Sunday, October 25, 2020

Children on an October Evening - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Children on an October Evening

 

We lay in the grass and counted the stars:

 

There must be a hundred of them

A million

A billion

A gazillion!

 

Nuh-uh, there’s no such number as a gazillion

Yeah-huh, I betcha there is – but I can’t count that high

You don’t have to

Maybe the stars can count themselves

 

Are there spacemen out there beyond the moon?

Are maybe over there beyond the trees

It’s okay; I’ve got my Roy Rogers cap pistol

Dale Evans can shoot as good as Roy!

 

Can not

Can too

Can’t

Can

 

My daddy says we’re getting a tv

We can watch the stars on tv

I betcha this is better

You’re just mad ‘cause you don’t have a tv

 

Do you see the man in the moon?

I think it’s a girl

A girl in the moon! Don’t be silly!

Well, what do you see, then?

 

The moon is so big and round

But sometimes it isn’t

But it is right now. It likes us

And there’s Peter Pan’s second star to the right

 

I don’t want to grow up

We have to

Why?

I don’t know. It’s a rule

 

Will there be pirates and Peter Pan?

And pancakes on Saturday morning?

I don’t think so

That’s not fair

Saturday, October 24, 2020

The Epistemology of Lies - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Epistemology of Lies

 

 

Above all, don’t lie to yourself.

 

-Father Zossima in The Brothers Karamazov

 

 

The problem is not in detecting a lie

But in detecting that which is not a lie

In a fallen world in which snakes twist and writhe

Around the golden apples of our youth

 

Through our garden they slither, shiny and smooth

And at first softly, susurrantly, soothingly

Assuring us that that we don’t know what we know

That we should trust them, follow them, obey them

 

And if we pause to think, they bully us all -

And one by one the golden apples fall

Friday, October 23, 2020

What the Lawns Know - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

What the Lawns Know

 

Creatures –

                    They crawl, lope, run, slither, and walk

Across the lawns on errands of their own

Looking for love, or looking to kill and eat

 

And I –

                     I tread, creak, ride, shuffle, and walk

Across the lawns on errands of my own

With lawnmower and power tools and carts

 

And we –

 

                   Someday

The lawns will cover all of us

 

Thursday, October 22, 2020

You Shut Up! No, You Shut Up! No, You Shut Up First! - weekly column

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

You Shut Up! No, You Shut up! No, You Shut Up First!

 

“The context of social networks serving as amplifiers

for idiots and crazy people is not what we intended.”

 

-Former Google Chief Executive Officer Eric Schmidt 1

 

Censorship is the control of public speech by a government agency; it has always existed and always will.  Even the freest government cannot allow state secrets to be published.  Censorship, when kept in its legal place, is good; when it is not kept in its legal place, it is bad.

 

A young friend was posted to duty in Whosestupidideawasthisistan (and is safely home). I never asked him where he was and he never told. I didn’t need to know, nor did bad people who might want to dox out his parents’ identifications and location as well as that of the military unit’s location and mission.

 

I wish at this point to interrupt the development of my thesis on censorship and privacy in order to allude to Article 1, Section 8 of the Constitution which states in language simple enough for even a senator to understand that only Congress is empowered to declare war.

 

Now, back to censorship and privacy.

 

And then there is the matter of privacy, which is not censorship. Your bank account numbers, job evaluations, medical condition, legal titles, photographs, adoption papers, and so on are no one’s business but yours. If you refuse to release that information it is not censorship, it is privacy, and privacy is protected by the 4th Amendment.

 

Censorship has become a matter of discussion now because of the endless nonsense dribbling like the results of a bladder control issue from the various anti-social sites on the InterGossip. The free dissemination of news and, yes, gossip is now often challenged by those who want some InterGossip content restricted because it is “fake news,” which is defined as anything the reader disagrees with.

 

Grub Street, we’ve got a problem.

 

InterGossip sites and search engines are private enterprises, and are open to all customers. If someone on, say, MyFaceSpace says something that someone else doesn’t like, should MyFaceSpace be suppressed?

 

A rough comparison may be made to a paper company which sells paper of all sorts, including the paper used in books and magazines. If a sad wretch purchases a pack of paper and uses that paper to write wicked things, is the paper company at fault for that? Should the logger, pulpwood truck driver, or millworker be required to follow every sheet of paper and oversee how it is used?

 

Should the manufacturers of MePhones and the installers of InterGossip services be required by some government agency to regulate the conversations and content transmitted by citizens who purchase the gadgets and the bandwidth and airtime?

 

The problem, dear Brutus, likes not in our stars – or our gadgets or our sheets of paper – but in ourselves, that we suffer a collective tendency to believe whatever nonsense comes across on the InterGossip.

 

We are free to read or not to read, and free to dismiss someone else’s argument without demanding that a police officer enforce silence on that someone else.

 

 

1 https://finance.yahoo.com/news/former-google-ceo-calls-social-200127402.html

 

 

-30-

 

Two Political Campaign Signs Set on Fire - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

 

Two Political Campaign Signs Set on Fire

 

-news item

 

Perhaps that’s all the fire they’ve got this year

Obediently yapping into the dark

In camouflage knee-pants and plastic shoes

Both sides agreeing only in their hate

 

If they were to exchange their campaign tees

No one could tell them apart, not even themselves

Demanding that each other be locked up

With locks long since rusted, keys long since lost

 

Cheap disposable lighters fueled with cheap beer -

Perhaps that’s all the fire they’ve got this year

Wednesday, October 21, 2020

Some People Are Not in Prison - poem

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Some People Are Not in PrisonReply Actions Slideshow

 

“What are we here for? We are not alive though we are living

and we are not in our graves though we are dead.”


― Fyodor Dostoyevsky,
The House of the Dead

 

The difference between people in prison

And people who are not in prison

Is that some people are in prison

And some people are not

Tuesday, October 20, 2020

"I Grew Up in Mayberry" - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“I Grew Up in Mayberry”

 

“I grew up in Mayberry,” the old man said,

“And in Dodge City.” He looked into his empty cup.

“I don’t know where I am now.  I just don’t know.”

Monday, October 19, 2020

Lines for Marina Tsvetaeva - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Lines for Marina Tsvetaeva

 

 

“Her poetry is…passion, pain, metaphor, and music.”

 

- Yevgeny Yevtushenko

 

 

Her words soar over utilitarians

Past pale, pedantic propagandists who

Would wrench all poetry into a cause

As if verse were only propaganda

 

Her picture on a Penguin paperback

Embraces the viewer, stares back, dares back

Her eyes defiant, her arms folded in hope

Armored in her famous clunky jewelry

 

She bleeds onto the page, into the soul

Her words, suspended in truth against the age

 

 

Sunday, October 18, 2020

The Unfashion of the Romantics - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Unfashion of the Romantics

 

…the romance of intellectual adventure.

 

-Daisy Hay, preface to Young Romantics

 

Thesis:

 

The Romantics are simply demode, my dear

Those structured paleo-colonialists

Who rattle on about flowers and love

And craft blank verse about walks in the wood

 

Antithesis:

 

Oh, but note, if you will, young lovers who

Thoughtlessly put their sunlit heads together

Over an open Keats, reading to each other

Among the unwritten leaves of their youth

 

And now note, if you will, young thinkers who

Thoughtfully put their sunlit words together

Over an open Byron, arguing for freedom

Among and for the peoples of the earth

 

Synthesis:

 

The young are lines of iambic pentameter

New lines, new lives, discovered in each other

 

 

 

Saturday, October 17, 2020

Venus is Beautiful Tonight - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Venus is Beautiful Tonight

 

Venus is beautiful tonight, and so is Mars

Heaven’s husbandry 1 is generous this month

With a fine show of planets, stars, and dreams

To cheer us with their silent happiness

 

Tomorrow will be cold; cold rain will fall

From the husbandry of autumn clouds

Bathing the grasses, trees, gardens, and fields

Getting each sleepyhead ready for bed

 

We have our coffee and a little light jazz

Venus is beautiful tonight - and so are you

 

 

 

1 Macbeth II.i.v-vi.

Friday, October 16, 2020

Isometric Exercises against Walls - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Isometric Exercises against Walls

 

They have piled up walls; we push against walls

We push against them with our bodies and minds

The walls do not move, and we hurt

But we grow strong

 

They have piled up walls; we write lines upon walls

We speak against walls with our words and hearts

The walls do not fall, and we hurt

But we still speak

 

They have piled up walls; we pray against walls

And we grow strong

And we still speak

And we still love

 

But They Didn't Give me an "I VOTED" Sticker - weekly column

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

But They Didn’t Give Me an “I VOTED” Sticker

 

At the bottom of all the tributes paid to democracy is the little man, walking into the little booth, with a little pencil, making a little cross on a little bit of paper - no amount of rhetoric or voluminous discussion can possibly diminish the overwhelming importance of the point.

 

-attributed to Winston Churchill

 

On the Orwellian telescreen the newsies daily give us Apocalyptic stories about the near-impossibility of voting, featuring long lines and stress at the polls, and brief interviews with the sort of people whose mothers never taught them not to say stupid things in public.

 

My voting experience did not match any of the fashionable sturm und drang. I was on my way for lunch for a friend and voted without long lines, riots, or menacing meanies at a sub-courthouse / cop shop down the road from Stoplight, Texas.

 

There was a short wait because of CV requirements and because the fellow ahead of me thought the sign about not talking on MePhones didn’t apply to him.

 

At the entrance to the building reposed a metal frame featuring little green lights at about four feet and again at six feet; a shepherdess advised me I could place my wrist to the lower light or my forehead to the higher light. Always going for that higher light. I assumed that the lights indicated sensors for measuring my temperature, but it may have been a Q plot to absorb my mind.

 

I’m glad they didn’t take my temp with one of those large plastic guns which they point at your head as if you have gotten crossways of the godfather.

 

Or at least that’s what Q would have you believe.

 

Once past the Frame of the Green Lights I was shown into a small room where I was asked to present my voter card and my driving license to another shepherdess. I joked that I hadn’t planned to drive the ballot, but she wasn’t amused.

 

She placed both cards into machines with illuminated them with blue lights, presumably scanning them for secret information about the time the C.I.A. parachuted me into Russia on a secret mission to…but you could ask Q about that.

 

Another shepherdess returned both cards to me and gave me a blunt stylus for signing my name on a little screen just like at the supermarket (this week’s special is democracy), gave me a paper ballot (how quaint) and a blue pen, and directed me to a carrel set on a folding table.

 

And there, I voted, exercising not simply a citizen’s right but a citizen’s duty to participate meaningfully in the self-government of our Republic. All the ads, all the talking, all the ‘blogging, all the arguing, and all the up-or-down marks in the Daily Mail are irrelevant. The action is in voting.

 

How easy could it be! The poll workers were unfailingly polite and professional in every way, the system worked, and I was out in less than ten minutes.

 

There was one disappointment, though – I wasn’t given one of those nifty “I VOTED” stickers.

 

Well, I think that I and the Republic will both survive anyway.

 

-30-

Thursday, October 15, 2020

90,000 Screaming Fans

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

90,000 Screaming Fans

 

There are those like Norfolk who follow me because I wear the crown, there are those like Master Cromwell who follow me because they are jackals with sharp teeth and I'm their tiger, there's a mass that follows me because it follows anything that moves. And then there's you.

 

-Henry VII to Thomas More in A Man for All Seasons

 

Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Yip! Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Yike! Yike! Yike! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Yip! Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Yike! Yike! Yike! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Yip! Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo!Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Yike! Yike! Yike! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Yip! Yip! Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo!Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo!Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh! Yike! Yike! Yike! Bahhhhhhhhh!  Yip! Oink! Squawk! Mooooooooooooooo! Squeak! Cluck! Bleat! Hee hawwwwwww! Screech! Whinnnnny!  Snort! Grunt! Oink! Neighhhhhh!

 

 

https://apnews.com/article/virus-outbreak-college-football-dan-mullen-gainesville-football-1e21c3bd07b05e4ea0ecd02fa9923679

Wednesday, October 14, 2020

Because the Rattlesnake Ate a Kitten - poem

 

Because the Rattlesnake Ate a Kitten

 

We heard the agonized shrieks of a kitten

As it was being eaten by a rattlesnake

And rushed to find that well-fed dragon at rest

As it digested a little girl’s friend

 

“Snakes are part of the balance of nature”

“It was only doing what it was supposed to do”

“Snakes keep down mice and rats and other pests”

“We are obligated to honor God’s plan”

 

Yeah?

 

That devourer of baby bunnies, squirrels, and household pets -

I shot the ***-of-a-***** without regrets

Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Social Distancing is a Gilligan's Island Re-run

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Social Distancing is a Gilligan’s Island Re-run

 

Because the CV has cancelled new shows

And yet another Monday night football game

Life is a Gilligan’s Island re-run

Until for non-payment the service is stopped

 

For we are all on an island of isolation

Even if the Professor builds us a TV

Of palm leaves, cowrie shells, and Ginger’s pins

While Mary Anne crochets a mask for her navel

 

Maybe a ship will rescue us today

But will it take us back to where we were?

Monday, October 12, 2020

You Can't Unpack a Poem - poem (but don't try to unpack it; it's not socks or underwear)

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

You Can’t Unpack a Poem

 

You can’t unpack a poem; it’s not your luggage

Or the metaphorical carry-on of your spirit

Homeland Security doesn’t search your poetry

It isn’t stamped “Passed by Inspector #3”

 

You can’t unpack a poem; it’s not even yours

If you read it, it was given to you

If you wrote it, you sent it to the world

And beyond the world, out into the universe

 

You can never unpack a poem because

Poetry is not luggage - it is life

 

Tiredmetaphors

Sunday, October 11, 2020

Not Even the Paralytic's Bed - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Not Even the Paralytic’s Bed

 

We cannot crawl under our beds and hide

As much as we might want to disappear into

That dark, safe world of dust balls and lost toys

And the chewed-up paper the dog hides there

 

We cannot hide under the covers with Bunny

As in our childhood days; we must instead

Stand up and guard our children against a world

That has lost its capability for love

 

We must neither crawl nor hide nor fail to love:

“Arise, let us be going…”

 

 

(St. Matthew 9:6 and 26:46)

Saturday, October 10, 2020

Teenagers Have Always Worn Masks - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Teenagers Have Always Worn Masks

 

I was already wearing a mask anyway

Perfecting that James Bond pose in the mirror

Then wearing his cool edginess into home room

Where no one noticed

Friday, October 9, 2020

MEOW! - poem

 

MEOW!

 

I don’t know what the American poet Louise Glück said when the Swedish Academy informed her that she won this year’s Nobel Prize for Literature, but I know what she should have said: “Thanks, but no thanks.”

 

-Peter Maas

 

And I know what you mean, Mr. Maas -

I wasn’t nominated either

Thursday, October 8, 2020

Voting - the Liturgy of Self-Empowerment (weekly column)

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

8 October 2020

 

Voting – the Liturgy of Self-Empowerment

 

No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of government except all those other forms that have been tried from time to time.``

 

Winston Churchill, Speech in the House of Commons, 11 November 1947

 

On Tuesday morning the 13th of October, or whenever we vote, let us dress appropriately for an important secular ceremony by putting on our Sunday shoes, suit, or slacks and sports coat, shirt, and tie.  One would no more vote in knee pants and a Yosemite Sam tee than one would participate in the Sunday liturgy that way.

 

Voting is the core of our frayed but determined democracy. Yes, yes, I know that someone on the InterGossip yelps that we are a republic, which is also true, but our system of voting is democratic (with-a-small-‘D’), so there we are.

 

Campaigning for candidates has become our national sport, our national hobby, our national pastime, our national focus, our national disease, our national anger, and our national temper-tantrum. Citizens almost never discuss candidates and issues; instead they choose up sides with less thought than they would exercise in choosing a favorite baseball team, wear funny hats proclaiming their cultus, yell at each other, and sometimes endeavor to harm a fellow American for not being a good comrade, a party loyalist, an unquestioning and unthinking obedientiary.

 

And yet, without voting, all of this noise is, as Macbeth says of himself, “…but a walking shadow, a poor player / That struts and frets his hour upon the stage / And then is heard no more. It is a tale / Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, / Signifying nothing.” (V.v.26-30).

 

To vote, to mark the ballot or pull the lever, all alone in the carrel or the booth, is to be an American. Voting is not as dangerous as standing with the lads at Lexington Green or crossing that field of fire at Gettysburg or nursing the wounded on Bataan or jumping off a landing craft and facing an eighty-eight, but voting, freely choosing one’s own government, leading one’s self, not waiting to be led, is what those actions were all about.

 

Not to vote is to regard the brief young lives of those young men and women who died in fear and pain at Lexington and Gettysburg and Bataan and Normandy and everywhere else as having no meaning.

 

The voting booth is where we stand our ground against tyranny.

 

And put your britches on; the majesty of self-government is not a Zoom meeting.

 

-30-

Robinson Crusoe Orders a Generator from Amazon.com

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Robinson Crusoe Orders a Generator from Amazon.com

 

Another hurricane, warning or watch

One forgets which while clearing off the lawns

Of chairs and toys and all the summer dreams

And giving the generator its monthly run

 

In practiced unison we again recite

The liturgies of flashlight batteries

Bottled water, paper plates and plastic sporks

And Meals-Ready-To-Eat, though they really aren’t

 

Another hurricane, warning or watch -

And maybe just an inch or two of Scotch

Wednesday, October 7, 2020

A Soup

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Soup

 

A soup is just a little can of soup

Available in the prison commissary

A little warmth to get you through the night

If there is anything in your account

 

A little jar of powdered instant coffee

Available in the prison commissary

A ceremony of innocence, as Yeats would say

If there is anything in your account

 

And wakefulness at 0200, a hope -

If there is anything in that account

Tuesday, October 6, 2020

Venus, MePhone Photograph 6 October 2020


 

Mars, MePhone Photograph 6 October 2020

 


An Old Man on a Balcony, Gasping for Breath

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

An Old Man on a Balcony, Gasping for Breath

 

Those he commands move only in command,

Nothing in love

 

                   -Macbeth V.ii.19-20

 

The city and the nation seem to ignore him

He stands irresolutely, heaving his shoulders

Twitching his lips, fidgeting with his coat

Behind his embalmers’ makeup seeking breath

 

There are no happy cheering crowds tonight

He waves only to a departing helicopter

And salutes the ghosts of what might have been

Before turning away, inside, to the silence

 

The people talk about him, but not to him

If they did, he would not listen - he is alone

Monday, October 5, 2020

The BeeGees, Duck Dynasty, and Jesus

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The BeeGees, Duck Dynasty, and Jesus

 

Garage-sale-blocked again, the one-lane road

Hosts cars on both sides, and oxygened-men

Defiantly aluminum-caning the middle

In their Quixotic quest for eternal youth

 

The BeeGees, Duck Dynasty, and Jesus

On collectible plates and VHS tapes

Marilyn and Elvis bourbon decanters

Chinese-made MAGA caps in camouflage

 

“They just don’t make things like they used to do” -

Which is true, indeed, for them, and me, and you

Sunday, October 4, 2020

Supervising Elections in an Underdeveloped Nation

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Supervising Elections in an Underdeveloped Nation

 

It well may be that civilized nations

Will send us soldiers to patrol our rubbled streets

And at each poll post tanks and squads of men

To ensure that our elections are fair

 

Their soldiers will pat our children on their heads

And give them chocolate bars and chewing gum

While practicing their Americanese from little books:

“Where is please coffee shop thank you we are friends”

 

And propping up each mayor and governor here

A sturdy German, Pole, or Czech will stand

                                                                   (and sneer)

 

https://www.msn.com/en-us/news/politics/justice-dept-fbi-planning-for-the-possibility-of-election-day-violence-voting-disruptions/ar-BB19E6tq?li=BBnbfcL

Friday, October 2, 2020

If You Sing a Song and No One Hears It

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

If You Sing a Song and No One Hears It

 

If you sing a song and no one hears it

          The song is heard

If you write a poem and no one reads it

          The poem is read

If you draw a picture and no one sees it

          The picture is seen

If you read a book and no one knows it

          The book is known

If you speak of love, and there is no love –

          Oh, yes, there is

 

When you give something to the universe

It was given to you first

And you have kindly sent it on

Thursday, October 1, 2020

Ceilings Breaking Glass Icons

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Ceilings Breaking Glass Icons

 

Newsies, both in print and on the telescreens, seem unable to refer to anyone who has died as other than an icon. As a metaphor, this never worked well anyway, as an icon is a two-dimension painting or drawing – the Orthodox term is “written” – of a religious figure for inspiration.  Obviously a human being, alive or dead, cannot be an icon in any meaningful sense, although he or she might someday appear on an icon after ecclesiastical investigation, documentation, and recognition a life of recognized saintliness.  But since the metaphor has been spun out daily for years, possibly decades, it is time to let it go.

 

“Icon” has long since joined “give you the shirt off his back,” “never met a stranger,” “his word was his bond,” “they broke the mold when they made him,” and other funerary imagery as filler-language that says nothing. If we mean to praise someone, let us do so in good, plain, declarative sentences, and forego all the babble that everyone trots out for everyone else.

 

In the run-up to All Souls and All Saints, secularized as “Halloween” with its purportedly pagan Celtic origins, “Spooktacular” infests advertisements as a variation of “spectacular.” Every advertisement and every fund-raiser is gas-filled by dull and lazy writers as “spooktacular.” Please, don’t. Just don’t.

 

Another contemporary failure in speaking and writing is the excessive use of adjectives and adverbs. Or to put it in another way, “Another absolutely contemporary failure, actually, in actually speaking and actually writing, actually, is the unnecessary excessive and repetitive and pointless use of so many overwhelmingly redundant adjectives and really and truly excessive adverbs, actually.”

 

The best way to say something is to do so without any adjectives and adverbs, in the plainest way possible, and so clearly that it cannot be taken as meaning anything other than what the speaker intended.

 

And while your ‘umble scrivener is being grumpy, let’s also get rid of that “he must have had a pre-existing condition” thing as a weak deflection when discussing the CV. We all have pre-existing conditions; no one is perfect physically. Some people say “pre-existing condition” as if 200,000+ of our fellow pilgrims here on earth deserved to die. If a child is eaten by an alligator someone will defend the alligator’s violence with, “well, the kid had a pre-existing condition,” and of course “the alligators were here first.”

 

Use the brain God gave you. Wear your mask. Keep your distance. Act right. Wash. This is real.

 

-30-

 

The Cruise of HMS Disreputable

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

https://poeticdrivel.blogspot.com/

 

The Cruise of HMS Disreputable

 

                                             For myself,

I knew as soon as I could read and write

That I must be a poet.

 

-Sir John Betjeman

 

I left Mesquite and broken promises

In the after-market rear-view mirror

Bolted to the wing of my third-hand MG

And rattled along that magic road to the west

 

Sleeping bag, Olivetti portable

Dostoyevsky, Yevtushenko, some clothes

An honorable discharge from a dishonorable war

A few undistinguished undergraduate credits

 

And now…

 

I have left behind my Nobel acceptance speech

Because the journey will have to be enough