Thursday, June 2, 2016
Linear Life Looping - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Linear Life Looping
How do they put those spirals into blank books
Threading wires along blank pages of dreams
Not yet realized or even written or drawn
Restrained as soon as penned into being
Story Line A formed up against Sketch B
And Schematic C made to dress right, dress
Addresses and telephone numbers lined
In exile on the last little page or two
Life spinning forward and up as little loops -
How do they put those spirals into blank books?
Decolonizing English Literature - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Decolonizing English Literature
Fluid active shooter situation
Surreal ongoing high-powered rifle
Show of force first responders swat teams
Abundance of caution fluid active
Shooter situation surreal ongoing
High-powered rifle show of force first
Responders swat teams abundance of
Caution fluid active shooter situation
Surreal ongoing high-powered rifle
Show of force first responders swat teams
Eligible for an Update - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Eligible for an Update
Good comrades once were forced to stand in lines
To register submission to the cause
And beg for life while starving in the cold
Applauding all the while their misery
Good comrades still fall in obediently
To register submission to the ‘phone
And fight for selfie-space – oooh, look at me!
Applauding bars of connectivity
The irony of queueing before false shrines -
Good comrades once were forced to stand in lines
Heelspur's Victory - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Heelspur’s Victory
“And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s Day.”
-Henry V
The great man seduces a ragged host
Of aged motorcycle commandos,
Appropriating their victories and sorrows
Channeling old Hollywood movie wars
But
How many of his Harley-mounted host
Fear-vomited in sour Cambodian mud
Or bled their youth out in sour desert dust
DD214 everyone? Anyone?
Don’t challenge keyboard commandos with the truth -
Who knows what anything is anymore?
Everybody's a Warrior - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Everybody’s a Warrior
Weekend warrior
Prayer warrior
Eco warrior
Road warrior
Shopping warrior
Coupon warrior
Spiritual warrior
Bleacher warrior
Nutrition warrior
Social justice warrior
Fitness warrior
Happy warrior
Yoga warrior
Warrior, warrior, warrior!
Given all these wars, how good it is to be
A draft-dodger
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Groovin' to the Hootenanny of Time - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Groovin’ to the Hootenanny of Time
The years sneak by, as we were told
But still –
How strange it is to be this old!
Mhall46184@aol.com
Groovin’ to the Hootenanny of Time
The years sneak by, as we were told
But still –
How strange it is to be this old!
Monday, May 30, 2016
Nobody Apologized - column
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Nobody Apologized
From reading the popular press the naïve among us might infer that in August of 1945 the world was in a happy state of peace and repose, and that President Truman, with nothing much else to do, ordered an atomic bomb to be dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. For no reason. No reason at all.
Last week the President of the United States visited Japan, and was expected to apologize. Although he did say a few fatuous things about some nebulous concept called evolving morality (what, really, does that mean?), he did not apologize for the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Better individuals than I have studied everything dispassionately and concluded that dropping the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was bad. Others, also better than I, studied the same primary sources and concluded that dropping the bombs ended the war more quickly than was otherwise possible, and in doing so saved the lives of millions of Japanese as well as free-world allies. So, I don’t know. I am thankful never to have been any part of that.
Last week the prime minister of Japan, Shinzo Abe, also did not apologize. He did not apologize for Pearl Harbor, the Philippines, French Indo-China, China, Dutch East Indies, Hong Kong, Borneo, Burma, Nanjing, Malaya, New Guinea, Singapore, Korea, Manchuria, Balalae Island, Andaman Islands, hundreds of death camps, forced labor, starvation, torture, the murder of civilian prisoners, the murder of military prisoners, Unit 731 and numerous other units for experimenting on live prisoners, dissection of living American prisoners at Kyushu Imperial University (but, hey, how ‘bout their football team, eh?), the Three Alls Policy, poison gas attacks, biological attacks, Alexandra Hospital massacre, Banka Island massacre, Balikpapan massacre, Laha Airfield massacre, Manila massacre, Pantingan River massacre, Sandankan massacre, Parit Sulong massacre, Suaid massacres and cannibalism, SS Behar massacre, I-8 massacres, Akikaze massacre, Attu aid station massacre, Sook Ching massacre, Sulug Island massacre, Tol Plantation massacre, Banka Island massacre, Nauru Island massacre, Wake Island massacre, Manila massacre, Bataan Death March, Burma Railway, hell ships, Panjiayu, Sandakan Death Marches, Changteh chemical weapon attack, Kaimingye germ weapons attack, and on and on and on.
There is not a dull word in the survivors’ accounts.
The same old complaint about “Why don’t they teach this in schools?” just won’t do - when the Soviets launched the first Sputnik in 1957 the concept of a broad education for all was jettisoned by the will of the people in favor of technical training. It’s mostly Chinese-made gadgets now. But you can pull up on the computer (usually made in China by a Japanese-owned company) any of the death-camp narratives, put your kid in front of it, and tell him “Boy, you read this before you complain about what a rough life you have.” You could start with the Alexandra Hospital massacre (http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/60/a8515460.shtml).
One purpose of studying history – one of those purportedly fuzzy liberal arts so despised now - is that a young man or woman might question why the government his parents and elders elected should expect him to die next year protecting Japan from China.
Yes, we have all fallen short of the glory of God. All. And that suggests humility for all.
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Nobody Apologized
From reading the popular press the naïve among us might infer that in August of 1945 the world was in a happy state of peace and repose, and that President Truman, with nothing much else to do, ordered an atomic bomb to be dropped on the Japanese city of Hiroshima. For no reason. No reason at all.
Last week the President of the United States visited Japan, and was expected to apologize. Although he did say a few fatuous things about some nebulous concept called evolving morality (what, really, does that mean?), he did not apologize for the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
Better individuals than I have studied everything dispassionately and concluded that dropping the bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki was bad. Others, also better than I, studied the same primary sources and concluded that dropping the bombs ended the war more quickly than was otherwise possible, and in doing so saved the lives of millions of Japanese as well as free-world allies. So, I don’t know. I am thankful never to have been any part of that.
Last week the prime minister of Japan, Shinzo Abe, also did not apologize. He did not apologize for Pearl Harbor, the Philippines, French Indo-China, China, Dutch East Indies, Hong Kong, Borneo, Burma, Nanjing, Malaya, New Guinea, Singapore, Korea, Manchuria, Balalae Island, Andaman Islands, hundreds of death camps, forced labor, starvation, torture, the murder of civilian prisoners, the murder of military prisoners, Unit 731 and numerous other units for experimenting on live prisoners, dissection of living American prisoners at Kyushu Imperial University (but, hey, how ‘bout their football team, eh?), the Three Alls Policy, poison gas attacks, biological attacks, Alexandra Hospital massacre, Banka Island massacre, Balikpapan massacre, Laha Airfield massacre, Manila massacre, Pantingan River massacre, Sandankan massacre, Parit Sulong massacre, Suaid massacres and cannibalism, SS Behar massacre, I-8 massacres, Akikaze massacre, Attu aid station massacre, Sook Ching massacre, Sulug Island massacre, Tol Plantation massacre, Banka Island massacre, Nauru Island massacre, Wake Island massacre, Manila massacre, Bataan Death March, Burma Railway, hell ships, Panjiayu, Sandakan Death Marches, Changteh chemical weapon attack, Kaimingye germ weapons attack, and on and on and on.
There is not a dull word in the survivors’ accounts.
The same old complaint about “Why don’t they teach this in schools?” just won’t do - when the Soviets launched the first Sputnik in 1957 the concept of a broad education for all was jettisoned by the will of the people in favor of technical training. It’s mostly Chinese-made gadgets now. But you can pull up on the computer (usually made in China by a Japanese-owned company) any of the death-camp narratives, put your kid in front of it, and tell him “Boy, you read this before you complain about what a rough life you have.” You could start with the Alexandra Hospital massacre (http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/ww2peopleswar/stories/60/a8515460.shtml).
One purpose of studying history – one of those purportedly fuzzy liberal arts so despised now - is that a young man or woman might question why the government his parents and elders elected should expect him to die next year protecting Japan from China.
Yes, we have all fallen short of the glory of God. All. And that suggests humility for all.
-30-
Saturday, May 28, 2016
Spring Thunderstorm II - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Spring Thunderstorm II
“I am well rebuked.” – St. Thomas More in A Man for all Seasons
An underpass is no good in a storm
You cuddle up with a half-pint of plonk
Hiding it from those who are meaner than you
But they will probably find it anyway
The young have hopes that someday this will end
Humiliation, degradation, fear
The old have only memories of hope
And die in dreams of happiness long ago
Since if you wrap yourself in an underpass
You still have nothing but cold rain and death
Mhall46184@aol.com
Spring Thunderstorm II
“I am well rebuked.” – St. Thomas More in A Man for all Seasons
An underpass is no good in a storm
You cuddle up with a half-pint of plonk
Hiding it from those who are meaner than you
But they will probably find it anyway
The young have hopes that someday this will end
Humiliation, degradation, fear
The old have only memories of hope
And die in dreams of happiness long ago
Since if you wrap yourself in an underpass
You still have nothing but cold rain and death
Spring Thunderstorm I - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Spring Thunderstorm I
A house is like a blanket; in a storm
You cuddle up with cozy walls, and pull
The roof over your head against the rain
As lightning flashes through the window pane
And thunder is a bully, all full of himself
He tries to interrupt you as you read
Or sew or listen to the radio -
How tiresome the rain, lightning, thunder, and wind!
But if you wrap the house around yourself
It’s like your favorite blanket, safe and warm
Mhall46184@aol.com
Spring Thunderstorm I
A house is like a blanket; in a storm
You cuddle up with cozy walls, and pull
The roof over your head against the rain
As lightning flashes through the window pane
And thunder is a bully, all full of himself
He tries to interrupt you as you read
Or sew or listen to the radio -
How tiresome the rain, lightning, thunder, and wind!
But if you wrap the house around yourself
It’s like your favorite blanket, safe and warm
The First Supper - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The First Supper
For all who wait tables
Who sets the table for the Passover Seder
In a rented room? Hoping that the guests
Won’t pinch too many salt cellars or knives
Or stay too late while the poor waiters yawn
And hope for a generous gratuity
For having to work so late on a holiday
Muttering sourly among themselves
“Why is this night longer than other nights?”
And will they want the bill split twelve ways?
Who sets the table for the Passover Seder?
Mhall46184@aol.com
The First Supper
For all who wait tables
Who sets the table for the Passover Seder
In a rented room? Hoping that the guests
Won’t pinch too many salt cellars or knives
Or stay too late while the poor waiters yawn
And hope for a generous gratuity
For having to work so late on a holiday
Muttering sourly among themselves
“Why is this night longer than other nights?”
And will they want the bill split twelve ways?
Who sets the table for the Passover Seder?
Thursday, May 26, 2016
Is Your Chakra Unbalanced? - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Is Your Chakra Unbalanced?
You haven’t adjusted your chakra yet?
You’d better make an appointment with the vet!
Mhall46184@aol.com
Is Your Chakra Unbalanced?
You haven’t adjusted your chakra yet?
You’d better make an appointment with the vet!
Tuesday, May 24, 2016
You Can't Squeeze a Turnip out of Blood - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
You Can’t Squeeze a Turnip Out of Blood
A ship deserting a sinking rat
An envelope pushing anything else
A committee thinking inside a box
Or being reinvented by a wheel
A woman picking up the jaw she dropped
And shelves flying onto the product
A minor motion picture, unpacked jam
Something about a girl with bathroom eyes
The more change things the change more things
For the hamster turning though the wheel is dead
Mhall46184@aol.com
You Can’t Squeeze a Turnip Out of Blood
A ship deserting a sinking rat
An envelope pushing anything else
A committee thinking inside a box
Or being reinvented by a wheel
A woman picking up the jaw she dropped
And shelves flying onto the product
A minor motion picture, unpacked jam
Something about a girl with bathroom eyes
The more change things the change more things
For the hamster turning though the wheel is dead
Estate Sale - Books $2 - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Estate Sale – Books $2
Saint Joseph Sunday missals on a shelf
Four small ribboned missals, one for each child
“Introibo ad altare Dei
Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.”
Fifty years later, the same little books
Still in a row on the same little shelf
Waiting for the little hands that never again
Will reach for them while Dad honks the truck horn
And Mom fusses with the slow-cooker stew
On a Sunday that God remembers with joy
Mhall46184@aol.com
Estate Sale – Books $2
Saint Joseph Sunday missals on a shelf
Four small ribboned missals, one for each child
“Introibo ad altare Dei
Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam.”
Fifty years later, the same little books
Still in a row on the same little shelf
Waiting for the little hands that never again
Will reach for them while Dad honks the truck horn
And Mom fusses with the slow-cooker stew
On a Sunday that God remembers with joy
Sitting on the Porch - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
When I was a boy I didn’t understand why in the evenings old people liked to sit on the porch with a pipe or a cup of coffee, doing nothing:
Sitting on the Porch
Sitting on the porch, not thinking at all
About the rain dripping off the eaves
The old bird-dog dog dozing on the planks
The yapping puppy annoying the cats
Sharpening a pocketknife, not thinking at all
About boyhood, the war, marriage, children
That last letter from far away, the funeral
And has the coffee finished percolating
“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord…” -
Sitting on the porch, not thinking at all
Mhall46184@aol.com
When I was a boy I didn’t understand why in the evenings old people liked to sit on the porch with a pipe or a cup of coffee, doing nothing:
Sitting on the Porch
Sitting on the porch, not thinking at all
About the rain dripping off the eaves
The old bird-dog dog dozing on the planks
The yapping puppy annoying the cats
Sharpening a pocketknife, not thinking at all
About boyhood, the war, marriage, children
That last letter from far away, the funeral
And has the coffee finished percolating
“Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord…” -
Sitting on the porch, not thinking at all
An Extended Family - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
An Extended Family
A recluse is always uncomfortable
Billeted in a crowded and noisy house
Roommates who simply will not get along
Arguing about the cheesecake in the reefer
And whose turn is it to wash the dishes
That radio is entirely too loud
Didn’t anyone pay the electric bill
And will you ever learn to wipe your feet
A big old House upon its Seven Hills -
A recluse is always uncomfortable
Mhall46184@aol.com
An Extended Family
A recluse is always uncomfortable
Billeted in a crowded and noisy house
Roommates who simply will not get along
Arguing about the cheesecake in the reefer
And whose turn is it to wash the dishes
That radio is entirely too loud
Didn’t anyone pay the electric bill
And will you ever learn to wipe your feet
A big old House upon its Seven Hills -
A recluse is always uncomfortable
Monday, May 23, 2016
Undeclared War is Good Business - Invest Your Daughter - column
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhll46184@aol.com
22 May 2016
Undeclared War is Good Business – Invest Your Daughter
Mr. Donald Trump’s butler is said to have said ill-mannered things about the President. I don’t understand this – my butler never speaks inappropriately.
+ + +
Prime Minister Trudeau got into an almost Long Branch Saloon tussle on the floor in Parliament last week, strong-arming one MP, elbowing another, and pushing others aside, like the new sheriff coming in to clean up Wild West Ottawa. A helpful video explains the dust-up employing not cowboy metaphors but sports terminology: http://www.macleans.ca/news/unsportsmanlike-politics-kerry-fraser-refs-the-thrilla-on-the-hilla/
+ + +
Nicholas Clairmont, who writes for The Atlantic, not only opines that the un-American practice of conscription should be restored but that it should include women. Really. Nicholas Clairmont is a grown man who wants your daughter or granddaughter to be captured by press gangs, shipped out, and shot for the greater glory of Nicholas Clairmont. What a mensch, eh.
+ + +
Freedom from the Freedom from Religion Foundation – now that is a freedom much to be desired.
+ + +
Australians are experimenting with robot ranchers. These machines wander about to monitor crops and cattle while sending computer analysis to (for the present) humans. One imagines the robotic remake of Red River. Or perhaps C3PO as Matt Dillon, not in Gunsmoke but in Vague Chirpy Phaser Noises.
+ + +
Candidates for elected office are chosen by popular vote. The exception is this year’s presidential election in which the voter is expected to vote for the least unpopular. Not even prom king and queen are elected on such a goofy basis.
+ + +
The President, without bothering with Congress, has decided to sell (translation – you’ll pay) weapons to The Glorious Working People’s Peace-Loving Communist Republic of Viet-Nam and to send ships to protect them from the increasingly aggressive Glorious Working People’s Peace-Loving Republic of China. Sounds like 1963 all over again.
Viet-Nam doesn’t like us.
China doesn’t like us.
The Philippine government doesn’t like us.
Japan doesn’t like us.
They just use us against each other.
Maybe the USA could take the Switzerland option and stay out of the coming war in Asia. We could send gung-ho Nicholas Clairmont instead.
-30-
Mhll46184@aol.com
22 May 2016
Undeclared War is Good Business – Invest Your Daughter
Mr. Donald Trump’s butler is said to have said ill-mannered things about the President. I don’t understand this – my butler never speaks inappropriately.
+ + +
Prime Minister Trudeau got into an almost Long Branch Saloon tussle on the floor in Parliament last week, strong-arming one MP, elbowing another, and pushing others aside, like the new sheriff coming in to clean up Wild West Ottawa. A helpful video explains the dust-up employing not cowboy metaphors but sports terminology: http://www.macleans.ca/news/unsportsmanlike-politics-kerry-fraser-refs-the-thrilla-on-the-hilla/
+ + +
Nicholas Clairmont, who writes for The Atlantic, not only opines that the un-American practice of conscription should be restored but that it should include women. Really. Nicholas Clairmont is a grown man who wants your daughter or granddaughter to be captured by press gangs, shipped out, and shot for the greater glory of Nicholas Clairmont. What a mensch, eh.
+ + +
Freedom from the Freedom from Religion Foundation – now that is a freedom much to be desired.
+ + +
Australians are experimenting with robot ranchers. These machines wander about to monitor crops and cattle while sending computer analysis to (for the present) humans. One imagines the robotic remake of Red River. Or perhaps C3PO as Matt Dillon, not in Gunsmoke but in Vague Chirpy Phaser Noises.
+ + +
Candidates for elected office are chosen by popular vote. The exception is this year’s presidential election in which the voter is expected to vote for the least unpopular. Not even prom king and queen are elected on such a goofy basis.
+ + +
The President, without bothering with Congress, has decided to sell (translation – you’ll pay) weapons to The Glorious Working People’s Peace-Loving Communist Republic of Viet-Nam and to send ships to protect them from the increasingly aggressive Glorious Working People’s Peace-Loving Republic of China. Sounds like 1963 all over again.
Viet-Nam doesn’t like us.
China doesn’t like us.
The Philippine government doesn’t like us.
Japan doesn’t like us.
They just use us against each other.
Maybe the USA could take the Switzerland option and stay out of the coming war in Asia. We could send gung-ho Nicholas Clairmont instead.
-30-
Thursday, May 19, 2016
If the Universe is Mechanical - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
If the Universe is Mechanical
If the universe is mechanical
Then it is badly out of tune and time
Clattering erratically around our souls
A clockwork badly needing winding up
Whoever held the key has lost it, though
And a bent thought won’t make it go again
As it tock-ticks in the back of a shop
Of cosmic pawns there accumulating dust
From stars remaindered from a holiday sale -
If the universe is mechanical
Mhall46184@aol.com
If the Universe is Mechanical
If the universe is mechanical
Then it is badly out of tune and time
Clattering erratically around our souls
A clockwork badly needing winding up
Whoever held the key has lost it, though
And a bent thought won’t make it go again
As it tock-ticks in the back of a shop
Of cosmic pawns there accumulating dust
From stars remaindered from a holiday sale -
If the universe is mechanical
Pick up Your Brass - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Pick up Your Brass
The rubrics of the firing range are clear
And most importantly, pick up your brass -
In learning to shoot, tidiness is most dear
And empty casings chap the sergeant’s…soul
Mhall46184@aol.com
Pick up Your Brass
The rubrics of the firing range are clear
And most importantly, pick up your brass -
In learning to shoot, tidiness is most dear
And empty casings chap the sergeant’s…soul
Duck and Cover - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Duck and Cover
The duck and cover drill was never frightening
Not like arithmetic, or the teacher’s stare
For if the rockets fell, no more homework
Or switch-inducing notes to Mom and Dad
“Mack is a smart boy but needs to work harder.”
We crouched beside our desks and giggled
About old Kruschev bombing Kirbyville
Any American could whip three Commies
We had John Wayne and President Eisenhower
And so
The duck and cover drill was never frightening
Mhall46184@aol.com
Duck and Cover
The duck and cover drill was never frightening
Not like arithmetic, or the teacher’s stare
For if the rockets fell, no more homework
Or switch-inducing notes to Mom and Dad
“Mack is a smart boy but needs to work harder.”
We crouched beside our desks and giggled
About old Kruschev bombing Kirbyville
Any American could whip three Commies
We had John Wayne and President Eisenhower
And so
The duck and cover drill was never frightening
Night Prayer - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Night Prayer
Tobacco smoke rises from the bowl of a pipe
Like incense or thoughts, or dreams drifting up
Into the gathering dusk, the compline hour
A liturgy at the end of the day
That celebration of needful solitude
With the philosopher’s tools of light and shade
The evening lawn, an open book unread
A dog perhaps, in somnolent repose
Surely thinking how wonderful you are -
Tranquility rises from the bowl of a pipe
Mhall46184@aol.com
Night Prayer
Tobacco smoke rises from the bowl of a pipe
Like incense or thoughts, or dreams drifting up
Into the gathering dusk, the compline hour
A liturgy at the end of the day
That celebration of needful solitude
With the philosopher’s tools of light and shade
The evening lawn, an open book unread
A dog perhaps, in somnolent repose
Surely thinking how wonderful you are -
Tranquility rises from the bowl of a pipe
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