Spinning Seventy-Fives - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Spinning Seventy-Fives

We sang so cheerfully about far death
And seasons in the sun, without any fear
For we would be forever young and tanned
Splashing about in the happy shoals of life

The new hi-fi was almost everything
An altar to the religion of youth
The latest spinnings our gospels of truth
Before communion in afternoon kisses

And now we search for long-lost seventy-fives
And dream so gratefully about far life

About the Type - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

About the Type

The text of this book was carefully set
In Elbow Macaroni Minus Bold
Designed by Minus Minor the Younger
Who created it in the tradition

Of non-received mediaeval Street Vendor
Emeritus Yonkerite Torchlight font.
Minor the Younger also served the Landgraf
Ludovicus Ficus von Superbus

As Secundus Keeper of the Privy Privy
And warden of the palace coffee grounds

A Pedestrian Statue - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

A Pedestrian Statue

A plebeian pedestrian on a plinth
A plinth in its place in a people’s park -
He leads a charge of ordinariness
From the bus stop to the coffee shop

His evening newspaper wielded in defiance
Of an unseen enemy far away
Beyond the carefully planted shrubs and lawns
His victory is a quiet cup of joe

No noble blood in him, not even a tenth
Our happy pedestrian on his plinth

Happy Palace Bakery - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Happy Palace Bakery

No one seems especially happy today
And a cube of cinder blocks is no palace
Fluorescent lights flicker most plebeianly
On a picture of Angkor Wat at dawn

A pale Cambodian sun rises over gods
Watching silently for a thousand years
And here the sun rises over kolaches,
Rolls, doughnuts, apple fritters, and croissants

Whose supplicants process in pickup trucks
In quest of truth and the blessings of carbs

The Happy Reaper - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Happy Reaper

Maybe Death should be personified as a
Merry mayhemic fellow, chopping heads
While laughing through his homicidal day
Fitting taller people into shorter beds

The Merry Reaper isn’t really grim
Lurking about and cackling in mania;
He’s simply doing what is best for him
Relieving humans of their crania

He keeps his lawn trim, and he’s really sweet,
And he lives up the block, along your street!

The Pleasants' Revolt - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Pleasants’ Revolt

No problem have a nice day thank you for
Not smoking sanitized for your protection
Your call is important to us hello my
Name is how’s my driving for quality

Control this call may be monitored
Customer satisfaction is goal one
We treat you like family please hold for
The next available representative

Sanitized for your protection your call
Is important to us hello my name

August - June - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

August - June

They are but faces, not even faces
But ovoid fuzzes like the innocents
In crime photographs (he was a quiet man
Who kept to himself, but his lawn was neat)

As term progresses their faces fill in
With the lines and colors of their stories
And when each story is brought up to date
Like Hamelin’s children they disappear

The years erase the chalkboard, but faces,
Faces and stories, linger forever

What We Talk About When We Talk About - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

What We Talk About When We Talk About

Or

Let’s Begin the Conversation

What we talk about what we talk about
What we mean when we say what we mean
Empowering what we mean when we talk
About the resistance he will not divide

Us secure the existence of the people
Speaking power to truth sanctuary
Debate what we mean when we talk about
Campaign promises ho ho and hey hey

We have only so many rhymes, okay?
What we talk about what we talk about

Doctor Ponsonby's Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering Electrical Rosary

This ilke Monk leet olde thynges pace,

And heeld after the newe world the space.

-Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales

How out of date are simple wooden beads
An upgrade is what the Rosary needs!

Something to give your meditations spice
Connected to your electronic device

Beamed back and forth to The Cloud, you see
With mega-mega gigs of memory

Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary is just the thing!

The Ave Maria is so out of date
It’s Ave ME now, ‘cause we’re all so great!

Make your prayers less about God, more about you
Signal yourself through sacred Tooth of Blue

A camera hidden in the crucifix
Enables you to take your selfie-flicks

The Pater beads count each joggery mile
Or kilometres if those are your style

The Ave beads are recycled with care
To save the forests, the rivers, and air

Designed in Germany, made in China
High-definition beads; there’s nothing finer

Buy the first (as advertised on tv)
And we’ll send you a second all for free

Remember: for weddings, funerals, and daily devotions
Let RAM and ROM go through all the motions

Doctor Ponsonby’s Patented Empowering
Electrical Rosary – O make it sing!

Alter Christus, Alter Vir - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Alter Christus, Alter Vir

For Reverend Angelo J. Liteky

He died three times, for other men
Who lived because he died – once in Indochina
Once in his vocation, and one last time
Forgotten in a poor hospital bed

Soul-wounded in the false, incessant wars
Humanity inflicts upon itself
Fallenness falling again, ever fallen
And the ever-falling fell upon him

Though he lifted his love – always for others
He died again – and who will live for him?

Little Frankie - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Little Frankie

For Jacob Garza

His name is really Jake, but he doesn’t know that,
Not yet. He knows lots of other things, though:
That slowly turning fans are fun to watch
And “Ode to Joy” plays from a little box

He knows how to smile and wiggle and kick
And coo along with the songs of the wind
And when he’s tired and needs a hug or a nap
Aunt Beverly will hold him all afternoon

His name is Jake. He’s new to the world;
He doesn’t know his name – but he knows love

What the Pope Said About the President - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

What the Pope Said About the President

If the pope said what they said that they said
That they said that they said that they said that
They said that they said that they said that they
Said that they said the pope…
                                                  I dunno

Maybe We'll Hear Better after the Revolution - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Maybe We’ll Hear Better after the Revolution1

Some pause, some charge, some flee, some fly
Protestors wild in riot run
Methought these poor ears heard them cry
“Asparagus for everyone!”

1cf. Doctor Zhivago

The Amber Room of the Czars, as Re-Imagined for a Hotel Lobby - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Amber Room of the Czars, as Re-Imagined for a Hotel Lobby

A bloated Calvinist acquired and built
In vanity, in glory to himself
A pleasure-cube of cubits many, high
But not as high as vanity ascends

Like ziggurats, in mockery of Heaven,
Wherein strange brazen chariots in tubes
Ascend, descend, bearing those mighty men
Who bear their manhoods cheap i’th’ presence of

Their alpha whale on whom hair never sets
That bloated Calvinist Epiphanes

(Exeunt omnes, disdained by a toad)


[Allusions to Genesis, Coleridge, Shakespeare, and Milton]

If You Pick Up a Dream - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

If You Pick Up a Dream

If you pick up a dream, it might explode
Shooting pulses of light into the skies
And winds of words to wheel among the wings
Of truths in flight above a moonlit night

If you pick up a dream, it might explode
Into disasters unimaginable
But realized all the same, in smoking ruins
Of fragile constructs thoughtlessly knocked down

Be careful, then, along your pilgrim road:
If you pick up a dream, it might explode

Thank You for Your Service - Now Shut Up - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Thank You for Your Service – Now Shut Up

Heat, mud, mosquitos, humiliation
Despair, stand to, stand down, stand to again
Wait, wait, the trucks are late; you’ll have to march
Do something with these bodies, Godammit

Damp, rot, no sleep for how many days now
Your promotion got misplaced in Saigon
We gave your medal to an officer
Because we had more officers than medals

What do you know; you weren’t in a real war
My cousin was; he told me all about it

A Cloud of Scary Witness - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

A Cloudy of Scary Witness

And so it came to pass on the fifth of February
The Prayers over the Offerings spoke thus:

…created things
to sustain us in our frailty

There seemed to be a poem in those lines
To be developed with full credit to
The copyright holders, and thus it is written:

…from the Lectionary for Mass ©
1968, 1981,
1997, International Committee
of English in the Liturgy, Inc.
Washington, DC. All rights reserved. Excerpts
from the Lectionary for Mass, copyright
© 1970, 1998, by the Confraternity
of Christian Doctrine, Washington, DC
are reproduced herein by license of
said copyright owner. All rights reserved.
No part of the New American Bible
may be reproduced in any form without
permission in writing from the Confraternity
of Christian Doctrine, Washington, DC.
Published with the approval of the Committee
on the Liturgy, National Council of
Catholic Bishops. Please write for information
on our other publications.

But maybe not. How much frailty can one bear?

What Did the President Not Know and When Did He Not Know It? - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

What Did the President Not Know and When Did He Not know It?

Ripped from the Headlines!

Defiant Flynn insists he crossed no lines
Leakers must be prosecuted Obama
Wars of identity loyalists waged secret
Campaign to oust weaponized spin

Putin anonymous spooks agenda
Engineered “soft coup” intel chair FBI
Agenda fear Trump assassination
Needs to explained recorded calls leaks fear

The commentators yelp, the twooters groan
But no one seems to know what’s going on

An Open Letter to... - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

An Open Letter to…

A response to the recent fashion, victim-y and self-obsessed, of open letters

Dear Mean People,

You don’t know me but I know you hate me
Because you are not me so I hate you
Even though I don’t know you, but you hate me
For not being as kind and loving as me

So I forgive you, you Facs…Fascs…Fascists
For not thinking and feeling just like me
You just don’t understand my special needs
How my soul is a flower that always bleeds

Because your jack-boots stomped all over my heart
And I’ve got a degree; respect my smart

Good Morning, Caller... - poem

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Good Morning, Caller…

My son was diagnosed with monitoring
Resources I know he’s not the perfect
Child screaming obscenities but acting
Out one-on-one the other children don’t

Like him OCD bi-polar borderline
Medications overexcitabilities
Acting out his needs inclusivity
Outreach special needs EQ his options

A cry for help individualized socialization
My son was diagnosed my me mine I