Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Poetry - All Dressed up with Some Place to Go - two poems
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poetry – Dressed up with Some Place to Go
A poem need not be so overdressed
That it embarrasses free-verse poseurs
Awash in self-absorbed, self-pitying tears
The sound of one first-person pronoun clapping
But still they should be instructed
That a poem is not about the poet
It is about the reader who has turned
His attention and the writer’s pages
To the existential questions of life
And so is properly dressed for its work
Poetry – Slouched in a Chambray Shirt and Old Khakis
Dude! Slack me some slack here - my weekend words
Deserve to wear the untied sneakers of life
Kicked back, kicked up, with a cosmic crossword
To puzzle out with coffee and iambic-free buttered toast of indeterminate
scansion and crumbs
Since scribblers should be comforted
For a poem is about the poet too
Turning his thoughts and the reader’s pages
To those same questions, but with half-and-half
Sloshed into both the coffee and one’s art
And so is properly dressed for the porch
Saint Boniface - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Saint Boniface
Saint Boniface chopped down a pagan oak
The followers of Thor resented the bloke
So some years after that witching tree fell
Those pagans chopped down that Englishman as well!
Transfiguration - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Transfiguration
A mysterious Light shines from Mount Tabor
On the holy Feast near the harvesting
And if a man chooses not see it
He builds a tabernacle in the dark
A stable not picked out by any star
An altar without any sacrifice
A pilgrim road that twists back on itself
A hymn in praise of hollow sentiment
If a man sees it not, he is not changed -
A mysterious Light shines from Mount Tabor
The Dragon Defense - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Dragon Defense
A dragon-errant went a-questing for
A cruel, fire-breathing knight who terrorized
The huts and hovels of poor villagers
Who humbly toiled and tilled the sacred earth
And yearly in October sacrificed
A maiden innocent in every way
To slake the dark and intemperate lusts
Of the violent and satanic knight
And thus at last the story is made right:
Take not the word of a fire-breathing knight!
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Date of Departure Unknown - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Date of Departure Unknown
Green leaves are like the sails of fairy ships
Set fully by their sailors in the spring
But moored in harbor all the summer months
Awaiting orders to cast off and launch
We pass the waiting time in sorting out
The fancies and the dreams we want to pack
Into the hold of our wind-singing ship
And poring over charts yet to be drawn
‘Til Ceres and Demeter bid us go -
Green leaves are like the sails of fairy ships
The Latest Hundred-Year Flood - poem
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Latest Hundred-Year Flood
Another hundred-year flood this wet week
With south winds gusting and slinging the rain
Wildly off the roofs, hour after dark hour
Sheeting the lawns into green fairy ponds
The woods are black upon a silvered floor
And lightning sends folks inside for the day
To their recurring coffee-corner clashes
About whose rain gauge is more accurate
While the rain sings of ditches, gutters, and drains -
Another hundred-year flooding this week
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
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