu
Batflu
Corona virus
Coronavirus
CoronaVirus
Covid-19
COVID-19
COVID19
Covid19
SARS-CoV-2
C-19
C19

If we’re going to work together (or, rather, #together apart) in order to survive a certain disease, we should agree on what that disease is.

Another problem is the fuzzy filler-language of tired and inappropriate metaphors and allusions that block effective communications. Consider this limited sampling:

Wartime president
War footing
Our generation’s Pearl Harbor
Our generation’s Normandy
Our generation’s 9/11
War
Like World War II
In the trenches
Front lines
Frontlines
Silent enemy but an enemy

Instead of saying what an issue is, the lazy writer or speaker pulls from a lifetime of hand-me-down puffery to puff further nonsense. Consider the typical graduation speech (which we are unlikely to hear this year because of a disease, not because of a Nazi invasion) with its keys that are forever opening dreams or roads or rainbows or love, never anything, such a lock, that a key in fact opens.

Metaphorical language certainly has its purposes. One does not imagine, say, John Wayne as Marshal Cogburn calling out to Lucky Ned Pepper, “I disapprove of your inappropriate response to my notification of your lawful arrest predicated upon a federal warrant, you wretched man, and propose to counter your further criminal actions with all the power granted to me in my office under the sanctions of the law!” as an effective challenge.

When we speak of contracts, business, science, research, and health care (NOT “healthcare”), though, metaphors and careless language compromise effective communication and thus our purposes. Using language accurately is essential in most of life’s transactions, and it is certainly essential now.

-30-


Dragging Hoses on St. George's Day - poem

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

Dragging Hoses

Drag those hoses when the weather is dry
April’s grass is paling, and oak leaves wither
All the new plantings cry for a drink of water
And the rains of winter have now retired

Drag those hoses when the morning is dry
Everyone wants some sort of validation:
A job, encouragement, a little support
For now, we just have to get on with life

Drag those hoses when the evening is dry
And pray for sweet rain from the reluctant sky


(Or dragon hoses - this is St. George's Day!)

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Bidets as a Topic of Conversation - an awful limerick

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

Bidets as a Topic of Conversation

There was a French girl named Renee’
Who loved to pose on her bidet
Her vanity led
To a Playboy spread
But her movie career just washed away

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

"...the right of the people peaceably to assemble..." - copyrighted news photograph

 
Peaceably
 


(c) Joshua A. Bikel, The Columbus Dispatch, via Associated Press

Shelter in Place, Old Man - poem

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


Shelter in Place, Old Man
 
And now my duties are forbidden me
Even the volunteer programs have shut down
And I am left as a Finzi-Contini
At play in a garden, awaiting the worm

They tell me I’m too old, that I must stay home
(They didn’t tell me that in ’67)
Yevtushenko says that as we get older
We get honester. But that’s not enough
 
I wish I could sign on again, one last patrol -
But now all duties are forbidden me

Sunday, April 19, 2020

A Very Brief Review for GoodReads of Humphrey Carpenter's J.R.R. TOLKIEN: A BIOGRAPHY

J.R.R. Tolkien by Humphrey Carpenter

by    
This is a nice little biography for those who love Tolkien and the Inklings. Humphrey Carpenter's several biographies are always well-researched and, even when alluding to awkward moments in the subjects' lives, infinitely kind and generous.

As for the recent film, it fails in every way, in structure, lighting, plotting, and the now-obligatory intrusions of razzle-me / dazzle-me computer cartooning. One longs for a movie free of electrons. The biggest failing, however, one which stamps a veto on the entire project (which does feature some good moments), is the filmmakers' dishonesty and violation of artistic ethics in deleting Catholicism from Tolkien's life. One need not approve or disapprove of Catholicism to understand the lack of integrity here; Tolkien's faith, one which he believed his mother to have died for because of family persecution, was the basis of everything he believed, lived, and wrote.

The young actors are fine in their roles; they certainly deserved better of The Suits (only I suppose now they are not The Suits but rather The Tee-Shirts).

Sunday Morning Tornado Watch - poem

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

Sunday Morning Tornado Watch

This is the only thing normal today:
A tornado watch on a Sunday in spring
I have shifted those famous Loose Objects
Into secure areas as best I could

Too bad we can’t shift the virus about
Stuff it into a rusted garbage bin
And set it out along the leafy lane
To wait for the men to haul it away

Liturgy on the telly, skies deadly grey -
How odd the things that are normal today

Saturday, April 18, 2020

The Only Man in the World Who Knows Nothing about How to Cure the Coronavirus or the Economy Recuses Himself - poem

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

The Only Man in the World Who Knows Nothing about How to Cure the Coronavirus or the Economy Recuses Himself

“Twilight it is, and the far woods are dim”
-Masefield

The book is put aside, the cigar is lit
Old scotch rolled thoughtfully within the glass
As fireflies flit among the apple trees
And Cat carnivorously craves a careless bird

Sweet April’s evening air is exactly right
I could bring the portable radio outside
For a little light jazz – or maybe not
The firstling stars are musical enough

To accompany the memories, and, yes,
Masefield says it ever so much better

Friday, April 17, 2020

The Cherry Tree Who Visited an Apple Orchard and Decided to Stay - poem

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

The Cherry Tree Who Visited an Apple Orchard and Decided to Stay

In the blowing-wind dusk the cherry tree waves
Far more than the orchard’s Anna-apple trees
Into whose company it has intruded itself
This party-crasher who has somehow moved in

While the cherry tree waves its leaves about
A single cricket hidden in the grass
Chirrups an evening hymn of just one note
As the work-weary birds wing to the woods

The last sunbeams have climbed up and away
And winked goodnight to this cherry-tree day

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Historic Sites Archaeology or Finding Neat Stuff in the Ground - weekly column

Lawrence (Mack) Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Historic Sites Archaeology

Or

Finding Neat Stuff in the Ground

Long, long ago in a land far, far away I took several courses in historic sites archaeology with Professor James R. Moriarty, historian, archaeologist, raconteur, and veteran of the Pacific campaign during the Second World War.

Dr. Moriarty and his merry band enjoyed access to Mission San Diego de Alcala and to San Diego’s Old Town, where we learned from him the discipline of the dig – excavating with soft brushes more often than with small trowels, and mapping everything, recording everything, labelling everything, photographing everything. With one slow, brief pass with a small blade one could find a Chinese coin, a fragment of a Spanish stirrup, human finger bones, and a good-sized chunk of glass from the headlight of a 1948 Hudson, all jumbled up by the accidents of history, gardening, and the busy actions of gophers.

This season’s gardening at my rural estate along Jasper County Beer Can & Garbage Dump Road 400 has been similarly rewarding in matters of archaeology, only without any human remains.

In tilling a little plot for the sunflowers I have so far found:

1. A Sylvania Blue Dot ™ flashbulb for photography, never fired. I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know how it survived heat and rain and frost for years. I don’t know how it survived the tines of the mechanical tiller two weeks ago.

2. A small hatchet head, possibly meant for camping, with part of the top deliberately curled by the owner for purposes unknown to me. Someone suggested a specialty modification by a roofer. An InterGossip search of Boy Scout hatches, box hatchets, roofing hatchets, and so on revealed nothing similar.

3. A fine collection of broken glass.

4. A finer collection of screws and nails of various sizes. Old people (cough) are given to saying, “They don’t make ‘em like they used to,” but it is true. Modern nails and screws are often degraded pot metal poured into molds in Shanghai. Old nails and screws are made of extruded steel wire, and even after decades in the earth are often more durable than the modern ****. I have a big magnet on a rope for searching for nails and other ferrous objects. Even if the found objects are not useful, I’ve saved the lawnmower blades. Several years ago I came up with a pocketknife, a good old Schrade-Walden rusted beyond use. I imagine its owner looked for it a long time before giving it up and going to Mixson’s Hardware or Sharbutt’s Feed Store to buy a new one, bemoaning the old one as better.

This summer I should, barring adventures with the weather and incursions by varmints, have a modest stand of sunflowers. Agricultural supply houses sell neat little gadgets for hulling them, and I might try that someday, but for now I harvest the heads, store them in that famous cool dry place, and put them out for the birds and squirrels in the winter.

As they grow, sunflowers are beautiful, which is its own reward. As heliotropes they follow the sun. Scientists and other Dr. Grundy types assure us that heliotropes don’t really follow the sun, that the sun’s rays stimulate cells that blah, blah, blah.

Any small child knows better – sunflowers follow the sun because they want to.

So there.

Life is good.

-30

The Darwinian Cat - poem

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

The Darwinian Cat

For Pepper-Cat,
Who brought us a Rio Grande Leopard Frog
(Rana Berlandier)

But then, all cats are dour Darwinians
Students of the evolution of creatures
Sometimes with the eyes of good scholars, yes
But mostly by killing and eating them

They like gophers and green lizards the best
Careless cardinals and poor baby squirrels
But never snakes or scorpions or such-like pests
Or stringy, door-knocking evangelists

They eat little animals who hide in the wood -
They would eat Darwin too, if only they could!

Wednesday, April 15, 2020

They Say There's Some Sort of Bug Going Around - poem (of sorts)

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

They Say There’s Some Sort of Bug Going Around

Wuhan virus Chinese virus Bat virus
Corona virus Coronavirus
CoronaVirus Covid-19
COVID-19 SARS-CoV-2

Cure it? With what? Yet more war metaphors?
(Newark), they can’t even agree what to call it

Tuesday, April 14, 2020

Herd Immunity Properly Practiced - Poem

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

Herd Immunity Properly Practiced

One wishes for immunity to the herd
Freedom from the expectations of others
From being slotted and characterized
From the duty to be happily so

“Defined a generation” is a lie –
A man defines himself as he thinks best
Owing obedience only to God
(and traffic lights; let’s not get stupid, eh)

Otherwise, individual and free -
Oh,
If only everyone were just like me


Line 5 – “Man” and “he” are gender-neutral.
Line 11 – The irony is deliberate.

Monday, April 13, 2020

We Read Poems Because We Don't Know Poetry - poem (well, yes...)

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

We Read Poems Because We Don’t Know Poetry

Which sounds a bit too precious, but bear with me
Or hamster with me, to avoid a cliché
The sundial says, “The Best is Yet to Be”
And so it is, each word-rich summery day

If we take a page from the busy bee
Then every day is a summery day
Taking those dream-infused pages you see
Teasing each line our own, working away

We read poems because we don’t know poetry -
It’s all a matter of dreamility

Sunday, April 12, 2020

Squaddies Posted at the Tomb - poem

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

What Happened to the Guards Posted at the Tomb?

Maybe the duty officer had it in for them
Some privates, a corporal, maybe a sergeant
Grousing about pulling a night watch
And in a Jewish cemetery – why?

No one agrees if they were temple police
Or Romans, for special duty detached
What time they were posted, how many there were
Or how into silence they were bullied or bribed

And no one much cares because

While heroes and saints get written up in books
Poor squaddies get only disapproving looks

Saturday, April 11, 2020

Couplets for Holy Saturday in the Virus-Time


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

Couplets for Holy Saturday in the Virus-Time

Sure, there are empty churches, but then
There are equally empty men

And empty hearts in the Upper Room
But oh, tomorrow – an empty tomb!

Friday, April 10, 2020

Mrs. Pilate Posts a Bikini Selfie - poem

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


Good Friday in the Virus-Time

“…forgotten as a nameless number on a list that afterwards got mislaid”

-Doctor Zhivago, p. 503

The Altar is bare; broken are the mysteries
Our Lord is buried deep within the pyx
A stone of shame is rolled against our hopes
The night is foul with evil whisperings

How do we know? It’s on the television
That’s all that's left to us – sharp images
Of Darwinians dancing on mass graves
While keeping a social distance of art

Mrs. Pilate posts a bikini selfie -
Broken are the mysteries; the Altar is bare

Thursday, April 9, 2020

A Midsummer Mystery - weekly column

Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

A Midsummer Mystery

A friend was riffed from his job two weeks ago, and for those two weeks all his attempts to apply for unemployment compensation have been futile. When he telephones Workforce (sic) he is made to spend hours on hold, and often his call is simply dropped after hours of waiting. When he can get through to a functionary he is told that he needs to validate his employment for a period when he was not employed, which is a self-cancelling requirement. He has also been told that he needs to provide proof of having tried to find a job when (1) he has been told to isolate at home, and (2) almost 7 million workers have been forced out of their jobs.

Apparently the people who handle unemployment take their service model from the VA or from Kafka’s Das Schloss.

The concept of essential and nonessential employees and businesses is a curious one. How can there be nonessential employees? Do employers ever choose to hire nonessential employees? And no business is nonessential. Anyone who runs a business does so because that is his or her livelihood, and the livelihood of the employees. Even a one-week gap would be devastating to a business, depriving the owner and the employees of 25% of their monthly income. And this gap is into its second month.

I have no solution to the economic stasis, but the Big Noises in Austin and D.C. must remember that no worker is nonessential, and that without food, clothing, and shelter life ends.

A friend brought me lots of plants by way of another friend, so I have been busily digging holes for them. For the plants, that is, not for the friends. Friends are wonderful.

The tomato plants are putting out their first fruits as little green spheres. The plants were but seeds at the beginning of March, when the multi-named virus (Legion?) began to attract our attention. In illo tempore there were no lockdowns, separations, isolations, restrictions, masks, empty streets, closed shops. These things were not even considered. We could go to a cafĂ©’ with friends, book a haircut, visit the dentist, buy toilet paper, attend church, host a birthday party, go to work, volunteer at the nursing home or at the school, and every way celebrate all the little joys of life.

Now we consider a half-hour at the grocery store a mission to be planned and then executed as quickly as possible before returning to the bunker.

We know what life was like when the tomato plants were seedling; what will life be like when the tomatoes are ripe and red under the midsummer sun?

-30-

Decolonize the Pequod! - mindless drivel about that stupid whale

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

Decolonize the Pequod!

Call me E-mail, and, yes, I cheered for the whale -
Is there anyone so hard in his heart
That he cannot shed tears of happiness
When the whale kills the crew? Oh, rapturous day!

They are required reading; it’s all their fault
And, after all, sperm whale and Moby Dick –
Should America’s children read this trash?
I think not. It’s not in the Bible, right?

There's no baptismal image, only a boat
And hey, psycho captain, do wooden legs float?

Wednesday, April 8, 2020

A Bonfire on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist - poem

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

A Bonfire on the Feast of Saint John the Baptist

On Midsummer Eve, sunset and moonrise
Soon, please God, when the melancholy clears
We will pile up all of our masks and gowns
Our gloves and caps and scrubs – and all our sorrows

We will pile them up in a summer field
All of our fears, our social distancings
The lines, the signs that told us what to do
No smoking, eh? Well, just stand back and watch –

Fiat lux

On Midsummer Eve, sunset and moonrise
We’ll sing a hymn of remembrance for our lost

On Midsummer Eve, sunset and moonrise
Militant, suffering, and triumphant

Tuesday, April 7, 2020

Dear Patrick Stewart - poem

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

Dear Patrick Stewart

Dear Patrick,
Or Mr. Stewart,
Or Captain,
Or Sir,

Thank you for reading us Shakespeare each day -
Sonnets from your balcony and from the stairs
Smooth flowing iambics from all your chairs
Precise pentameter to smooth the way

Dear Patrick,

You and Will visit so we’re not alone
But we have some questions, if you don’t mind:
What do you find awkward in Sonnet IX?
And
How many pairs of glasses do you own?

Dear Captain,

Thank you for the beauties of each page
For giving us the courage to say with you,
                                                                     “Engage!”


https://twitter.com/SirPatStew

Monday, April 6, 2020

More Body Bags - poem

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

More Body Bags

When I came home from Viet-Nam I thought
I’d never again have to consider body-bags
Great rubbery things with long crude zippers
Usually there were toes for the  toe tags
Not always

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Palm Sunday 2020 - poem

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

Palm Sunday 2020

Palm Sunday – but there are no palms at all
Except the ones we are to wash frequently
Like Pontius Pilate singing “Happy Birthday”
While his Roman Jeeves holds a silver bowl

There will be no procession from the parking lot
And into the church, singing out of sequence
Because those in the back of the procession
Cannot hear those in the front to keep time

But time itself is out of time today
There is no triumph - except in being alive

Saturday, April 4, 2020

Airline Bailout (no pun) Jokes of my Own Devising

(I can't explain the unfortunate formatting; the blogger-thingie sometimes does that.)


Lawrence Hall
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Airline Bailout (no pun) Jokes of my Own Devising


1. Part of the bailout funding will be paid by Americans who are to be charged for every extra suitcase they have in their closets at home.


2. While airlines are grounded they will provide customer service via telephone and on the InterGossip:


     #1 if you wish to be snarled at by a flight attendant for asking if there is any coffee.


     #2 if you wish to be snarled at by a flight attendant for asking if breakfast will be served ("NO!
     We ran out at aisle 12! You can see that!").


     #3 if you wish to be ignored by a flight attendant while she sits in the back and reads a Harry
     Potter book (this happened to me on a very real Air Canada flight).



Evening - Palm Sunday

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

Evening – Palm Sunday

The waxing moon knows nothing of Holy Week
And stars care nothing for sacred liturgies
Nor do the fireflies flitting among the trees
And ‘round the darkening lawn as evening falls

The beagle dozing in her rabbit-dreams
A neighboring cow looking beyond her fence
And honeybees buzzing to their night-cells hence
Would not understand the penances of Lent

For they never betrayed their God, and thus
They well may serve as a rebuke to us

Friday, April 3, 2020

Now They are Imprisoned Twice - poem

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

Now They are Imprisoned Twice

“It was very like living permanently in a large railway station”

-C.S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

We cannot volunteer in prison now
The grids and grills that shut the prisoners in
Now serve to shut most everyone else out
And bars now bar us from teaching each other

Ours is a transient camp, barracks and wire
Grey buses run, usually in the night
Men are shipped out, and others then arrive
And we never really get to know anyone

For now, not at all

But in the evening meetings, once a week
Connections are made, however tentative
Like casual conversations while waiting for a train
We are all being shipped somewhere, you know

Tonight

Prisoners half-asleep on the hard bus seats
May our inadequate prayers follow them

Thursday, April 2, 2020

Notre Dame de Discount Store - virus-free poem

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



Notre Dame de Discount Store

"It gets you out of your solitary conceit"
-C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock

The tin-barn brick-veneer design is weak
Much like a Wal-Mart or a Dollar Store
The dropped ceiling is high-school ticky-tack
And the poor pews are discount-warehouse veneer

No one much prays before Mass anymore
Grown men wear shorts and sneaks and cartoon tees
The woman in the pew in front of me
Is tattooed up and down her pimply back

(God did not ask my opinion)

Perhaps He is saying, “I know you’re all
Wondering why I’ve called you here today…”

Wednesday, April 1, 2020

Yevgeny Yevtushenko - A Memorial (repost)

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

The first book I bought upon returning home from Viet-Nam was the Penguin Modern European Poets paperback edition of Yevtushenko: Selected Poems. That 75-cent paperback from a bookstall in the airport in San Francisco is beside me on the desk as I write.

At this point the convention is to write that Yevtushenko changed my life forever, gave me an epiphany, and blah, blah, blah. He didn’t. But I really like him.

All Change at Zima Junction

For Yevgeny Yevtushenko, 1932-2017

Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction
Changes lives; nineteen becomes twenty-one
With hardly a pause for twenty and then
Everyone asks you questions you can’t answer

And then they say you’ve changed, and ignore you
The small-town brief-case politician still
Enthroned as if she were a committee
And asks you what you are doing back here

And then you go away, on a different train:
Everyone changes trains at Zima Junction

“I went, and I am still going.”1


1Yevtuskenko: Selected Poems. Penguin,1962

Only You Mustn't Say "Corona" Now - poem

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

Only You Mustn’t Say “Corona” Now


Last night, the moon had a golden ring

-Longfellow, “The Wreck of the Hesperus”


Tonight the moon has a silver ring, a crown
A corona, and a corona of stars
Only you mustn’t say “corona” now
Not even if you want a glass of beer

When windy March began, the pestilence
As in the news, and trouble was anticipated
We all bought toilet paper and canned meat
And sanitizer in cute little pumps

Futility. The world itself has changed
But still the moon enthroned is crowned with stars

Tuesday, March 31, 2020

Will You Be in the Body-Bag Next to Me? - poem

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

Will You Be in the Body-Bag Next to Me?

Will you be in the body-bag next to me?
Crowed into a refrigerated truck
Bumping along the crematorium road
Kept frozen until removed for cooking

This Side Up

The sides of the truck might advertise ice cream
Or maybe the back door will be labelled “FISH”
The living will take photographs for the news
And for the schoolbooks children will ignore

May Have Passed Through Machinery Used to Process Nuts

When you and I, beloved, have ceased to be
Will you be in the body-bag next to me?

Gluten Free







When I came home from Viet-Nam I thought I’d never again have to consider body-bags.

Monday, March 30, 2020

If Jesus Wrote a Letter to a Catholic 'Blog - poem

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

If Jesus Wrote a Letter to a Catholic ‘Blog

If Jesus wrote a letter to a Catholic ‘blog
He would be told how very wrong He is
The huggers would scorn Him for His strictness
The rad-trads would damn Him as a heretic

If Jesus wrote a letter to a Catholic ‘blog
A jet-set priest would send Him pictures of meals
Both in first-class and in trattorias in Rome
And ask Him for a contribution for, oh, missions

If Jesus wrote a letter to a Catholic ‘blog
He would be blocked for violating community standards

Sunday, March 29, 2020

Tomatoes and Children in Wire Cages - poem

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

Tomatoes and Children in Wire Cages

They look so lonely, set out in a row
Behind the wire cages they are assigned
Peering out to the world denied them now
Fragile and young, so vulnerable, so small

But with sunlight and love they will arise
Growing around those cages, and building up
Beauty and strength in tended fellowship
In laughter, love, and, learning firmly set

They look so lovely, for they grow themselves
To bless the world beyond their poor beginnings








No, I am not doing the "Bad Orange Man" thing here; the restraint of children - some of whom are not children at all - brought across borders by their parents or those purporting to be their parents has being going on for a long time. The current president has not done anything about it, and, except for protesting, neither have you, and neither have I.

Saturday, March 28, 2020

Whiteoak Leaves - MePhone Photograph


We're All in This Together, Sure - poem

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

We’re All in This Together, Sure

We’re all in this together we’re coming
Together together as one we’re all
In this together we’re coming together
Together as one we’re all in this together

They twoot from their home studios i luv u
Their swimming pools i luv u their marble sinks
Remember i luv u here’s a song I wrote for u
And just for you copyright i luv u

And those of us encaged in little bed-sits
Are comforted by those posturing (tw)its

Friday, March 27, 2020

A Disapproval of Rene Descartes - cheesy rhyming couplet

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


A Disapproval of Rene Descartes

or

Putting the Cartesian Before Remorse


Rene Descartes, how foul thou art! Or wert -
For thou and thy mad maths art in the dirt!

Thursday, March 26, 2020

Learning in Virus-Time - weekly column

Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Learning in Virus-Time

One of the conventions of the virus-time is for scribblers to publish lists of suggested books that might help cope with homebound isolation (and with the slowdown of the movie streaming service).

Some reading lists address understanding and dealing with the alarming nature of a time in which the comforts of brief periods of stability collapse because they have no foundations, and the essential uncertainty of the human condition is revealed. Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning comes to mind, as does much of literature. Tolkien’s mythologies contrast the transient with the transcendent, as do both the fiction and the scholarly writings of C. S. Lewis. Especially relevant just now is his essay, “Learning in War-time” (http://bradleyggreen.com/attachments/Lewis.Learning%20in%20War-Time.pdf). In children’s literature, even Peter Rabbit must cope with the reality that his father ended up as rabbit pie.

Other lists feature escapism as therapy, and that’s necessary too; constant attention to the news is unhealthy. A good dose of Louis L’Amour, Agatha Christie, P. G. Wodehouse, James Bond, and Barbara Cartland provide a necessary therapy.

Not so very long ago in calendar time but very long ago in virus-time I asked a (brilliant) student who always came to my class with personal reading what books she had been exploring in the two or three months since term had begun. She thoughtfully wrote out the list for me:

I Am not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, Erika Sanchez

All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque

Tell Me How it Ends: an Essay in Forty Questions, Valeria Luiselli

How to Become a Straight-A Student, Cal Newport

The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein

The Love Poems of RUMI

I Touch the Earth, the Earth Touches Me, Hugh Prather

None of these books was assigned; like all thoughtful people my student always had a book to consider between classes, work, footer, dance, and her job: a novel with Mexican-American-adolescent themes, a novel a German teen soldier in the First World War, a study in immigration, a how-to about doing better in school, a childhood comfort-book as a vade mecum, a book of poetry, and, well, with an icky-sugary title such as I Touch the Earth Blah Blah Blah I investigated no further. Not all men are strong enough to withstand such a horror.

The point is that an exceptional young woman considered her world through dance and music and assigned thinky-stuff and sports and work, and also through the thoughts of others through lots of good books. And all without a national shutdown and threats of temporal harm to prompt her. We should be more like her.

Men…propound mathematical theorems in beleaguered cities, conduct metaphysical arguments in condemned cells, make jokes on scaffolds, discuss the last new poem while advancing to the walls of Quebec, and comb their hair at Thermopylae. This is not panache; it is our nature.

-CSL, “Learning in War-Time,” 22 October 1939

-30-

The Dancer on the Garbage Truck - poem

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

The Dancer on the Garbage Truck

He lightly leaped from the old garbage truck
Waved back at me, and sprinted to the bin
He Fred Astaired it as a pas de deux
And lifted it up with panther-like grace

The battered bin - it could have been: Ginger,
Leslie Caron, or maybe Cyd Charisse
He was a muscled young dancer who made
Even tipping the garbage a work of art

He lightly leaped to the old garbage truck
Waved me good-bye, and danced the day away

Wednesday, March 25, 2020

Logotherapy in the Virus-Time - poem

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

Logotherapy in the Virus-Time

I search for God within my books
Just as I scan the sky for Him
And peer into the minnow-shallows
And listen for His voice by night





(“Logotherapy” is an allusion to Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning)

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Obsequies for a Hummingbird - a virus-free poem

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

Obsequies for a Hummingbird

Some disagree about the nature of death
Maintaining that it is in the nature of life
A logical end, and none should be mourned
But we were in Eden, and so we mourn

A hummingbird in death is unnatural
Its tiny wings should be as immortal as
They are invisible in darting flight
Shimmering forever in green and red

I will not bury it, no; I will lift
It gently into the bole of an oak

And from there, God…

Monday, March 23, 2020

Fleur D'espoir (Flower of Hope) - poem and picture in the virus-time

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

Fleur D’espoir

The deep blue spiderwort – she does not know
An epidemic now has been declared
And all the world beyond her cobalt glow
Has found itself panicked and unprepared

The sunbright spiderwort – upon the lawn
Reposes in her leafy springtime berth
Delighting in the sweet birds’ carillon
Smiling at Heaven, but close to the earth

The joyful spiderwort – careless of fear
Gives us hope, as always, in her new year



Sunday, March 22, 2020

Toy Graduation Ducks - poem in the virus-time

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

Toy Graduation Ducks

In another era – two weeks ago –
I ordered a box of graduation ducks
To be given to the high school seniors
As is my custom, for a bit of fun

But now…

The ducks have not arrived; the schools are closed
The stores are open, but their shelves are bare
The students are dispersed, only god knows where
Maybe we won’t see all of them again

Is this a time to think about toy ducks?
Yes

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Poetic First Lines Re-imagined for a Time of Self-Distancing - entertainment

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

Poetic First Lines Re-imagined for a Time of Self-Distancing

1. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Robert Frost

Whose woods these are, I think I know
His house is still in lockdown, though


2. “Sea-Fever,” John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
But with all the travel restrictions, I can kiss that idea good-bye


3. “If,” Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs, and stealing T.P. from the loo


4. “Sailing to Byzantium,” W. B Yeats

That is no country for old men. The young
Keep social distance, birds watch Netflix


5. “Night Mail,” W. H Auden

This is the Night Mail crossing the border
Bringing the cheque and the quarantine order


6. “Zima Junction,” Yevgeny Yevtushenko

As we get older we get honester,
And hand sanitizer when we can find it


7. “La Belle Dame sans Merci,” John Keats

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The bread is all gone from the shelves
And no birds sing.

8. “Fiesta Melons,” Sylvia Plath

In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full

No good for wiping


9. “The World I Used to Know,” Rod McKuen

Someday some old familiar rain
Will come along and know my name
And tell me all the Spam is gone
And I’ll have to move along


10. “What is This Gypsy Passion for Separation?” Marina Tsvetaeva

What is this gypsy passion for separation, this
Readiness to rush off – when we’ve just met?

(I didn’t change a word of this one)

-30-

A Rainy Day and Locked-Down Anyway - poem in the virus-time

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

A Rainy Day and Locked-Down Anyway

No excuses, of course: we must get dressed
If death itself appears at the front door
We would not want to be caught in our ‘jammies
Or in surrender flaked upon the couch

We will wake up to a glad morning hymn
And for inspection wash and brush and dress
For even if nobody else sees us, God will
And we must be ready for the Office of Lauds

That God doesn’t care how we’re dressed for prayer
Is a thumping lie: Up! and dress with care

Friday, March 20, 2020

With a Dog and an Oxygen Tank - poem in the virus-time

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

With a Dog and an Oxygen Tank

An old man with a dog and oxygen tank
Steers his duct-taped golf cart to the café
For the morning liturgy at his corner seat
The vinyl cathedra where he presides in state

At midnight all the cafes must be closed
It’s for our own good, the wise governor says
But since Pontius Pilate, who trusts governors?
All churches are closed, and, worse, all cafes

Where and with whom can he worship today
That old man with his dog and oxygen tank

Pushkin and the Sheriff's Report - virus-free poem

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

Pushkin and the Sheriff’s Report

In a languid Russian story or play
A beautiful young woman in a summer dress
Beside a willow-tree lake sits and dreams
Over a novel as a caller arrives

But in our time we read in the sheriff’s report
Of tatted old meth-gals knifing each other
In a junked-out trailer surrounded by trash
While a bony meth-boy watches the fight

Love ends

Sometimes with notes in rounded copperplate
Sometimes with knives down at the trailer park