Monday, October 16, 2023

Will There be Coffee after the Crucifixion? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

 

Will There be Coffee after the Crucifixion?

 

Everything’s going to be discovered

And understood in the course of time,

Only we have to go on thinking

 

-Yevtushenko, “Zima Junction”

 

Not all are crucified, but all are wounded

We bring our gifts to the Altar; they fall apart

In secretly clinging to them for ourselves

Our claims to be defined by an era

But rotting corpses in a tangled wood

The celebrant elevates the Host

We lift unfocused eyes in grave pretense

Inattentive at the Wedding of worlds

 

The Mass is the central Act in Creation -

Not all are crucified, but all are wounded

Sunday, October 15, 2023

A Tale of Herschkowitz - a brief narrative

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Tale of Herschkowitz

 

602nd Tank Destroyer Battalion

 

My father, who was a master sergeant in the Second World War, told this story of one of his armored car’s crew, Herschkowitz. Towards the end of the war, probably in the area of Zwickau, Herschkowitz was flirting with some pretty German girls. This was probably one of the sanest moments in Europe in 1945.

 

Later my father said, “Herschkowitz, I didn’t know you spoke German.”

 

Herschkowitz replied, “I don’t, sergeant, but I know Yiddish and we all understood each other pretty well.”

 

Thus endeth the lesson.

 

-30-

Saturday, October 14, 2023

(Untitled / flashback to Viet-Nam / not for publication)

 

93.  14 October 2023, Saturday in Ordinary Time

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Flashback (not for publication)

 

 

Domestic carnage now filled all the year

With Feast-days; the old Man from the chimney nook,

The Maiden from the bosom of her Love,

The Mother from the Cradle of her Babe,

The Warrior from the Field – all perish’d, all

 

Wordsworth, The Prelude, 1805-1806, Book X, 356-360

 

We busy ourselves in our accustomed ways:

Dishes to wash, the still-green lawn to be mowed

The vacuum cleaner to annoy the household pup

A book, a chair, a reverie, a glass of tea

 

But then

 

The evening news is the call of our conscience

The evening news is a long-ago call-back

With offerings in two senses only

Tastefully muted sounds and filtered visuals

 

Not

 

The concussions, the stench, the stickiness of blood, the dust on our lips, the screams we deny, the tears we swallow the impossible pulse that makes breathing gasping hyperventilating fragments stinging the skin concussions concussions concussions make them stop make it all stop running running running over there drag him to the ditch hurry hurry hurry you can treat him there he’s dead his eyes are open to the gravel go back again hurry hurry hurry breathe breathe breathe

 

Why is this happening again why is this happening again

 

Stop

 

That child is dead

 

Stop it

 

What’s that? A dead soldier. He is so small

 

Stop it

 

So many bodies, shrunken into their clothes

A still-clawed arm sticking out from a bundle

 

 

Dead bodies fuzzed out on the evening news

Non-combatant commandos channeling their views

And darling little undergrads shrieking, “Death to the Jews”

Friday, October 13, 2023

My Concealed-Carry Jewish Space Laser (Shhhhhhhhhhh...!) - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

My Concealed-Carry Jewish Space Laser

 

In my state you can carry a switch-blade knife

And shoot an AR with 30-round magazines

Or a .50-calibre Barrett for vaporizing a life

Tote brass-knuckles in your camouflaged jeans

 

In my state

 

Few methods of murder are regulated

But if you read Anne Frank you could be investigated

Three Cigarette Lighters - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Three Cigarette Lighters

 

 

And in what landscape of disaster
       Has your unhappy spirit lost its road?

 

-Thomas Merton, “For my Brother”

 

 

I was strolling along for my digestion and health

Inspecting the refreshing October winds

Counting the summer-tired leaves floating to earth

And noting the brightness of autumn’s yellow flowers

 

Off in the weeds a cigarette lighter presented itself

It didn’t work. A second cigarette lighter did

A useful souvenir of my evening walk

And then a third – three cheap lighters, all in a row

 

A cocaine trail of disposable dreams

Disposable lighters, disposable lives

 

Wednesday, October 11, 2023

"Choose You This Day Whom You Will Serve"

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office


“Choose You This Day Whom You Will Serve”

 

“…for whom war was a fresh terror and the corpses of real people…” 

-Matti Friedman, Who by Fire: Leonard Cohen in the Sinai

 

A little child ripped from her dead mother’s arms

          Is not a petition for border adjustments

A grandfather murdered while waiting for the bus

          Is not a parliamentary point of order

Teenagers stripped, raped, beaten, tortured, and shot

          Are not cool chants in a university quad

A rotting fragment of a beheaded baby

          Is not someone’s tee-shirt slogan

An elderly woman still marked from Buchenwald

          Is a child of God, not a bargaining chip

 

No deflections

No whatabouts

No evasions

No excuses

 

No


Choose you this day whom you will serve.

Sunday, October 8, 2023

7 October 2023 - Anger and Futility

                                                                         7 October 2023

Must Anne Frank be murdered again and again? I cannot write anything meaningful today; I can only sputter in anger and futility.

 

“A voice was heard in Ramah, lamentation, weeping, and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children, refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.”

 

St. Matthew 2:18

Saturday, October 7, 2023

Southern Belle Antiques 'N' Stuff - a little East Texas Gothic for Ya

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Southern Belle Antiques ‘N’ Stuff

 

(Slow sibilant bathroom-slipper-shuffle)

 

“Oh, don’t close the door, honey, oh no

If the door is closed no one will know I’m open

English Romantics? Here’s an Edgar Allan Poe

I read lots of books myself; do you like westerns?”

 

(Dark narrow paths tunnel through dark moldy heaps)

 

“I paid fifty dollars for that bolt cutter

It’s almost new; I bought it for my daddy

My brother locked him out of his own house

You can have it for twenty; I live upstairs”

 

(The shambling slippers follow me to the door)

 

“It’s a shame that girls don’t play with dolls anymore

Come back anytime; I’m mostly open”

The Synon on Synodality and, Like, Stuff - poem


Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Synod on Synodality

 

“There are to be forty interlocking committees sitting every day…”

 

-C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength, p. 36

 

One reads the words of the committees:

 

The grammar of synodality our times the time journeying together breaking molds inclusion experts facilitators process delegation the people totality sense of the faithful organize discussion opening remarks challenges continental stage novelties dynamic legitimize interrelation common discernment modules instrumentum laboris synthesis report road map response paradigm preparation planning natural vision human planning expectations narrative of radical change shifting models of synodality conciliarity emblematic expression methodology dubia divine discourse adjudicate delineating areas of consensus specific situational analyses media framing reinterpreting confidentiality requirements module serenity of the discernment in common implementation phase inclusive ecclesial process participatory ways of exercising responsibility social dialogue regenerating relationships initiate the processes practicing synodality a double dynamic of conversion articulations of synodality ten thematic nuclei to be explored synodal dialogue the potential of synodal engagement national synthesis document consultative sessions what it means to be church social media template an operative notion national synthesis of the people of God contextualize diocesan phase of the synodal process enduring wounds needs-friendly steps for discerning ongoing formation for mission…

 

Brushing aside this choking fog of words

The reader ceases to read, for he sees

A silent, sandal-shod saint in a raggedy cloak

Having fed the chickens now telling his beads

Groveton, Texas, 3 October 2023


 

A Carrier of Bodies - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

 

A Carrier of Bodies

My stretcher is one scarlet stain 

-Robert W. Service, “The Stretcher Bearer”


In illo tempore:

I don’t know that anyone shouted, “Corpsman up!”

Like in the movies; I was already up

There, where smoking metal scraps stopped in some kid’s flesh

Red fragments of flesh screaming in the sun


Later:

 

Carrying bodies of literature was impossible

But I tried; Wordsworth and Keats during the day

Holes in the patient and in sterile drapes

Red fragments of flesh in the E. R. at night

 

Now:

 

In the evenings I carry Wordsworth outside

And my older self, to a chair at dusk

Southern Belle Antiques 'N' Stuff - poem, a little East Texas Gothic

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com


 

Southern Belle Antiques ‘N’ Stuff

 

(Slow sibilant bathroom-slipper-shuffle)

 

“Oh, don’t close the door, honey, oh no

If the door is closed no one will know I’m open

English Romantics? Here’s an Edgar Allan Poe

I read lots of books myself; do you like westerns?”

 

(Dark narrow paths tunnel through dark moldy heaps)

 

“I paid fifty dollars for that bolt cutter

It’s almost new; I bought it for my daddy

My brother locked him out of his own house

You can have it for twenty; I live upstairs”

 

(The shambling slippers follow me to the door)

 

“It’s a shame that girls don’t play with dolls anymore

Come back anytime; I’m mostly open”

Sunday, October 1, 2023

Nazi Canada? weekly column 10.1.2023

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Nazi Canada?

 

Nazi Canada? Of course not.

 

Canadian P.M. Justin Trudeau is not a Nazi. He presents himself as a vulgar, privileged jerk but he is not a Nazi.

 

His groveling apology last week for the purported Nazi insensitivity of other Canadians thus seems inexplicable.

 

Recently the Speaker (now former Speaker) of Parliament, Anthony Rota, had occasion to welcome Volodymyr Zelensky, the president of Ukraine. The Speaker got it into his head that he would add to the occasion by inviting for one of those now tiresome shout-outs a Canadian citizen, 98-year-old Yaroslav Hunka, who was born in Ukraine and fought against the Russian Communists in the Second World War.

 

A problem is that when Stalin, Hitler’s ally against the Western democracies, was betrayed by his old comrade he turned to the Western nations for help. Thus, the perverse Stalin was a Nazi ally when that was useful for him and a Western ally when that was useful for him. In 1945 he turned back again against the Western nations who had saved the Soviet Union. But the unhappy fact remains that Communist Russia was our (admittedly treacherous) ally for a time. Further, Mr. Hunka fought against Communists but with a Nazi unit.

 

The Speaker of the Canadian Parliament presumably has a well-paid staff to assist him in learning about such matters, but in the event Mr. Rota naively invited a poor old man with a dodgy background to be presented in Parliament without doing a routine background check.

 

This is embarrassing and should never have happened. However, it reflects a moment of carelessness, not Nazi sympathies in Canada.  One might find a few village-idiot “stormtroopers” waddling around and shouting in the streets, but they reflect only stupid choices by stupid individuals. They are not Canada. Canadians sing that they are “the true north strong and free.” They mean it.

 

This reality means nothing to those unhappy people always finding in others guilt that does not obtain except perhaps in the accusers themselves. Note Susanna in the Book of Daniel and later in the Gospel of St. John the woman purportedly caught in adultery.

 

An apology is appropriate, but only for carelessness in background checks.

 

The accusation given is that Canada is sodden with a poor history of accommodating Nazism.

 

Apparently few if any have chosen to defend Canada with the facts:

 

When Nazi Germany invaded Poland, Canada was one of the first nations to declare war. At that time Canada had a standing army of 4,500 men and some 50,000 reservists, no modern equipment, only 20 combat aircraft, and a navy of 6 destroyers. [http://www.warmuseum.ca/cwm/exhibitions/chrono/1931goes_to_e.html].

 

From 1939 – 1945 approximately 1.1 million Canadian men and women, out of a total of 10 million citizens, joined the services and fought Nazism and Japanese imperialism. This does not include the Canadians who served with the United Kingdom, other Commonwealth nations, and the United States.

 

According to Library and Archives Canada [Service Files of the Second World War - War Dead, 1939-1947 - Library and Archives Canada (bac-lac.gc.ca)], 24,525 Canadian soldiers, 17,397 RCAF airman, and 2,168 RCN sailors were killed in action. These numbers do not include civilians and Canada’s Merchant Marine, nor do they include those wounded in body and soul.

 

Newfoundland, not then part of Canada, lost approximately 1,000 men and women in the several services, including those of Canada, the United Kingdom, and the United State [Newfoundland in World War II | World War II Database (ww2db.com)].

 

Over 50,000 Canadians and Newfoundlanders died fighting Nazism - and yet Mr. Trudeau ignores them while apologizing for Canada’s purported Nazi sympathies.

 

One 98-year-old former Nazi was erroneously given a shout-out in Parliament, and now the Canadian government is collectively calling for smelling salts.  In all of this self-abasement and drama no one seems to remember all the Canadian and Newfoundland soldiers, sailors, airmen, coast guardsmen, Marines, and merchant seamen who were killed in action against young, tough Nazis Newark-bent on global domination.

 

In 1914 Lawrence Binyon, a British poet, wrote a poem, “For the Fallen,” some of whose lines are to be found on British, Canadian, Newfoundland, and even American memorials, and quoted every Armistice Day / Remembrance Day / Veterans’ Day as a tribute to those who died fighting tyranny:

 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

 

But in the last few weeks Mr. Trudeau and the Canadian Parliament seem to have forgotten them after all.

 

-30-

Are You an Old Soul? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Are You an Old Soul?

 

                                                                                           “…but lay thy sword aside

And lean upon a peasant’s staff”

 

-Wordsworth

 

We have it on the highest Authority

That we are souls on lengthy pilgrimage

But I don’t know if we are old or not

And did you bring along something to read?

 

Sometimes we march in step along the route

At other times we seem to fly in pairs

Or sometimes trudge a lonely path in the night

And hear the music of a thousand spheres

 

Sometimes I’m old, but then you smile just so

And I am young – there’s magic in your soul

Saturday, September 30, 2023

30 September 2023 - poem

 Lawrence Hall

mhall46184@aol.com


30 September 2023

 

“Make it so, Number One”

 

-Star Trek: The New Generation (often)

 

Up at 0630 with coffee and Tuxedo-Cat

In the west-fading light of the still-full moon

To watch and hear and feel and touch and taste

The waning of night, the beginning of day

 

The air was cool, the grass was damp, the birds –

The birds were LOUD, fussing from tree to tree

An old lawn chair, layers of paint over rust

Was our captaincy over possibilities

 

“Is all well, Number One?” I asked the cat

He blinked his eyes that the world was ready to sail

Friday, September 29, 2023

Stay Close to the Telephone - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Stay Close to the Telephone

 

“Stay close to the telephone,” they used to say

Stay close to that Western Electric on the desk or wall

Since news of great importance might come your way

A message from the shop or some emergency call

 

“Stay close to the telephone” – you couldn’t go out

Without breaking contact in an hour of need

You could only wait in place in fear and doubt

For an order at last to move with speed

 

“Stay close to the telephone?” It had no reach

But a modern ‘phone drains you like a bloody leech

Wednesday, September 27, 2023

A Little Green Lizard and Her Leap of Faith - poem

 

82. 27 September 2023, Wednesday in Ordinary Time

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Little Green Lizard and Her Leap of Faith

 

She was the tiniest lizard you ever saw

Less than a feather on the back of my hand

Less than an inch but perfect, without a flaw

Perfect in function and form, as God had planned

 

I held my hand still to keep her safe

From accident or fall, or misjudged leap

But she knew her strengths, this reptilian waif

And launched to the leaves in a dramatic sweep

 

I wanted to warn her if she’d stayed for a chat:

“O mind where you leap – watch out for the cat!”

UNITED TATES POST OFFICE K RBYVILLE. TEXAS - photograph






Tuesday, September 26, 2023

Rain and Gasoline - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Rain and Gasoline

 

Do you like the rain? Or do you think about it much?

 

-Rod McKuen

 

Shoppers rattle their trolleys to their cars

An unexpected September thunderstorm

Splashes rain on the six-months-hot parking lot

Raising steam and hopes – will autumn ever come?

 

Thunderings rattle the ground and the air

From the service station up the concrete slope

Gasoline and diesel join the rivulets

In making iridescent the sloshing streams

 

Sale papers and cigarette ends float free

But only to the drains, not to the sea

 

Monday, September 25, 2023

Southeast Texas Alerting Network Adventures in Registration - weekly column 25 September 2023

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Southeast Texas Alerting Network Adventures in Registration

 

Last week KJAS Radio published a notice that those of us already signed up for STAN, the acronym for Southeast Texas Alerting Network, will have to register again for continued service, and that those without this needful program can sign up now  [Jasper County Residents must re-register for STAN | Local News | kjas.com].

 

STAN’s mission, per Amanda Gates, is to send out emergency alerts (fires, weather, and other crises), and notifications regarding street closures, water outages, traffic issues, and other useful information.

 

This summer I was certainly grateful for the wildfire alerts, and given our area’s dangerous weather, including tornadoes and hurricanes, this is a useful service.

 

Signing up for STAN is said to take only a few minutes. This was true last year; it is not now. Not for me, anyway. STAN is operated by a body styling itself Everbridge (and what is that supposed to mean?), and Everbridge has made registering a (insert expletive of choice here).

 

First of all, Everbridge insisted that my email address, which I have used for years, is not my email address, and blocked my re-registration without any means of appeal.

 

Given that re-registration is not a possibility according to Everbridge, I decided to register as if I were a new user. This was tedious but do-able; however, Everbridge insisted that my username was already in use. I tried a different name. This time Everbridge simply said that the username was not acceptable. I then went through some 20-30 usernames without success. Name after name, dreary imaginings and re-entries worthy of Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The username that finally worked was an allusion to Saylor’s Creek, where my great-grandfather was made a prisoner-of-war (you know, one of those people a certain former president who never made the first day of recruit training doesn’t like) in 1865.

 

After an hour or so of fiddle-faddling with Everbridge’s obscure system, I am registered. I think. We’ll see.

 

I then read some of the heavy-handed warnings: “You must comply with Everbridge’s Acceptable Use Policy,” “You will be responsible…,” and a whole catalogue of such verbiage apparently generated by someone who wanted to be a prison camp guard and couldn’t meet the standards:

 

You will not…

You may not…

You must not…

You must…

You agree immediately…

You will be responsible…

You must comply…you must comply…you must comply…

You acknowledge and agree…

You agree to…

 

There are also cautions against transmitting secret federal information. I don’t have any secret federal information and if I did I couldn’t send it via STAN; this is a passive reception scheme that does not accept messages.

 

Everbridge is also known as:

 

Critical Event Management

Safety Connection

Community Engagement

Visual Command Center

Crisis Commander (isn’t this a video game?)

CareConverge

ManageBridge

EngageBridge

HipaaBridge

SecureBridge

Interactive Visibility

Nixle

 

No wonder Everbridge can’t keep email addresses straight; they appear not to know who they are.

 

Despite the vague sound of unmarked stealth UN helicopters, participating in STAN is one of our county government’s better ideas for promoting safety, and I encourage the reader to sign up for it.

 

Besides, maybe next year someone will have some high school students design an easier-to-use interface. I’ll bet they can do it.

 

For now, begin with Everbridge.com.

 

-30-

Saturday, September 23, 2023

Everyone is Now a Two-Dimensional Religious Image - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Everyone is Now a Two-Dimensional Religious Image

 

News writers are dull, almost catatonic

Dispensing metaphors soporifically phonic

For in their world of the cliched and ironic

Every topic, every person is invariably

Iconic

Friday, September 22, 2023

A Little Kitten and a Little Girl - a sappy sentimental poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Little Kitten and a Little Girl

 

A little girl sits with her mug of milk

Happy and peaceful with her breakfast toast

Her little kitten lays beside her and purrs

And takes a delicate sip for itself

 

DID YOU LET THAT CAT DRINK FROM YOUR CUP THAT CAT HAS GERMS GO WASH YOUR HANDS GIVE ME THAT CUP I NEED TO WASH IT I DON’T KNOW WHY THAT CAT IS IN THE HOUSE CATS HAVE GERMS DIRTY CAT SNEAKY CAT THEY’RE ALWAYS UP TO SOMETHING DON’T YOU EVER LET AN ANIMAL DRINK FROM YOUR CUP THEY’RE NASTY WE DON’T LIVE LIKE THIS WITH ANIMALS IN THE HOUSE THAT’S A DISGUSTING HABIT PEOPLE WILL THINK WE’RE LOW CLASS WE WERE RAISED BETTER THAN THAT DID YOU LET THAT CAT DRINK FROM YOUR CUP THAT CAT HAS GERMS GO WASH YOUR HANDS GIVE ME THAT CUP I NEED TO WASH IT I DON’T KNOW WHY THAT CAT IS IN THE HOUSE CATS HAVE GERMS DIRTY CAT SNEAKY CAT THEY’RE ALWAYS UP TO SOMETHING DON’T YOU EVER LET AN ANIMAL DRINK FROM YOUR CUP THEY’RE NASTY WE DON’T LIVE LIKE THIS WITH ANIMALS IN THE HOUSE THAT’S A DISGUSTING HABIT PEOPLE WILL THINK WE’RE LOW CLASS WE WERE RAISED BETTER THAN THAT!!!!!!!!!”

 

A little girl sits in her backyard swing

Happy and peaceful with her little cat

Two conspirators winking at each other

Far away from their disapproving mother

Tuesday, September 19, 2023

A Station Stop for the Hummingbird Express - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Station Stop for the Hummingbird Express

 

Hummingbirds buzz the sugar water buffet

At this junction for the connection to Mexico

I feel I should be wearing a white apron and cap

Refills for everyone – and will that be to go?

 

No ideological baggage, no bumper stickers

Their maps all drawn for them by an invisible Hand

Their simple duties a transcendent joy

An ancient mission through divine command

 

Hummingbirds buzz the sugar water buffet

Then with a goodbye to summer they wing away

Sunday, September 17, 2023

What This Country Needs is a Better Class of Criminals - weekly column, 17 September 2023

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

What This Country Needs is a Better Class of Criminals

 

 

I don’t mind a parasite. I object to a cut-rate one.

 

-Rick in Casablanca

 

 

I was frustrated when my lawnmower wouldn’t start. I had bought a new battery and was annoyed that it wasn’t holding a charge. I dismounted, dragged up my rolling stool, and sat down to examine the battery that to my surprise wasn’t there.

 

A thief in the night had yanked the battery, leaving only the stripped ends of the leads. That was unprofessional; a good thief would have brought the proper wrench or used the one I left within an arm’s reach of the mower. Tools were available, the porch light was more than adequate – how much of the work does a homeowner have to do for the contemporary petty criminal?

 

The bungling burglar didn’t get far with the battery, however; I found it about twelve feet away from the mower. The poor sap had somehow tripped, bringing some stacked firewood down upon him, and dropping the battery while in flight. A few feet away he managed to trip again over some more firewood, which is just plain embarrassing.  As a taxpaying citizen I expect a higher class of thief. No, I don’t necessarily mean a Raffles or a John “The Cat” Robie, but maybe just a good quality journeyman crook looking to build a better career.

 

The not-a-cat burglar does get some credit for focus, though. Close by the lawnmower was a Stihl leaf blower worth far more than the lawnmower battery, as well as an old but high-quality battery charger and a small air compressor. But, no sir, the lad wanted a lawnmower battery and he avoided all distractions in going for that. We must admire his sense of mission.

 

The follow-through was inept, though, leaving the battery, the object of his endeavors, behind like that.

 

And a real professional would not have left messes – electric leads torn loose, firewood all over the porch – it’s unseemly.

 

Frankly, I’m disappointed in the overall quality of burglars and looters today. Is this the best America can do? Texans used to make off with herds of cattle and now they can’t even pinch a lawnmower battery without botching the job.

 

I blame the teachers, fluoride, George Bush, vaccines, and Jewish space lasers for the poor quality of contemporary criminals. C’mon, America; we can do better!

 

 

-30-

Saturday, September 16, 2023

What This Country Needs is a Better Class of Criminals - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

What This Country Needs is a Better Class of Criminals

 

I was frustrated that the lawn mower wouldn’t start

And checked the battery - that wasn’t there

A dull thief in darkness practicing his art

Had spirited it away – that wasn’t fair!

 

But the poor stupid burglar had no profit that night

He stumbled on the porch and dropped his loot

Cracking the battery, so he fled in fright:

It’s just too bad he didn’t fall on his snoot

 

(Sigh)

 

Aspiring young criminals, roll up your sleeves -

What this country needs are intelligent thieves

These are not the Leaves of Autumn - poem in a summer of drought

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

These are not the Leaves of Autumn

 

These are not the leaves of autumn, these husks;

They died so young, fallen from the summer-burnt oaks

Leaving the lingering limbs barren of green

A struggle of woody cells against the drought

 

They wear no celebratory colors

Nothing of red or gold to catch the sun

For they died of thirst in their lost-green youth

Never reaching the October they had earned

 

These are not the leaves of autumn, oh, no

But only shells dry-rattling in the wind

Tuesday, September 12, 2023

The Existential Despair in Replacing a Lawnmower Battery - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Existential Despair in Replacing a Lawnmower Battery

 

My language is blue and my knuckles bleed -

I can never find the wrench I need!

Monday, September 11, 2023

A Tin of Lipton's Tea from Hong Kong in 1970 - photograph

 I bought this tin - which really is made of tin - while in R & R in Hong Kong in 1970. I still make a cuppa from these leaves every few years.





Tea for Texas - weekly column, 10 September 2023

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Tea for Texas

Major General Urquhart: "Hancock, I've got lunatics laughing at me from the woods. My original plan has been scuppered now that the jeeps haven't arrived. My communications are completely broken down. Do you really believe any of that can be helped by a cup of tea?”

Corporal Hancock:Couldn't hurt, sir.”

-A Bridge Too Far

 

Bubba Ebarb, of happy memory, required certain specific performances for his several successful restaurants.  One of his rules was that the iced tea would never reach the old age of one hour before it was tossed and replaced with a fresh brewing of the refreshing leaf.

This is the sort of value that made him a great success. Unfortunately, such reasonable expectations appear to be rarer now.

Iced tea has been a staple since around the time of the St. Louis Exposition in 1904 (Meet Me in St. Louis) when mechanical ice-making, the existing popularity of tea, an especially hot summer, and thirsty fairgoers together made a historical shift in refreshment.

Once upon a time in Texas a glass of good, fresh iced tea was easily available at any café’ in the Lone Star Republic, but now it’s a little more difficult to find at all and is often a vintage sludge.

Last week I stopped at a Famous Name Fat Foodery in Buffalo, Texas for a refreshing mid-morning cup of the good stuff, and the muffly voice crackling through the grill said that they didn’t have any tea-tea but that their mango tea was really good.

Mango tea. 

In Buffalo, Texas.

As Macduff does not say in Macbeth, “Oh, Texas, when wilt thou find thy wholesome ways again!”

Has Texas become a colony of West Hollywood? Is Mission Espiritu Santo at Goliad now a fusion cuisine restaurant specializing in avocado toast? When Cabeza de Vaca and his companions made their epic, years-long trek across Texas did they consider the majesty of the land and its vast spaces and exclaim, “Here we will establish our fruit bars, our incense shops, our therapy spas, our vegetarian Thai takeouts, our tea shops of infused bamboo shoots!”

On down the road I found a big Famous Name Brand truck stop which featured several tanks of iced tea.  The first tank oozed out something like an oil change.  The second tank dribbled out something even darker and more viscous.

I bought a bottle of water from the cooler.

Look, I’m not a tea snob; I’m even cool with teabags (gasp!). In the winter I like a good cuppa char; just a good black tea / schwarztee, and at all times I’m up for a glass of iced tea, Texas’ national beverage. The essential factor is that the tea is fresh.

Real Texans / Texians / Tejanos / Texicans drink real tea and drink it real fresh. Bubba would expect no less. God bless fresh tea, God bless Bubba Ebarb, and God bless Texas.

-30-

 

Thursday, September 7, 2023

Watch Where You Step; There Might be a Senator - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

Watch Where You Step; There Might be a Senator

 

 

But hiss for hiss return’d with forked tongue

 

-Paradise Lost X.518

 

 

The summer heat like judgement on the earth -

It fell upon the roiling afternoon dust

Where two foul snakes in deadly combat writhed

With hiss and strike and hate-spittled fangs

 

In a world of crunchy grasshoppers and tasty frogs

Of careless bunny rabbits and baby squirrels

The snakes found only their hatred for each other

Until one serpent choked on the other, and both died

 

And there, my children, is a lesson in brief

About the government of the State of Texas

 

Wednesday, September 6, 2023

Will the Plowed Boys Find Love in the End? - poem (of a sort)

 

Will the Plowed Boys Find Love in the End?

 

Romantic robots could bring peace to our streets -

The Plowed Boys would have something to fondle

Other than their idle trifles and bang-bang rifles

For in the end they would have dates after all

 

And will they wear

 

Their he-man soldier suits and bug-eyed shades

Their he-man soldier toys dangling from carabiners

Their radios and whistles and lip-dangling ciggies

 

                                                while in bed?

Tuesday, September 5, 2023

Joining the Class Struggle - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Joining the Class Struggle

 

“Yuri, what splendid words!”

 

-Anna in Doctor Zhivago

 

Lift high the red banner, comrades and comradettes!                  

Lift high the made-in-China bullhorns against the rich

Make crudely misspelt signs and block the streets

(How dare the workers work while we’re yelling at them)

 

Pull down the statue of St. Joan of Arc!

Because she was, like, you know, a Confederate general

And smash the windows of the corporate coffee shops

(Make mine a decolonized double decaf)

 

Liberate the people’s goods! To arms! To arms!

(But who will stay behind to work the farms?)

Monday, September 4, 2023

Toys at the Base of an Oak Tree - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Toys at the Base of an Oak Tree

 

“We'll be Friends Forever, won't we, Pooh?” asked Piglet.
“Even longer,” Pooh answered.

- A. A. Milne

 

You find them at the base of a tree sometimes:

A pewter knight or a plastic Robin Hood

Or a marble lost in the long-ago

Turned up among the weeds by shifting roots

 

In the leafy silences of summer a little boy

Practiced the arts of magic and manliness

With Robin Hood and the pewter knight searching for a jewel

To present to their Lady Marian

 

When he was a little older the boy walked to town

To the bus station, and off to a distant war

A jewel sacrificed to the blasphemy of the State

You’ll find his name at the base of a stone

 

But the pewter knight and the plastic Robin Hood

And beautiful Lady Marian still wait for him

 

Sunday, September 3, 2023

Even the Oak Trees are Dying - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Even the Oak Trees are Dying

 

“Wildfire…evacuation of nearby residences under way”

 

-news bulletin

 

Poor drought-dead leaves in mockery of autumn

Wind-rustle across the lawn as the dried husks they are

Rattling like withered exoskeletons along the dust

Or The Ancient Mariner’s dead sailors upon the deck

 

The exhausted earth is hot from a summer of drought

Cicadas have no hope in their poor songs

A drifting dragonfly wobbles in its flight

And the weather reports are but cruel teasings

 

The sour smoke of a month of forest fires

Chokes even the stars, who in despair do not appear

 

Saturday, September 2, 2023

Another Funeral in Margaritaville - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Another Funeral in Margaritaville

 

 

Introibo ad altare Dei.

 

Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meum.

 

-Missale Romanum

 

 

Of course all our friends are dying away

Old age sneaks up on us, ghosting us in turn:

Yevgeny, Jimmy, Dusty, Judith, Rod, and we

Who blessed each other in our happy youth

 

But I tell you we have a duty to sing our songs

Our perhaps artless lines lost long ago

Except that they’re not: we gave them to God

And He joined them to Creation for all of us

 

Of course all our friends are dying away

Except that they’re not

                                        See you in Margaritaville

Friday, September 1, 2023

Shelving Children Instead of Books - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Shelving Children Instead of Books

 

“…it is estimated that Germany…destroyed over 100 million books in Europe.”

 

-Molly Guptill Manning, When Books Went to War, xv

 

In Texas

 

We ban children’s books

We don’t ban guns;

And thus we discard

Our daughters and sons

 

HISD to eliminate librarians, turn some libraries into discipline centers at 28 campuses (click2houston.com)

Thursday, August 31, 2023

A Cat is Stillness Becoming Motion - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Cat is Stillness in Motion

 

For Tuxedo-Cat

Who Simply Moved in One Day

 

There is no stillness like a cat

To the laws of physics a stillness unknown

When all is still he is stiller still

Even stiller than a stick or stone

 

There is no motion like a cat

A silent slink upon delicate paws

A smoke-like current now still again

To eye a chameleon

and sharpen his claws

Wednesday, August 30, 2023

The Gift of a Fountain Pen - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Gift of a Fountain Pen

 

For Max

 

A fountain pen is an instrument of civilization

Its flow of ink explores the mysteries

Of all the sciences, the mind, the heart

Sorting out the good, the beautiful, the true

 

A fountain pen is an instrument of civilization

Through creativity, with thought and craft

Marking the line between good order and ferality

Limning the eternal romance of Creation

 

A fountain pen is an instrument of civilization –

(It’s also pretty good for shopping lists)

Tuesday, August 29, 2023

Did You Grow Up in a Palace Too? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Did You Grow Up in a Palace Too?

 

In Memory of the Palace Theatre

 

If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace

A Technicolor palace where Robin Hood

Saved England for only twenty-five cents

And the royal feast was popcorn and RC Cola

 

If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace

Which was so big that the Comanche Nation

Could encircle both a fort and a wagon train

And a candy bar was chuck-wagon stew

 

If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace

And softly, sweetly found another’s hand

As the cowboys and Indians rode away in peace -

There was a newer magic for you to discover

 

If you were fortunate you grew up in a palace

In the summertime of your happy youth

Sunday, August 27, 2023

They Make Patriotism a Dirty Word - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

They Make Patriotism a Dirty Word

 

“…Devil with Devil damn’d / Firm concord holds…”

 

-Paradise Lost II, 496-497

 

How did they make patriotism a dirty word?

A conjuring not of loyalty or love

But rather foul images of bloated men

In bug-eyed shades, knee pants, and slogan tees

 

Cradling their guns in flabby tatted arms

 

Why did they make patriotism a dirty word?

No consideration of what is best for the nation

But rather foul images of treacherous men

In tailored suits and subtle imported ties

 

Cradling their contempt in Pandaemonian cant

 

The Q, the X, mechanical law degrees –

Devil with devil damn’d firm concord holds

 

Cradling their proud disobedience before God