Saturday, November 5, 2022

A SHORT Speech for Our Children on Remembrance Day / Veterans Day

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Few Veterans’ Day Thoughts for our Children

 

Last year I was asked to give a speech (“short,” they said, “keep it short”) at the high school to the students, veterans, and guests for Veterans’ Day, known in other allied nations as Remembrance Day. Because of my poor speaking voice (so much for any hope of a career in radio) few of those present heard it. In my vanity I think the message is good, and certainly our young folks are good, and so here it is:

 

Judge Folk

Veterans

Students of Kirbyville High School

Honored Guests

Mrs. Gore

Mrs. McClatchy

Faculty and staff

 

Thank you allowing me to speak today.

 

There are many men and women from Kirbyville and Jasper County whose service and devotion to duty makes them far more fitted for the honor. But today I guess you’re stuck with me.

 

Master Chief Petty Officer Leo Stanley, who died last month, is one of those whose voice would be better today. I wish he could be here again to share this special day with you. He was a Navy Hospital Corpsman for forty years, earning promotion to the highest enlisted rank there is. In his retirement one of the ways in which he continued serving his country was by serving you, his beloved students, in your elementary school’s reading program. Many of you remember him with great joy, for he and Miss Mary loved helping you learn to read each Friday for many years.

 

If he were here – and perhaps he is - the Chief would talk about you and your service to God and country, and he would expect me to do so too. And I will

 

I will begin with thirteen fine young folks of your generation who were killed last summer while serving humanity in helping refugees escape from Taliban-controlled Afghanistan.

 

You have all seen the photograph of Marine Corps Sergeant Nicole Gee cradling an infant amid the chaos at the airport in Kabul when everything fell apart.  The picture is not a government propaganda photograph; if it were it would be of better quality. This is just a snapshot one of her fellow Marines forwarded to her.  She sent it by email to her parents with the words, “I love my job!”

 

“I love my job.”

 

Those may have been the last words this United States Marine - with her hair tied back in a ponytail - said to her mom and dad.

 

On the 26th of August Sergeant Gee and the others who were killed with her almost surely did not think of themselves as great Americans; they were too busy BEING great Americans.

 

They would have thought of themselves – 11 Marines, one soldier, and one Navy Hospital Corpsmen, just like your mentor Chief Stanley - as only doing their jobs in the heat and dust and violence of Afghanistan, helping civilians escape being murdered by the Taliban.

 

That’s what YOU would do. Don’t let anyone dismiss your generation with cheap and shabby stereotypes. YOU would carry a baby amid the screams and terror and dust and heat to a waiting airplane and then return to the perimeter for another child or young mother or old man or anyone who needed your help.

 

That’s what these thirteen young people did, and they were young, like you.

 

You could have even been on the same school bus run:

 

The oldest by far was Marine Corps Staff Sgt. Darin T. Hoover, 31, of Salt Lake City, Utah.  31 might seem old, but he was young.

 

Marine Corps Sgt. Nicole L. Gee, 23, of Sacramento, California

 

Marine Corps Sgt. Johanny Rosariopichardo, another woman Marine, 25, of Lawrence, Massachusetts

 

Marine Corps Cpl. Hunter Lopez, 22, of Indio, California

 

Marine Corps Cpl. Daegan W. Page, 23, of Omaha, Nebraska

 

Marine Corps Cpl. Humberto A. Sanchez, 22, of Logansport, Indiana

 

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. David L. Espinoza, 20, of Rio Bravo, Texas

 

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Jared M. Schmitz, 20, of St. Charles, Missouri

 

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Rylee J. McCollum, 20, of Jackson, Wyoming

 

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Dylan R. Merola, 20, of Rancho Cucamonga, California

 

Marine Corps Lance Cpl. Kareem M. Nikoui, 20, of Norco, California

 

Navy Hospitalman Maxton W. Soviak, 22, of Berlin Heights, Ohio

 

Army Staff Sgt. Ryan C. Knauss, 23, of Corryton, Tennessee.

 

They are your generation. They were killed in a scene of horror by a mad bomber who chose hate instead of love. His hate killed those 13 young Americans and wounded some 30 other Americans who were saving lives, and killed and wounded possibly 200 or more Afghans.

 

One unhappy young man chose hate. He doesn’t represent anything.

 

But your generation has chosen love, the love Jesus spoke of when he said, “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

 

And these young Americans gave up their lives for people they didn’t even know.

 

No greater love indeed.

 

We have spoken of these 13, but let us remember this: every young American in Kabul that day was saving lives – they were helping terrified people get to the airplanes, helping them to safety.

 

That is also the story of just about every American soldier, sailor, airman, Marine, or Coast Guard in our nation’s history.

 

If you look at us sometimes absurd old people, I hope you remember that we were once young like you – maybe when dinosaurs roamed the earth – and that every veteran you see before you gave up some of his or her own poor rations to help feed children, gave up some of his time and sleep and effort in helping those who were hungry or displaced, and risked his life to save others.

 

And finally, that’s your story too. You are going to serve humanity

in some way,

in some place,

in some time – as a soldier, a police officer, a volunteer firefighter, a paramedic, or as a good American civilian who stands tall when needed and helps the community in some way. You may not be called to carry a child to safety from Kabul Airport or from a wrecked car or from a burning building, but you will surely be called to help feed children, encourage children, coach children, teach children in Sunday School or, like Chief Stanley, help out with the reading program at the elementary school or at the library.

 

There’s an old Army National Guard recruiting slogan that says:

 

It wasn’t always easy

It wasn’t always fair

But when freedom called we answered

We were there

 

We and your parents know that, like the young Americans who always serve those in need, you will be there too.

 

Thank you.

Guy Fawkes' Last Tweet - doggerel for the Inglorious Fifth

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Guy Fawkes’ Last Tweet

 

Remember, remember, the tweets of November

Corporate greed and rot

I see no purpose

Why declaring workers surplus

Should ever be forgot

Friday, November 4, 2022

Tolkien's Shelob the Spider - poem

 

Tolkien’s Shelob the Spider

 

“…a great malice bent upon him…gloating over…prey trapped beyond all hope of escape.”

 

-Tolkien, The Two Towers

 

A poisonous lump of flesh in malignant repose

Her lair all befouled with scraps of souls

In life sought out with her multiplex eyes

Her Sauron-eyes - it was the hopes that died first

 

Should a sunbeam shine in, it would be darkened

Should a breath of air waft in, it would be poisoned

Should a sprig of green appear, it would be withered

Should a prayer be whispered, it would be cursed

 

A poisonous lump of flesh in malignant repose

Within whose realm of hate nothing ever grows

 

(allusions to The Two Towers and Beowulf)

Thursday, November 3, 2022

I will not Mourn for Summer - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

I will not Mourn for Summer

for Jean in Canada! 

I will not mourn for the summertime

Those six sour months of soul-withering heat

Desperate leaves and crispy grass and weeds

Dust devils exhausting their metaphor

 

Our November is everyone else’s September

With morning mists at last, sweet cooling rains

That ease the wounds of summer’s injuries

A cooling drink for a patient before he dies

 

Thanksgiving is coming; we will give thanks indeed

If the air-conditioning is silent at last

Wednesday, November 2, 2022

Autumn: Do I Turn the Thermostat Forward? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Autumn: Do I Turn the Thermostat Forward?

 

The thermostat that I set for seventy

In the August heat was entirely too warm

And now in November it’s entirely too cold

Why can’t thermostats get the temperature right?

 

The clocks, hot or cold, have issues of their own

In August they chimed the sunrise at six

But now they chime it at seven-thirty

We can conclude that clocks are easily confused

 

The seasons don’t know if they are forward or back

And I’m unsure myself – alas and alack!

Monday, October 31, 2022

A Tiny Tinsel Star - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Tiny Tinsel Star

 

For Sarah

 

While cleaning house I found a tinsel star

A tiny tinsel star from long ago

When once upon a time it shone so far

Above a Christmas scene in cotton snow

 

Or maybe for a little child’s birthday

Among the paper napkins and candled cake:

“And now you Poof! each wishing-flame away

But keep it a secret, that wish you make!”

 

And in this star her little friends’ sweet cheers

Still sound throughout the house after all these years

Sunday, October 30, 2022

The Governor Wasn't Popping Wheelies in the Parking Lot - weekly column 30 October 2022

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Governor Wasn’t Popping Wheelies in the Parking Lot

 

Could one start a Stagnation Party - which at General Elections would boast that during its time in office no event of the least importance had taken place...?

 

-C. S. Lewis in a letter to his brother, 23 March 1940

 

Last week I fulfilled my duty as a citizen of the Republic / Democracy (Is the United States a Republic or a Democracy? - WorldAtlas) by voting in a free, fair, open, honest, and well-observed election at the courthouse annex in Jasper.

 

The folks working the polls were professional and friendly, and a nice lady gave me an “I VOTED” sticker. Another man and I asked if we could have lollipops instead but the nice lady smiled and said she didn’t have any.  I wonder how often she gets asked that by would-be comedians, and I marvel at her patience.

 

There were no mysterious suitcases, no mules or jack-*sses, no loose boxes of ballots being smuggled in by Boris and Natasha, no cyber attacks (ya can’t hotwire a paper ballot), no loose bricks, no Jewish space lasers, no campaign posters near the polls, no mind-control electronic waves, no bonfires, no one denied me entry, no one looked over my shoulder, no observer was anywhere near me, and my ballot was not already filled out.  I don’t think my ballot was made in China from bamboo containing microchips, but then I don’t take orders from random consonants. Or from vowels, some of whom are silent.

 

But now Euclid and his Five Postulates, yeah, be careful about having anything to do with them, all those rays (and a guy named Ray?), parallel lines, segments, radii, right angles, and equiangle polygons. They’re not in the Bible, you know. I say we need to keep geometry away from our elections.

 

I admit that I did not look in the dumpsters for discarded ballots; I don’t even know where the dumpsters are.  Maybe the albino tri-lateral commission monks are hiding them in their subterranean lair on Oak Island. Where are the dumpsters!? We demand transparent dumpsters!

 

No one followed me through the parking lot, there were no armed wannabe G.I. Joe Secret Squirrel Commandos lurking about, Beto O’Rourke did not dance on any cars, Greg Abbot did not pop wheelies, Ken Paxton didn’t flee any process servers, no one took my picture, and no one wrote down my license plate number. And, really, I can’t imagine that even the looniest Qonspiracy goof snuggle-cuddling his testosterone compensation it’s-not-an-assault-rifle would associate a clapped-out, twenty-year-old heapster as part of a fast-moving unmarked UN globalist conspiracy to infiltrate microchipped bamboo ballots into the system in order to steal America’s precious bodily fluids.

 

Thanks to all the poll workers and poll watchers in Jasper County and everywhere, the worker bees who serve all of us and who are so essential to the peace, freedom, and good order of our democracy / republic / constitutional democracy / representative democracy / democratic republic. 

 

We read about goofy election stuff happening in other states, but through loyalty and good stewardship it’s not happening here. More Americans should act like us.

 

-30-

Offering it Up at 0200 - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Offering it Up at 0200

 

Offering up the surging pain - but to whom?

There doesn’t seem to be Anyone there

The hissing CPAP doesn’t want to talk

Outside the window there is no good-night moon

 

One could allude to the clock ticking in the night-time

But there is no clock ticking in the night-time

Because there are no clocks to tick anymore

Only computers manacled to our wrists

 

Two-o’clock-in-the-morning courage?

Just now there seems to be no Purpose in it



(I pinched a few allusions from Margaret Wise Brown and Arthur Conan Doyle.)

Saturday, October 29, 2022

The Crescent Moon over Marseille - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Crescent Moon over Marseille

 

Let us now employ those cliched old rhymes:

 

Moon

Spoon

June

 

To ask if over Marseille there ever sails

A waxing or waning croissant moon!




A historical footnote of little significance: In late 1945 my father, Sergeant Hebo Ogden Hall of the 602nd Tank Destroyer Battalion, was posted along with other American soldiers to assist the city police in patrolling Marseille. His armored car was the "Razzle Dazzle" and had a picture of a naked lady painted on the side until an officer ordered her covered up. His war included Fort Leonard Wood, harvesting wheat in North Dakota, New Jersey, to Scotland on the British ship GOUCHER VICTORY, London, Normandy (the second day), France, Belgium (Battle of the Bulge), one of the first Americans into Ohrdruf, a sub-camp of Dachau, Munich, Zwickau, and a circuitous route home. There he was pretty much forgotten by a thoughtless nation.

Friday, October 28, 2022

The Ballot Lay Before Me Like a Snake - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Ballot Lay Before Me Like a Snake

 

The ballot lay before me like a snake

Or like a Klansman predatory in white

Slithering across the official page

That same old roster of the same old

 

Democrats

Republicans

Greens

Libertarians

 

That same old Unwanted List of ideologues 

Of plotters, scroungers, graspers, creepers, oafs

Aliases, scofflaws, incompetents

Poltroons

 

(I’m not sure what a poltroon is, but they are poltroons anyway, so there)

 

Ignoramuses, bigots, and bubbas in bad wigs

Best fitted for those old post office walls

Incapable of self-government, not to be trusted

With firearms, sharp objects, pointy scissors, or glue

 

(But those topics were not on the ballot)

 

The ballot lay before me like a snake

Or like a Klansman predatory in white

Slithering across the official page –

 

I gave it back as blank as the candidates

Wednesday, October 26, 2022

Flying to London on Nitrous Oxide - poem

 Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Flying to London on Nitrous Oxide

 

For Dr. Armstrong

 

Doctor A. has dropped a black cloth over my eyes

As if I were facing a firing squad in a vinyl chair

An uncomfortable vinyl chair

The firing squad is not in the chair; I am

 

How silly to think of a firing squad in a vinyl chair I mean how would they all fit, eh

 

I give the finger to an oxygen thingie

And air is piped into my itchy nose

scratch scratch

“I’m turning the nitrous on now, just let me know…”

What shall I think about during dentistry…?

 

A holiday in London long ago

I’m walking along crowded Oxford Street

A motor-scooter cop is writing a ticket

For a tiny little car that’s double-parked

 

Across the street is a used-book shop

I want to browse the old Oxford editions

(OUCH!)

But first I’ll find breakfast

I’ll find breakfast

I’ll find breakfast

(oh that one’s only a little ouch)

And what a happy breakfast!

In this little café with windows all steamed

And I find a seat among the shoppers and workers and shoppers and workers and the nice English waitress is from Viet-Nam and I was in Viet-Nam and she is still from Viet-Nam I was only in Viet-Nam and she is very English and writes on a pad eggs and sausages and toast and eggs and sausages and toast and after breakfast I’ll walk across Oxford Street for Oxford Books I can see in the dusty window and the nice English waitress takes my order for eggs and sausages and toast and somehow I never get across Oxford Street to browse the Oxford books because “I’m switching you back to Oxford oxygen now and you’re all done just sit there for a few minutes” and she wipes the drool off my chin and the ordinary air hisses through the nasal cannula and I feel a little fuzzy and I’m not in London and there are no eggs and sausages and toast but yes I can stand now and yes just go see Erin at the front for the paperwork and then I’ll ride in the passenger seat to Jack in the Box for some sort of golly-gee-whiz breakfast swaddled in paper and coffee in a paper cup which I will have to chew and swallow on the right because my left is all numb and I’ll dribble on myself and I wish I were in London but I’m not but coffee from Jack in the Box after being NPO after midnight is okay too…


Monday, October 24, 2022

General Flynn and His Reichskirche - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

General Flynn and His Reichskirche

 

The Putsch Began at the Spooky Nook Sports Complex

 

Saint General Flynn demands ein Reichskirche

President Trump fantasizes about prison rape

Marjorie Taylor Green toys with her Jewish space laser

And the Party obsesses on dirty books

 

Thirty-round magazines and stock-tank baptisms

Rams’ horns, made-in-China Wal-Mart camouflage

Squeezed around fat proud boy oaf-keepers

An unorganized militia of lemmings

 

Red-capped lemmings channeling QAnon

While waving Bibles and semi-automatics

20,000 jackasses marching out of step

Well-armed against sin at the voting booth

 

Trump!

Trump!

Trump!

Trump!

Edna St. Vincent Millay and Her Pickup Truck - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Edna St. Vincent Millay and Her Pickup Truck

 

Teaching Poetry to High School Boys

 

The fragility of teenaged boys is well known

Despite their tough hands stained with oil and grease

And their slouch and their ‘tude, wanting to be grown

Their loud voices disturbing the classroom’s peace

 

(Ooooh-RAH!)

 

And true enough they are rough-and-tumble souls

Who are seldom frightened away from any fray

But nothing blasts manly roles so full of holes

As a name like Edna St. Vincent Millay

 

(Shiver!)

 

In teaching boys poetry you’re just out of luck

Unless there’s a dog or a pickup truck

 

(Hey, Old Dude, is “deer stand” an iamb or a trochee?)

Sunday, October 23, 2022

A Licensed General Contractor Who Loves Jesus - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Licensed General Contractor Who Loves Jesus

 

Oh, man, hey, I’m sorry I missed your call

I was busy personal problems next week

For sure “the mailbox is full” I have to go to Houston

To pick up those flooring samples I just love Jesus

 

Was that last week I’m sorry I had to make sure this other job

Was going okay you didn’t get my call

I’m sure I’m called I’m sorry about that hey

I gotta take this other call just hang on a moment

 

Hey man I haven’t forgot about you yeah

I’ll be there first thing tomorrow you can bet on it

Saturday, October 22, 2022

King by the Grace of God - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The King is the King by the Grace of God

 

The King is the King by the Grace of God

Prime ministers are chosen by party caucus

The King reigns in dignity with sceptre and rod

And Parliament is useless and greedy and and raucous

Friday, October 21, 2022

Van Gogh or Your Lives, Comrades - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Van Gogh or Your Lives, Comrades

 

Sunflowers look to the sun

Protestors blink in the dark

 

Swivelling their angry eyes

From their pale Gadarene flesh

They shriek false dichotomies

And vandalize the sunflowers of Van Gogh

 

Sunflowers look to the sun

Protestors lurk in the dark

Thursday, October 20, 2022

Crazy Old Men with Rockets 'n' Bombs - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Crazy Old Men with Rockets ‘n’ Bombs

 

When you read to your brother or sister

A go-to-sleep book about bunnies and stars

You are healing a wound in Creation

Made by some malevolent old man

 

When you sing along with the washing machine

And help your MeeMaw up those tricky stairs

You are healing a wound in Creation

Made by some malevolent old man

 

When you sit on the steps late at night

And watch a pirate ship sail close by the moon

You are healing a wound in Creation

Made by some malevolent old man

 

When you pray for the bombed-out refugees

And put a little extra in the collection plate

You are healing a wound in Creation

Made by some malevolent old man

 

When you sing a song to the universe

It remains in the heavens forever

 

Because

 

You helped heal a wound in Creation

Wednesday, October 19, 2022

Upon Reading - a small collection as published in LogoSophia Magazine

 Upon Reading – LogoSophia Magazine


A small collection of recent poems published in LogoSophia (the editor makes even my poor work look good!).

Gender Selection is not Addressed in THE OXFORD BOOK OF ENGLISH VERSE ("Q" - not that "Q" - 1940 printing) - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Gender Selection is not Addressed in The Oxford Book of English Verse

 

That was the time when the custom of political re-education

                 of teachers by students had come in. 

 

-Doctor Zhivago, epilogue

 

Once upon a time a likeable student said

“You know, Mr. Hall, you can choose your gender now”

I paused, then replied, “And you know that’s impossible”

He was silent, folding his arms in contempt

 

I had been investigated before

And expected a summons from the Colonial Office

With a list of sensitive points to be addressed

But I hadn’t been reported this time

 

Someday, when this old world is set aright

Some will say such things could not have happened

 

In America

Monday, October 17, 2022

Lest Our Old Shoes Sit Easier Than Our New - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Lest Our Old Shoes Sit Easier Than Our New

 

-as Macduff does not say in Macbeth

 

When we were children we were proud of our new shoes

Our once-a-year shoes in situational poverty

Although we went barefootin’ most of the time

As long as the weather and parents allowed

 

But we had to wear them to Sunday church

And finally to school after the first chill

But it was something to own a new pair of shoes

To stand upon the earth in feigned prosperity

 

And even now, with lots of pairs to choose

We want to ask folks if they like our new shoes

Sunday, October 16, 2022

Taking Time to Stomp the Flowers - weekly column, 16 October 2022

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Taking Time to Stomp the Flowers

 

At London’s National Gallery last week two unhappy young persons, one styling herself “Ziggy Stardyke,” vandalized one of Van Gogh’s sunflower paintings by sloshing it with tomato soup.  Both were costumed in tee-shirts proclaiming, “JUST STOP OIL.” The purple-haired Miss Ziggy then yelled, “What is worth more, art or life? Is it worth more than food?”

 

[Van Gogh vandals are graduate, 21, and student, 20, who blockaded Trafalgar and Parliament Squares | Daily Mail Online]

 

The art was on the wall, and then the food was too; Miss Ziggy and her sullen comrade are the ones lacking a life.

 

Another reality is that the possibility of you or I having an intelligent, source-based give-and-take exchange of ideas with someone styling herself Ziggy Stardyke is remote.

 

Two topics obtain in the recent adventures of Ziggy Stardyke and her sour-faced little Renfield. The first one is the matter of fossil fuels, including oil, coal, and natural gas.  Without these sources of energy we would all be dead. There is not enough wood on the planet to replace them, and solar and wind are still laboratory projects. Nuclear, which would also work, is mostly forbidden because some lazybones at Three Mile Island chose to ignore the layers of warnings and then the safety protocols.  

 

The other topic is civilization.  To paraphrase a character in an episode of Northern Exposure, we are not monkeys with car keys. We are humans, sons and daughters of Adam and Eve, as C. S. Lewis reminds us. We think. We build. We speak. We write. We draw. We paint. We sculpt. We identify and solve problems. We recognize Creation and our part in it. We deal with the complexities of creation through science, math, art, and poetry. As the Greek philosophers teach us, life is about questing for the good, the true, and the beautiful. 

 

Any utilitarian structure confirms this: a bridge over, say, the Houston Ship Channel is good because it provides enhanced freedom of movement and the exchange of goods and services for people going about the business of life. A bridge is also true because its engineering and construction work together in physical harmony through the applications of engineering, geometry, metallurgy, hydrology, and the other sciences. Finally, a bridge is beautiful because its functions and proportions personify the human spirit. The suspension cables, the towers of steel, and all of the works of human minds and hands that make a bridge a bridge are aesthetically pleasing.

 

Ziggy Stardyke and her Renfield have looked upon the good, the true, and the beautiful, upon at least 10,000 years of civilization, and have found them wanting. Therefore, exactly like Nazis, Communists, Talibannies, and some of their own English ancestors [Puritan Iconoclasm in the English Civil War | Reviews in History], they censor them. They who have life only because of the wise use of fossil fuels condemn the use of fossil fuels, and express their condemnation by censorship, by attempting to destroy a work of art, one of Van Gogh’s sunflower paintings, which has no connection with fossil fuels except that we would need to take a London Transport bus to go see it.

 

These two childish individuals are purportedly educated women, but so far have demonstrated no knowledge of either the sciences or the fuzzy studies, and in their invincible puerile ignorance angrily destroy things of beauty while shrieking illogical demands at the rest us.

 

In the autumn of 1945 the Western world surely did not imagine that civilization would fall again into book banning, book burning, the censorship of movies, newspapers, and broadcasts, the destruction of art, and mobs chanting slogans of hate in the streets, but here we are. 

 

A sunflower is heliocentric – it turns to the light. Poor Ziggy Stardyke and her Grima Wormtongue turn to the darkness.

 

-30-

Like an Autopsy on a Dear Friend - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Like an Autopsy on a Dear Friend

 

I’m amputating limbs in late October heat

Grateful to this friend who gave me so much:

Those first green leaves and blossoms in the spring

Deeper greens through summer, and apples in season

 

Something went wrong in the winter, and she didn’t awaken

The summer passed with its more pressing chores

And only now can I cut my friend apart

Into sweet billets for the winter fires

 

She will be with me this Christmas in comforting flame

And then return to Creation, from whence she came

Saturday, October 15, 2022

Reported Side Effects Include... - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Reported Side Effects Include…

 

After a dose a sudden nap-attack

A sour afternoon of sour dreamful sleep

Unhappy sour imaginings among sour pains

Feverishly sour and dizzily sour

 

Feverishly up and dizzily up

To watch the feverishly sour news

Sour Putin parked nuclear bombers in my head

Is Nancy really threatening to punch Donald?

 

Sour!

 

I’ll verify with Lester Holt tomorrow

For now I’m clinging to my sour sorrow

Friday, October 14, 2022

Casualties of Being - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Casualties of Being

 

In the last century

I lost my youth in Viet-Nam

Last week I met a man

Who lost his son last year

 

Autumn - always autumn

Thursday, October 13, 2022

My New Shoes Might Test Positive for Traces of Blood - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

My New Shoes Might Test Positive for Traces of Blood

 

Brand-name boat shoes glued together in gloom

Canvas and rubber and toxicity from Shanghai

Bloody little hands and decaying lungs:

We are all guilty of slavery

 

Do the workers dream of luxurious yachts

Or even a day off for a picnic at the pond

Bloody little hands and decaying lungs:

We are all guilty of slavery

 

Bloody little hands and decaying lungs:

We are all guilty of slavery

Wednesday, October 12, 2022

A Geriatric Motorcycle Gang Invades the Bluebonnet Cafe' - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Geriatric Motorcycle Gang Invades the Bluebonnet Café

 

The Hearing Aids from Hell Roaring off the Screen

Biker Babushkas High on Geritol

Looking for Trouble and a Clean Restroom

The Wild One Searching for his lost Social Security

 

Hell’s Angels on Aluminum Walkers

The Thundering Electra Glide in Blue Rinse

Harley Davidson and the COPD Inhaler Man

Dentures Every Which Way and Loose

 

“What are you rebelling against?”

“What have…wait…it’s coming to me…what have you…dang, I forgot!”

Tuesday, October 11, 2022

Mention Stalin in Your Poem - a poem, but "Stalin" is mentioned only in the title

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Mention Stalin in Your Poem

 

“It was discovered that there was not one mention of Stalin in your poem…”

 

-Yevtushenko, A Precocious Autobiography, p. 67

 

A chill October morning of brilliant air

Leaves turning in their colors and on their stems

In the healing-cool Cerean breeze

As the goddess takes her dreamy walk

 

This bright October morning of happiness

It’s time to put the garden tools away

Summer, in need of healing, begins to rest

Each moment is an earth-crafted waykreuz

 

But to approved poets this morning is nothing

For it makes no mention of anti-colonialism

Monday, October 10, 2022

I Never Want to Hear a Child Made to Sing Cohen's "Hallelujah" Ever Again poem

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

I Never Want to Hear a Child Made to Sing Cohen’s “Hallelujah” Ever Again

 

Our first contestant will sing “Hallelujah”

After taking ten minutes for exposition

About what it meant to her granny

And she knows Granny’s in Heaven listening

 

Audience, you are obligated to cry

 

Our next contestant will sing “Hallelujah”

After taking ten minutes for exposition

About what it meant to his ol’ pop

And he knows Pop’s in Heaven listening

 

Audience, you are obligated to cry

 

Our third contestant will sing “Hallelujah”

After taking ten minutes for exposition

About what it meant to her cat Fluffy

And she knows Fluffy’s in Heaven listening

 

Audience, you are obligated to cry

 

Our fourth contestant will sing “Hallelujah”

After taking ten minutes for exposition

About what it meant to his big brother

And he knows his brother is in Heaven listening

 

Audience, you are obligated to cry

 

And the winner is…“Hallelujah!”

And in each listener there is a secret cry:

“Cohen, why are you doing this to us!”