People Who Are Paid to Make Their Own Businesses Fail - in their own words

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

We Have All Dealt with this Company, Whose Name is Legion

 

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The Moon is Upon Her Throne Tonight - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Moon is Upon Her Throne Tonight

 

The moon is dressed in her shining best tonight

With silvering joy and lunar happiness

Flying and flowing, flung from her starry wand

Flying and falling upon her glowing-night realm

 

We loyal subjects peek from our windows to see

An argent pageant royal of beauty and truth

Even in summer the lawn is a frosty field

For her monthly dance, by her command

 

The Lady of the Moon is our Summer Queen

As she will be, and is, and ever has been

We Know Where the Holy Grail is - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

We Know Where the Holy Grail Is

 

 

“They all say they’ve got the Holy Grail. So who’s right?”

 

The Holy Grail: Many places say they have it. So who’s right? | CNN

 

 

We know where the Holy Grail is

Each Sunday we see it on the Altar

As a cup, indifferent in its origins

In the catalogue of a church supply

 

A rabbi, a carpenter, and God

Walk into a rented room

And a Passover Kiddush cup is blessed

With the Viaticum, for all of us

 

A Passover seder is neither first nor last

It is forever – and here is the Cup

Thunderstorm, Texas-Louisiana Border, 15 August 2024, Photograph 3

 

Lawrence Hall, Thunderstorm, Texas-Louisiana Border, 15 August 2024, Photo 2

 

Thunderstorm, Texas-Louisiana Border, 16 August 2023, Photograph 1 of 4

 

Where do Sunflowers go in August? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Where do Sunflowers go in August?

 

 

May our love for the Sun, the will of God, be as strong as the sunflower’s…

 

-attributed to St. John of Tobolsk

 

 

With the mower I took the sunflowers down

The withered remnants, stalks and heads and seeds

Those few remaining seeds rejected by the birds

For reasons of their own

 

With the mower I circled ‘round and round

Building a thickish thatch as a sort of nest

For seeds in anticipation of autumn

The seasons know their own

 

With the mower I saw high summer gone

I mowed – or had I mown?

The Gravitas of Our Vice-Presidential Candidates - poem (of a sort)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Gravitas of our Vice-Presidential Candidates

 

In the end it was the worst speaker of the lot who received the most applause. People made no effort to follow him and merely roared approval at his every word…

 

Doctor Zhivago, p. 36

 

Like high school boys behind the old school gym

In micturic dispute about distance and size

Two men exchange puerile scurrilities

A pair of puffed-up potty-mouthed posers

 

They know all about army guns ‘n’ stuff

Each hero manque’ stuffier than the other

About their ranks and tanks and thousand-yard-stares

And whose AR is the bigger one

 

Like high school boys behind the old school gym –

And why must we the people put up with them?

Four Fresh Limes - poem

 Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Four Fresh Limes

 

When my neighbor left four fresh limes at my door

The universe did not hold its breath

Camouflage Caps for Good Comrades - inferior doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 Camouflage Caps for Good Comrades

 

The Presidency Really is For Sale

 

No bibles with the words of Roosevelt in red

Cleveland was above merchandising (perhaps)

There was never a Kennedy bobblehead

Lincoln never peddled tatty baseball caps

 

But now:

 

A Trumpy sippy-cup sounds about right

Let’s pray with autographed J.D. rosaries

Uncle Fester as G. I. Joe ready to fight

And personalized Kamala wind-up teethies

 

A rueful conclusion:

 

Few remember when our Presidency

Was a public trust of grace and dignity

Comparing our Secret Service with Barney Fife is Inappropriate - doggerel

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Comparing our Secret Service with Barney Fife is Inappropriate

 

Because we love and respect Deputy Fife

 

In art, incompetence can have a certain charm

But in stupid men with guns the charm is lacking

Our agents can’t even keep themselves from harm

Their greatest skills are in shacking and slacking

 

Colombian floozies and slanting roofs

Unman the best of them; they lose their guns

They lose laptops, but never their 90-proof

And break into private property for poopy runs

 

To them a President entrusts his life –

He’d surely be safer with Deputy Barney Fife

 

Night of the Murdered Jewish Poets - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Night of the Murdered Jewish Poets

 

12 August 1952

 

When a tyrant has completed his catalogue of hate

Sent thousands to the noose and millions to the pyre

He ponders fresh murders as he sits up late

Whom else can he summon to his satanic fire?

 

There is agony in his soul – someone must pay

Those scribblers of verse – now there is treason

Another list, a list, without delay!

Poets to the Lubyanka – I need no reason!

 

I listen, I hear my night-whispering muse:

“Death is upon you, death, but first, but first…

  

                  the Jews.”

Why Are the Presidential Candidates Yelling at Us? - doggerel

 Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Why Are the Presidential Candidates Yelling at Us?

 

The candidates bluster and scream on TV

But I will never vote for anyone, you see,

Whose concept of leadership is yelling at me        

And Suddenly My Feet Were Splashed with Conoco Gasoline

While fueling at a Conoco station this morning my feet were suddenly splashed with gasoline. I was standing by the filler but not looking at it. 

I was only slightly annoyed (old shoes, so no biggie) and went inside to advise the clerk so that she could be aware of this safety matter.  However, she only paused long enough from eating her sandwich to ask which pump and to say that she would tell her boss. No apology, no thank-you, no nothing except the chewing of a sandwich

Given the indifference, I went ahead and reported the matter, which was not my original intent. I asked corporate for credit for that gallon or so of gas on the ground.

The Boy in White - prison poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Boy in White

 

He paused in the sun, unsure where to go

His uniform was new and neatly pressed

He carried a new blue mattress and two plastic bags

Containing his prison issue for the next three years

 

No guards were near so I talked with him

I didn’t ask him, but he freely spoke

He told me his story; it might be true

And then

Authority told me to move. I wished him well

 

He was paused in life, unsure what to do

A frightened teenager in his new prison whites

The British Army Pocket Knife - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The British Army Pocket Knife

 

A great big chunk of folded Sheffield steel

For pocket, backpack, toolbox, or workbench

Rope work, leather work, awning work, rifle repair

Gutting a rabbit for dinner if it comes to that

 

No plastic-y Swiss gimcrackery for us

One tightens the blade by taking a hammer to the rivets

And sharpens it hastily on a handy rock

Wash off the mud and the blood and it’s good to go

 

It’s clanky, clunky, and out-of-date – it’s British

As British as can be - and so are we

 

 

I’m not British, but I needed a voice and a rhyme. My Hall ancestors were transported from Northern England to the New World for being bad, and the same for my deBeauville / Beauville / Beville / Bevil ancestors from Chesterton and my McQueen ancestors from Scotland.

 

I love my nifty British Army knife.

A Garden is a Department of Metaphysics - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Garden is a Department of Metaphysics

 

 

When the soul lies down in that grass,

the world is too full to talk about.

 

-Rumi

 

 

A garden is a Department of Metaphysics

Promethean fire and shadows in a cave of light

Leaves of trees falling upon more leaves

The leaves of books left open to the sun

 

The lecture lawn is furnished with old chairs

Old garden chairs rusty with wisdom and age

From duty to weather and men, the several cathedrae

Of the learned Order of Gaffer Swanthold

 

Athena’s owl calls from the nearby wood

Calling all men to silence and reflection

 

 

Rumi, untitled poem, trans. Coleman Barks and John Moyne

A Book of Luminous Things, ed. Czeslaw Milosz

 

In this context “men” is gender-neutral. Wrecking an iambic foot in obedience to the moods of an external authority is not poetry; it is weaknessssssssssssss.

About That Reed Shaken with the Wind - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

About That Reed Shaken with the Wind

 

 

What went ye out into the wilderness to see?

A reed shaken with the wind?

 

-Saint Matthew 11:8

 

 

A swaying riverside reed is a marvelous thing

In its proper service to our gracious Lord

A stalk of grass honoring its Creator

In quiet, unassuming dignity

 

Symbolisms are laid upon the reed

In power-point sermons and learned texts

But first of all it is but a nice little reed

Joining its labors with those of the whispering wind

 

Until Our Lord Himself calls upon that reed

Even as He calls upon us for some small deed

Teaching a Bible in Public Schools

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Teaching a Bible in Public Schools

 

For Miz Grundy and Reverend Gantry

 

Surely a teacher could choose his own Bible

This shouldn’t be as difficult as it seems

It couldn’t possibly be forbidden or liable

To teach the children from the Douay-Rheims

 

2 August 2024

 

I confess to you and to almighty God that I long earned my daily bread as an English teacher in high school and as a part-time adjunct faculty instructor of no status whatsoever in several nice little community colleges and universities.

 

English literature obtains in a Christian milieu even from Anglo-Saxon / Old English times. From the earliest known pieces until 1535 the culture is exclusively Catholic; from then on the culture tends to be within the Reformation usages. This is a reality to be understood, not a point of propaganda.

 

Dr. David Hadas, of happy memory, was my professor at an NEH program at Bread Loaf years ago. He was brilliant, generous, open, challenging, joyful, and indulgent to a lot of high school teachers in a summer class sponsored by the National Endowment for the Humanities.

 

Several of us figured out that Dr. Hadas was Jewish, and I was chosen (no pun) to ask him why he always carried a King James Bible to his lectures. We noted that he almost never referred to it because he knew it deeply. His response was, and this remembered quote is probably almost exact, "I teach English literature, and if you don't know the King James Bible you don't know English literature."

 

His intellectual openness and honest are quite at variance with the unhappy Elmer Gantrys demanding that the Bible (presumably not the Hebrew Bible or the Vulgate) be force-fitted in inappropriate contexts in public schools. He well knew the difference between teaching and "preaching at."

 

 

Beloved professor passes away after long illness - Student Life Archives (studlife.com)

Men Beating Up Women is not an Olympic Ideal

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Several Olympic Committees

 

Sewerage, filth, top-scum, toxins, debris

Deadly bacteria, openly-floating poo

The pollution of the ages flowing free –

 

(They say the River Seine’s in bad shape too)

A Small-Minded Man - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Small-Minded Man

 

Oh, yes, I am a very small-minded man

Whose horizon stops at the apple trees

Whose vision is much upon the little things:

A tiny snail upon a pepper-plant leaf

 

A placid rabbit nibbling at the lawn

A squirrel feasting on his daily grains and seeds

A bluebird shyly hiding among the oaks

A mockingbird mocking all the rest of us

 

No grand visions for me; I will not leave

Small villages of dead bodies and wicked smoke

The rotting bodies of children and animals

Cratered cities of bomb-blackened ruins and stench

 

I promote no world-changing master plan -

Deo Gratias, I am a very small-minded man

Playing the Hitler Card - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Playing the Hitler Card

 

We say we would never play that card

But we see that it has been played

It lies upon the table before us -

And whose febrile hand placed it there?

A Mildly Amusing Repudiation of the Concept of Entropy - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Mildly Amusing Repudiation of the Concept of Entropy

 

For poetry too is a little incarnation.

 

-C. S. Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms

 

All that ever was, that is, that ever will be -

All is from God, and will return to God

As elegant iambic pentameter

 

(Okay, maybe tetrameter)

The Olympics as Imagined by John Milton - couplet

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Olympics as Imagined by John Milton

 

On the anniversary of the martyrdom of

 

Father Jacques Hamel

 

The Olympics this year seem demon-haunted -

Christians, Jews, and amateur sports not wanted

On Being a Still Life Today - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

On Being a Still Life Today

 

No outside duties have called me away today

And so I have become a still life entitled “Ennui”

Or perhaps “Weltschmerz with a Pet Dog”

Two dogs, actually, and they have napped the hours

 

The rain has fallen day after day after day

A parallel to the Ancient Mariner’s sun

Tree frogs cling to the algae-green window panes

As if they too have lost interest in life

 

Even so

 

With my little world all rainy and grey

I am happy to be a still life today

 

In Memoriam - Ayden Rose

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

In Memoriam – Ayden Rose

 

 

 

Eternal rest, O Lord, grant unto your daughter

 

Ayden Rose

 

and make perpetual Light to shine upon her

 

 

 

Ayden was a neat, funny kid in my 9:00 o’clock class

Hard-working and smart, and more than a little bit saucy

As eighteen-year-olds are supposed to be

She grew up to be a triple-threat teacher and coach

 

And on Monday night some hero shot her in the back

 

Upon an Abomination in Paris - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Upon an Abomination in Paris

 

Opening Ceremony at the Paris Olympics

 

All are welcome at the Table of the Lord

But first

It’s always good manners to wash your face and hands

Let's Go for Coffee - Grab Your Flak Jacket - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Let’s Go for Coffee - Grab Your Flak Jacket

 

Some give their sons semi-automatics and hate

Instead of family and purpose and love

Instead of guided study and structured faith

Instead of fishing poles and summer afternoons

Your New (Famous Name Brand) Credit Card Has Arrived! - an assemblage of corporate tech-babble

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Your New (Famous Name Brand) Credit Card Has Arrived!

 

UserName already taken card

number invalid access code too short

access code already taken last four

digits of your social download the app

link pay save 3 easy ways to activate

scan the QR code with your phone’s camera

error visit MyFamousNameBrand.com/Activate

register your account for consumer center

error error error invalid please say yes or no

I didn’t quite get that call 1-XXX-XXX-XXXX

this call is being monitored for your protection

we didn’t tell anyone that enable

paperless statements set up alerts error

your number is invalid your number is invalid

your number is invalid all our representatives

are busy right now but I could refer you to

our site your number is invalid select

your savings every day earn save save

even more that number cannot be accessed

see your rewards program terms for details

please try again

 

Prisoners Working in the Early Morning Rain - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Prisoners Working in the Early Morning Rain

 

We have all worked in the rain – building fences

Getting up the cows for milking twice a day

Sloshing through the muck to make deliveries

And usually with some choice in the matter

 

Prisoners have choices too – cells or a work detail

In designer costumes with horizontal stripes

Not much of a choice, but the work is needful and good

Picking up the litter of freedom and patching the road

 

Through the wipers I wave. They wave back. Rain -

We have all passed by our fellow man in the rain

Orgiastic Screaming from Below - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Orgiastic Screaming from Below

 

Those who called for Nonsense will find that it comes

 

-C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength

 

We have seen Milton’s Pandaemonium

Choreographed on a wide palantir

Fallen angels praising the Great Fallen One

In a High Council of electrified lies

 

Great thunderings of fire and rolling smoke

Issuing from a shiny plastic throne of power

The Great Fallen One framed in Elvis lights

On the floor the lesser ones screaming in ecstasy

 

The Great Fallen One has a plan for us

After all the balloons, too, have fallen

[Allusions to C. S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, Milton's Paradise Lost, and Tolkien's Lord of the Rings]

My Great Replacement Theory - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

My Great Replacement Theory

 

(or maybe just a lesser replacement theory)

 

Teenagers opened the doors for me at Mass

Which used to be my job, but they stepped up

And in stepping up they are replacing me

Which is good - I miss my youth but delight in theirs

 

A boy and a girl giggled and whispered

In a language I don’t know except that

Having once been young, I know it well -

A perfect translation was in their eyes

 

All languages come from Old Solar, Lewis says

And to Old Solar will someday return

We must all be replaced someday

For in Creation’s Great Dance that is a step

 

Teenagers opened the doors for me at Mass

And God will open another door afterward

The Mysterious World of Azalea - poem

 Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Mysterious World of Azalea

 

If I were a child, this would be a happy place

A hidden leaf-mould world, all darkly green

Summery green beneath the shaded sun

Between the roots, beneath the leaves, alone

 

If I were a child, this would be a happy place

A brand-new comic book, some army men

A Roy Rogers cap pistol without any caps

A plastic Tarzan leaping from branch to branch

 

If I were a child…but alas, I’m not -

I’m pruning back limbs and checking for rot

Who Gives a Fig? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Who Gives a Fig?

 

Some people say that they don’t a give a fig

Which we would never hear from a happy fig tree -

The one at the bottom of the garden gives its fruit

As a blessing to every passing animal

 

Squirrels and rabbits, sparrows and mockingbirds

Share in this sugary summer delight

I speed by on my riding lawnmower

And take a fig myself, only to give it away

 

Some people say that they don’t a give a fig

But I think we need more figs in our lives

 

(As Amanda Holmes did not exactly say)

How Many Moons Can You See? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

How Many Moons Can You See?

 

It was a full moon and, shining on all the snow,

it made everything almost as bright as day.

 

-C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

 

When the subject of vision came up

(as it must with an ophthalmologist)

I told Dr. Talbot that I saw two moons

When only one of them would be sufficient

 

But which one?

 

After a gentle touch of surgery

I now see only one moon, which is nice

But I rather miss that other moon

And wonder if in her exile she misses me too

 

Where is she?

 

On whatever planet you happen to live

I don’t think you can have too many moons

For Bob Newhart of Happy, Happy Memory - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

For Bob Newhart of Happy, Happy Memory

 

 

“He will not refuse one who is so blithe to go to Him”

 

-Saint Thomas More in A Man for All Seasons

 

 

With just a telephone, a clipboard, and a stutter

He was a happy band of some of our best friends:

May we with him

At last approach that Inn where all are welcome

 

The joy he gave us proceeds before him

The angelic choirs soften their hum and throb

Because

That loving Voice we all most long to hear

Will gently say,

 

“Hi, Bob.”

Fire Ants Devouring the Corpses of Unhatched Wasps - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Fire Ants Devouring the Corpses of Unhatched Wasps

 

Nature does not, in the long run, favour life.

 

-C. S. Lewis, “On Living in an Atomic Age,” 1948

 

A formation of formicidae trekked north-northwest

Across a vast and lonely sunbeaten expanse

Their imperial quest a fallen wasps’ nest

Between a lawn chair and a potted plant

 

The ants greedily ripped open the paper shells

Like Christmas crackers for the goodies inside

The ghastly drippings of pupae in their jaws

Fragments of dead wasplings for their demanding queen

 

A formation of formicidae trekked east-southeast -

What, then, is the number of an unnumbered beast?

We Were Dressers of Sycamores - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

We Were Dressers of Sycamores

 

Amos 7: 12-15

Saint Mark 6: 7-13

From the readings for the 15^th week in Ordinary Time

 

All of us are sent, one place or another

On curious missions little understood

No detailed instructions, no notes, no maps

Take this road and go on until it ends

 

And greet the folks you meet along the way

Some of them will need your help, your love

Some of them will give you help, their love

And one of them might murder you

 

All of us are sent, one place or another

We can’t get out of it; we’re needed, brother