Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Course of Study
Life is itself our university:
A table for study at a window
A book whose pages are bright autumn leaves
A laboratory of unexpectations
A hymn sung while stacking ammunition
A smile remembered while the coffee brews
A Christmas pocket knife lost long ago
A remembrance, a pain, a thought, a fear
And in the end a graduation hymn -
Life is itself is our university
Sunday, July 12, 2015
A Working Knowledge of Bed Frames
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Working Knowledge of Bed Frames
For assembling bed frames a craftsman needs
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Bad you-go-rinse-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
For disassembling bed frames, well, the same:
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Badder rinsing-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
Because cosmic conflict against metal frames
Requires a catalogue of soap-choking names!
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Working Knowledge of Bed Frames
For assembling bed frames a craftsman needs
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Bad you-go-rinse-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
For disassembling bed frames, well, the same:
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Badder rinsing-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
Because cosmic conflict against metal frames
Requires a catalogue of soap-choking names!
Life Begins at 111
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Life Begins at 111
Open a page, and dream into that world
Songs and merriment from the inn at Bree
The scent of flowers from far Lothlorien
And smoke rising from The Last Lonely House
A pack, a walking stick, a friend or two
Then step into the night, into the road
That does indeed go on and on
Mhall46184@aol.com
Life Begins at 111
Open a page, and dream into that world
Songs and merriment from the inn at Bree
The scent of flowers from far Lothlorien
And smoke rising from The Last Lonely House
A pack, a walking stick, a friend or two
Then step into the night, into the road
That does indeed go on and on
THE Calculus
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
THE Calculus
Why is there a math called THE calculus
Could there be a second one? Dubious
And there are so many maths to cuss
Algebra, for instance – what is the fuss?
To solve for X does not serve any purpuss
And one arithmetic, minus or plus
Geometry – useful but tedious
Each math is one, so nothing to discuss
So
Why is there a math call THE calculus?
mhall46184@aol.com
THE Calculus
Why is there a math called THE calculus
Could there be a second one? Dubious
And there are so many maths to cuss
Algebra, for instance – what is the fuss?
To solve for X does not serve any purpuss
And one arithmetic, minus or plus
Geometry – useful but tedious
Each math is one, so nothing to discuss
So
Why is there a math call THE calculus?
Canada Day? Just One?
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Canada Day? Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
But Canada goes on; these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Mhall46184@aol.com
Canada Day? Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
But Canada goes on; these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Dialogue Not Heard in Casablanca
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dialogue Not Heard in Casablanca
“Of all the boutique coffee bars in all the gated communities in all the world…”
“Bluebirds, bluebirds! Bluebirds everywhere!”
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll be on the plane – it’ll take us that long to get through security.”
“Play it, Sam. Play ‘The Pilgrims’ Chorus’ from Tannhauser.”
“I don’t think I remember it, Miss Ilsa. Mostly because you never leave anything in the tip jar, you cheapskate.”
“I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. Meh.”
“Oh, Rick – I’ll have to do the thinking for both us.”
“Round up some unusual suspects.”
“I’m making out the report now. We’re not sure if he committed suicide or was vaporized by Jade Helm ninja vampires in secret tunnels beneath an abandoned Circuit City in New Ulm.”
“I’m shocked! Shocked! To learn that Bible study is going on in here!”
“Aw, come on, you guys – doesn’t anyone in here know the words to the Marseillaise!?”
“I remember every detail – the North Vietnamese wore green; you wore a blue Che Guano tee-shirt.”
“Yes, I put that tee-shirt, knee-pants, and flip-flops away. When the North Vietnamese march out I’ll wear them again.”
“What makes baristas so snobbish?”
“Are you one of those people who cannot imagine English soccer fans in your beloved Newark?”
“Oh, no, Emile, please. A bottle of your best designer water, and put it on my bill.”
“Just a moment. I heard a rumor those two German couriers were carrying the latest Apple watches.”
“I don’t mind a parasite. I object to one who isn’t accredited by the BBB.”
“Ricky, I’m going to miss you. Apparently you’re the only one with less scruples than the Supreme Court.”
“Paula Deen and Bill Cosby walk into a bar…”
“And remember – this gun is pointed right at your pancreas.”
“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but when you can’t get a refund on those tickets to Lisbon…”
“We’ll always have Caney Head.”
“I have already given him the best table, knowing that he is with the Clinton campaign and would take it anyway.”
“C’mon, Mr. Rick. We’ll get the car. We’ll drive all night. We’ll go fishing. We’ll wear togas! Partee! Partee!”
“Major Strasser has been tasered!”
“Here’s looking at you, kid. You know, that’s a really patronizing, sexist expression.”
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful limited-liability partnership.”
“I came to Casablanca for the Blue Bell ice cream…I was misinformed.”
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dialogue Not Heard in Casablanca
“Of all the boutique coffee bars in all the gated communities in all the world…”
“Bluebirds, bluebirds! Bluebirds everywhere!”
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll be on the plane – it’ll take us that long to get through security.”
“Play it, Sam. Play ‘The Pilgrims’ Chorus’ from Tannhauser.”
“I don’t think I remember it, Miss Ilsa. Mostly because you never leave anything in the tip jar, you cheapskate.”
“I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. Meh.”
“Oh, Rick – I’ll have to do the thinking for both us.”
“Round up some unusual suspects.”
“I’m making out the report now. We’re not sure if he committed suicide or was vaporized by Jade Helm ninja vampires in secret tunnels beneath an abandoned Circuit City in New Ulm.”
“I’m shocked! Shocked! To learn that Bible study is going on in here!”
“Aw, come on, you guys – doesn’t anyone in here know the words to the Marseillaise!?”
“I remember every detail – the North Vietnamese wore green; you wore a blue Che Guano tee-shirt.”
“Yes, I put that tee-shirt, knee-pants, and flip-flops away. When the North Vietnamese march out I’ll wear them again.”
“What makes baristas so snobbish?”
“Are you one of those people who cannot imagine English soccer fans in your beloved Newark?”
“Oh, no, Emile, please. A bottle of your best designer water, and put it on my bill.”
“Just a moment. I heard a rumor those two German couriers were carrying the latest Apple watches.”
“I don’t mind a parasite. I object to one who isn’t accredited by the BBB.”
“Ricky, I’m going to miss you. Apparently you’re the only one with less scruples than the Supreme Court.”
“Paula Deen and Bill Cosby walk into a bar…”
“And remember – this gun is pointed right at your pancreas.”
“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but when you can’t get a refund on those tickets to Lisbon…”
“We’ll always have Caney Head.”
“I have already given him the best table, knowing that he is with the Clinton campaign and would take it anyway.”
“C’mon, Mr. Rick. We’ll get the car. We’ll drive all night. We’ll go fishing. We’ll wear togas! Partee! Partee!”
“Major Strasser has been tasered!”
“Here’s looking at you, kid. You know, that’s a really patronizing, sexist expression.”
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful limited-liability partnership.”
“I came to Casablanca for the Blue Bell ice cream…I was misinformed.”
-30-
Monday, July 6, 2015
With True Prayers
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
With True Prayers
For the Martyrs of Charleston
“…but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there”
-Measure for Measure II.ii.151-152
A study table is an Altar too
Whereon repose not only holy books
But also hopes and prayers and coffee cups
On Wednesday evening – there in fellowship
To crown the middle of the busy week
With an hour or two of quiet discourse
And, yes, laughter, joy, and merriment
Among dear friends, our happy gifts from God -
Evil cannot veto, even with our blood
The truth: this table is an Altar too
Published in Longbows and Rosary Beads, June 2015
mhall46184@aol.com
With True Prayers
For the Martyrs of Charleston
“…but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there”
-Measure for Measure II.ii.151-152
A study table is an Altar too
Whereon repose not only holy books
But also hopes and prayers and coffee cups
On Wednesday evening – there in fellowship
To crown the middle of the busy week
With an hour or two of quiet discourse
And, yes, laughter, joy, and merriment
Among dear friends, our happy gifts from God -
Evil cannot veto, even with our blood
The truth: this table is an Altar too
Published in Longbows and Rosary Beads, June 2015
Children and Books
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
A Boy with a Book
For Gunter, Kason, Joey, and Isaac
A little boy is not a boy without
A book to guard him against education:
Give him spaceships, cowboys, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If he can’t find a book that sings, give him
Lots of blank paper, and he’ll write his own:
Sheriffs, swords, shields, and ships, his gear in
trim
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A boy is a child of summer; he needs
His dog, sun-leafy hours, and his books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks:
Adventure yarns, and wooden sword in hand
In summer to make a boy a worthy man
A Girl with a Book
For Kate, Valentine, Veronica, Virginia,
Margaret Rose, Harper Rose, and Kaili
A little girl is not a girl without
A book to guard her against education:
Give her spaceships, cowgirls, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If she can’t find a book that sings, give her
Lots of blank paper, and she’ll write her own:
Princesses, swords, and ships, a voyager
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A girl is a child of summer; she needs
Her dog, sun-leafy hours, and her books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks
A girl, her book, her sword, her backyard tree:
Oh, what a good, strong woman she will be!
mhall46184@aol.com
A Boy with a Book
For Gunter, Kason, Joey, and Isaac
A little boy is not a boy without
A book to guard him against education:
Give him spaceships, cowboys, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If he can’t find a book that sings, give him
Lots of blank paper, and he’ll write his own:
Sheriffs, swords, shields, and ships, his gear in
trim
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A boy is a child of summer; he needs
His dog, sun-leafy hours, and his books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks:
Adventure yarns, and wooden sword in hand
In summer to make a boy a worthy man
A Girl with a Book
For Kate, Valentine, Veronica, Virginia,
Margaret Rose, Harper Rose, and Kaili
A little girl is not a girl without
A book to guard her against education:
Give her spaceships, cowgirls, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If she can’t find a book that sings, give her
Lots of blank paper, and she’ll write her own:
Princesses, swords, and ships, a voyager
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A girl is a child of summer; she needs
Her dog, sun-leafy hours, and her books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks
A girl, her book, her sword, her backyard tree:
Oh, what a good, strong woman she will be!
"With a Clear View of the Southern Sky"
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
“With a Clear View
of the Southern Sky”
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
Those cosmic spies and robot messengers
Lurk on the roof and there obscure the stars
With clutter beamed and bounced about the skies
Encoded and decoded back and forth
Somewhere between the truth and a satellite
Attractive knowledge of evil and good
Electrons coiled around a metal tree
Purring in unison: “You shall not die” -
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
mhall46184@aol.com
“With a Clear View
of the Southern Sky”
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
Those cosmic spies and robot messengers
Lurk on the roof and there obscure the stars
With clutter beamed and bounced about the skies
Encoded and decoded back and forth
Somewhere between the truth and a satellite
Attractive knowledge of evil and good
Electrons coiled around a metal tree
Purring in unison: “You shall not die” -
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
Tainopsis
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Tainopsis
Grandfather’s Saint George medal – hide it first
The ikon of Saint Seraphim – that’s next
Babushka’s crucifix – O, how she loved it
The picture of the Czar – away! Away!
Do not betray your thoughts – a careless word
A smile not authorized, a memory
A fragment from a cheerful Christmas song:
These do not advance The Revolution
Beneath our Brave Red Star they must lie hidden
While our dear comrades love and watch us all
mhall46184@aol.com
Tainopsis
Grandfather’s Saint George medal – hide it first
The ikon of Saint Seraphim – that’s next
Babushka’s crucifix – O, how she loved it
The picture of the Czar – away! Away!
Do not betray your thoughts – a careless word
A smile not authorized, a memory
A fragment from a cheerful Christmas song:
These do not advance The Revolution
Beneath our Brave Red Star they must lie hidden
While our dear comrades love and watch us all
Script for the Hourly News
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Script for the Hourly News
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon shooting boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon booths on the ground icon shooting boots
on the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
shooting boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon shooting boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
shooting boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon shooting boots on
the ground ISIS school lunches gluten-free
mhall46184@aol.com
Script for the Hourly News
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon shooting boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon booths on the ground icon shooting boots
on the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
shooting boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon shooting boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
shooting boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon shooting boots on
the ground ISIS school lunches gluten-free
Matins and Lauds and Cats
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Matins and Lauds and Cats
Now stir your morning hopes into a cup
Of coffee sweetly censed with optimism
Along with milk or cream and chemicals;
Switch off the strident, nattering radio
And through the kitchen window note with joy
The dramatic stretchings of indolent cats
Yawning the beginning of their new day,
A tree frog working late, reposing still
Upon the screen as if it were a throne
From which he rules all insect destinies,
And a sudden fluttering in the grass
As an early bird gets his worm indeed
While a vapor of diaphanous mist
Slow-curls among the oaks, perhaps to seek
Some comfortable solitude for the day;
Old Sol, fresh from his adventures in the East
Serves sunlight filtered softly through the damp,
Fresh light for your breakfast, a Matins
Psalm sung to you all the way from a star.
Matins and Lauds without any Cats
If your sunrise view is of garbage cans
And utility poles leaning over an alley
Or if you have no window, or even a kitchen
If morning dew condenses on barbed wire
Or dripping concrete walls echoing-echoing,
If your only view is of a cinder-block wall
And the only sound is the medicine trolley
Squeaking through its early hospital rounds
Without any coffee or even much hope
Then please feel free to borrow for today
Any of the many, barely-used mornings
From those of us who in our ingratitude
Tend to begin our days of open windows
Not with a joyful litany of praise
But with a tiresome catalogue of complaints
mhall46184@aol.com
Matins and Lauds and Cats
Now stir your morning hopes into a cup
Of coffee sweetly censed with optimism
Along with milk or cream and chemicals;
Switch off the strident, nattering radio
And through the kitchen window note with joy
The dramatic stretchings of indolent cats
Yawning the beginning of their new day,
A tree frog working late, reposing still
Upon the screen as if it were a throne
From which he rules all insect destinies,
And a sudden fluttering in the grass
As an early bird gets his worm indeed
While a vapor of diaphanous mist
Slow-curls among the oaks, perhaps to seek
Some comfortable solitude for the day;
Old Sol, fresh from his adventures in the East
Serves sunlight filtered softly through the damp,
Fresh light for your breakfast, a Matins
Psalm sung to you all the way from a star.
Matins and Lauds without any Cats
If your sunrise view is of garbage cans
And utility poles leaning over an alley
Or if you have no window, or even a kitchen
If morning dew condenses on barbed wire
Or dripping concrete walls echoing-echoing,
If your only view is of a cinder-block wall
And the only sound is the medicine trolley
Squeaking through its early hospital rounds
Without any coffee or even much hope
Then please feel free to borrow for today
Any of the many, barely-used mornings
From those of us who in our ingratitude
Tend to begin our days of open windows
Not with a joyful litany of praise
But with a tiresome catalogue of complaints
A Few More Little Poems
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Sirens and Harpies
The siren of the romance-misted night
Softly seductive and mysterious
By dawn shifts shape into a haggery fright:
The elf is now a harpy imperious
Data Not Available at This Time
“Data not available at this time”
Scrolls slowly across the tiny screen
But
(insert name of internet service biller – not necessarily as good at providing – here)
carefully counts every dime:
Their monthly pound of flesh is never lean
How Lucky God is to Have Him
Perhaps he is a seer
Gifted with visions of glory
Still, I don’t want to hear
His me, me, me conversion story
Not on My Watch
A fellow whose timepiece was off just a notch
Said of a jeweler who was drunk on Scotch,
“He can work on his hangover,
but not on my watch.”
Rain with Punctuation
A house when empty is not always peaceful
But today it is. September rain to heal
The hurt, summer-dry earth floats so softly
And so quietly
That thunder is a loud punctuation
An exclamation mark BANG! In the middle
Of a quiet, meditative line.
Elegy for Brave Little Cottonpip
For Deedra
In Egypt cats were set as palace guards
To watch the desert from stone-linteled gates
With wide-set eyes, proud lions of the Nile
And in their diminutive dignity
Bless with their furry, purry, royal presence
The households of the ancient kings and queens
And cats have never forgotten their ancient
warrant:
To pose, to pace, to pause, to pounce, to please
Their noble queen always, faithful even unto
death -
O do not mourn the passing of brave Pip
For now he tumbles and plays among the stars
And purrs to you still, your brave palace guard
Quagmire
We’re mired once more within a quag
Or quagged, perhaps, within a mire
Evil laughs at the same old gag:
Nero golfs while the world’s on fire
mhall46184@aol.com
Sirens and Harpies
The siren of the romance-misted night
Softly seductive and mysterious
By dawn shifts shape into a haggery fright:
The elf is now a harpy imperious
Data Not Available at This Time
“Data not available at this time”
Scrolls slowly across the tiny screen
But
(insert name of internet service biller – not necessarily as good at providing – here)
carefully counts every dime:
Their monthly pound of flesh is never lean
How Lucky God is to Have Him
Perhaps he is a seer
Gifted with visions of glory
Still, I don’t want to hear
His me, me, me conversion story
Not on My Watch
A fellow whose timepiece was off just a notch
Said of a jeweler who was drunk on Scotch,
“He can work on his hangover,
but not on my watch.”
Rain with Punctuation
A house when empty is not always peaceful
But today it is. September rain to heal
The hurt, summer-dry earth floats so softly
And so quietly
That thunder is a loud punctuation
An exclamation mark BANG! In the middle
Of a quiet, meditative line.
Elegy for Brave Little Cottonpip
For Deedra
In Egypt cats were set as palace guards
To watch the desert from stone-linteled gates
With wide-set eyes, proud lions of the Nile
And in their diminutive dignity
Bless with their furry, purry, royal presence
The households of the ancient kings and queens
And cats have never forgotten their ancient
warrant:
To pose, to pace, to pause, to pounce, to please
Their noble queen always, faithful even unto
death -
O do not mourn the passing of brave Pip
For now he tumbles and plays among the stars
And purrs to you still, your brave palace guard
Quagmire
We’re mired once more within a quag
Or quagged, perhaps, within a mire
Evil laughs at the same old gag:
Nero golfs while the world’s on fire
Je Suis Dust Jacket
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Je Suis Dust Jacket
A can’t-put-it-down layered tapestry of
Spell-binding patriarchal must-read rich
Ness woven of cross-cultural patriarchal
Assumptions is a multi-gendered land
Mark of accessible, richly textured
Narratives that will make you laugh, make you
cry,
And change your life forever through a unique
Voice of powerful unstinting timeless
Human condition moving milestone land
Mark compelling nuanced epic of searing
Honesty and gripping poignancy burnt
Into the human conscience challenges
The heterosexist patriarchal
Mainstream that will define a generation
Iconic sensual stunning absorbing
Lapidary roman a clef triumph
Definitive edgy in the tradition
Of luminous provocative. And stuff.
mhall46184@aol.com
Je Suis Dust Jacket
A can’t-put-it-down layered tapestry of
Spell-binding patriarchal must-read rich
Ness woven of cross-cultural patriarchal
Assumptions is a multi-gendered land
Mark of accessible, richly textured
Narratives that will make you laugh, make you
cry,
And change your life forever through a unique
Voice of powerful unstinting timeless
Human condition moving milestone land
Mark compelling nuanced epic of searing
Honesty and gripping poignancy burnt
Into the human conscience challenges
The heterosexist patriarchal
Mainstream that will define a generation
Iconic sensual stunning absorbing
Lapidary roman a clef triumph
Definitive edgy in the tradition
Of luminous provocative. And stuff.
The Revolution
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Revolution
Little men arguing in shabby rooms
Meetings, manifestos, revolvers, bombs
Informers, spies, social organization,
Speeches, minutes, dues, What is to be Done?
The great cause of the Proletariat
Greetings from our good comrades in Smolensk
Nihilism, committees, secrecy
The thirst for culture is aristocratic
Nihilism is the only art of the people
Rumors, whispers, clandestine magazines
The unification of workers and peasants
Resolutions passed in the factory soviet
Clenched fists to reject the personal life
Electrification and equality
Cigarettes, vodka, the people’s justice
Against the parasitical bourgeoisie
Solidarity to destroy the kulaks
His poetry reeks of sentimentality
Self-centered intellectual decadence
The people’s will for the people’s party
Education for the twentieth century
Lift high the red banner, fill full the graves
mhall46184@aol.com
The Revolution
Little men arguing in shabby rooms
Meetings, manifestos, revolvers, bombs
Informers, spies, social organization,
Speeches, minutes, dues, What is to be Done?
The great cause of the Proletariat
Greetings from our good comrades in Smolensk
Nihilism, committees, secrecy
The thirst for culture is aristocratic
Nihilism is the only art of the people
Rumors, whispers, clandestine magazines
The unification of workers and peasants
Resolutions passed in the factory soviet
Clenched fists to reject the personal life
Electrification and equality
Cigarettes, vodka, the people’s justice
Against the parasitical bourgeoisie
Solidarity to destroy the kulaks
His poetry reeks of sentimentality
Self-centered intellectual decadence
The people’s will for the people’s party
Education for the twentieth century
Lift high the red banner, fill full the graves
Adjective Childhood Pity
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Adjective Childhood Pity
Your Irish childhood – oh, give it a pass
Indian childhood
Single-parent childhood
Poverty childhood
Small-town childhood
Urban childhood
Farm childhood
Army brat childhood
Immigrant childhood
Emigrant childhood
Migrant childhood
Reservation childhood
Mountain childhood
All that adjective pity - it’s been said
But your childhood – your childhood, your
childhood
Free it from adjectives, and you’ll have
something
mhall46184@aol.com
Adjective Childhood Pity
Your Irish childhood – oh, give it a pass
Indian childhood
Single-parent childhood
Poverty childhood
Small-town childhood
Urban childhood
Farm childhood
Army brat childhood
Immigrant childhood
Emigrant childhood
Migrant childhood
Reservation childhood
Mountain childhood
All that adjective pity - it’s been said
But your childhood – your childhood, your
childhood
Free it from adjectives, and you’ll have
something
Save the Date
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Save the Date
O how I hope that you will Save The Date!
It’s a special occasion, so don’t be late
Be sure to sign in with the guard at the gate
I leave on the twelfth; I simply can’t wait
That’s when I’ll be executed by the State
Registered at Coffins ‘n’ Stuff,
Thibodeaux’s Funeral Home,
& Jardin d’Memoires and Gift Shoppe
mhall46184@aol.com
Save the Date
O how I hope that you will Save The Date!
It’s a special occasion, so don’t be late
Be sure to sign in with the guard at the gate
I leave on the twelfth; I simply can’t wait
That’s when I’ll be executed by the State
Registered at Coffins ‘n’ Stuff,
Thibodeaux’s Funeral Home,
& Jardin d’Memoires and Gift Shoppe
Martinmas
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Martinmas
Red is the color of a soldier’s cloak
Exchanged for a poor man’s blessing in the night
Met well there by a crumbling pagan oak
Ennobled now that vestment in angelic white
Martin is the name of that Roman guard
Between the watch fires pacing slow his round
Ready and alert, though the frost is hard
And spies a sad wretch shivering on the ground
Now does the soldier give him warmth and hope
Cold is the night, and yet somehow made mild
Exchanging his pride for a priestly cope
Denying self – the poor man is the Child;
As does Saint Martin, all good soldiers still
Yield self in service to the Christ Child’s will
mhall46184@aol.com
Martinmas
Red is the color of a soldier’s cloak
Exchanged for a poor man’s blessing in the night
Met well there by a crumbling pagan oak
Ennobled now that vestment in angelic white
Martin is the name of that Roman guard
Between the watch fires pacing slow his round
Ready and alert, though the frost is hard
And spies a sad wretch shivering on the ground
Now does the soldier give him warmth and hope
Cold is the night, and yet somehow made mild
Exchanging his pride for a priestly cope
Denying self – the poor man is the Child;
As does Saint Martin, all good soldiers still
Yield self in service to the Christ Child’s will
Does This Machine Kill Fascists?
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Does This Machine Kill Fascists?
Does this machine kill Fascists? Probably not
Unless it bores them to a yawning death
Through soporific clichés crudely imposed
Upon a few poor, battered chords that twang
Like the barbed wire of an Arctic gulag
Where happy comrades
Shiver in the snow
Wither in the wind
Starve on slops
Burn with typhus
Rot in the tundra
As they build the future upon mass graves
While the anti-Fascist cashes his checks
mhall46184@aol.com
Does This Machine Kill Fascists?
Does this machine kill Fascists? Probably not
Unless it bores them to a yawning death
Through soporific clichés crudely imposed
Upon a few poor, battered chords that twang
Like the barbed wire of an Arctic gulag
Where happy comrades
Shiver in the snow
Wither in the wind
Starve on slops
Burn with typhus
Rot in the tundra
As they build the future upon mass graves
While the anti-Fascist cashes his checks
The Privileged Patriarchal Postcolonial Boy
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Privileged Patriarchal
Postcolonial Boy
To the tune of “The Wild Colonial Boy”
He vets his work for political tone
Writes nothing to annoy
And if his words offend – they’re gone!
The postcolonial boy
He was born and raised in poverty
His mother’s only joy
Still a child of privilege, you see
The postcolonial boy
No matter what he might dare say
No matter how polite, how coy
Nothing can excuse his DNA
The postcolonial boy
A shame it is that he submits
Agrees that he’s sans foy
He silences himself; he quits
The postcolonial boy
mhall46184@aol.com
The Privileged Patriarchal
Postcolonial Boy
To the tune of “The Wild Colonial Boy”
He vets his work for political tone
Writes nothing to annoy
And if his words offend – they’re gone!
The postcolonial boy
He was born and raised in poverty
His mother’s only joy
Still a child of privilege, you see
The postcolonial boy
No matter what he might dare say
No matter how polite, how coy
Nothing can excuse his DNA
The postcolonial boy
A shame it is that he submits
Agrees that he’s sans foy
He silences himself; he quits
The postcolonial boy
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