Sunday, May 6, 2018

Dreamcatchers Along a Navajo Road - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Dreamcatchers Along a Navajo Road

“…the war…often seems to have happened to someone else.”

-C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

A pickup truck beside a Navajo road
Tables of souvenirs, a Thermos of coffee
Clotheslines of dreamcatchers catching the sun
For now; the dreams must wait for sleepless hours

“You were in Viet-Nam,” the old man said
To another old man. No mystery;
He simply took a chance to make a sale
And did, for both had known the Vam Co Tay

Old men along the road, catchers of dreams
Who burned their chances in the long ago

Saturday, May 5, 2018

Thoughts of a Man Deferentially Silent During a Conversation Between his Daughter and his Wife - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Thoughts of a Man Deferentially Silent
During a Conversation Between his Daughter and his Wife

How is it that a man can live a long
And happy life in the service of God
And humanity without ever having made
A deep study of the cultivation
Of eyelashes?

Friday, May 4, 2018

0300, and all is not well - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

0300, and all is not well

“…or if we must be wakeful, cheerful…”
-from St. Thomas More’s evening prayer in A Man for all Seasons

Soft, healing sleep now rolls away, away
One’s senses flicker unreliably
The electronic weather panel glows
The CPAP whispers a leaking-air hissssssss

Awake. And why? The day was cruel enough
And now the night reproaches with things done
And things not done, all mixed in raw reproach
Life-choices laughing, mocking, taunting

Perhaps sleepless Macbeth can tell us why
With mirth displaced, all through these haunted hours

Thursday, May 3, 2018

When a Plan That Wasn't Made Doesn't Come Together - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

When a Plan That Wasn’t Made Doesn’t Come Together

One loves it when a plan that wasn’t made
Doesn’t come together in a hall that wasn’t hired
By a man who was never told to hire
The hall by a committee that never met

And thus the event which was never held
Was not postponed by the man never told
To postpone the event that was never planned
By a committee that never met anywhere

One loves it when a plan that wasn’t made
Leaves one at peace with book and pipe and Scotch

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

The Tragic Death of a New World Vulture - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Tragic Death of a New World Vulture

Cruisin’ best speed, foot lightly on the gas
But suddenly, alarm, alack, alas!
Around a curve, vultures lunching en masse
(On ‘possum de jour, a rotting, sodden mass)
One panicked bird leaped up to fly and pass
But wobble-crashed into the windshield glass
He bumped, he bounced, he bonked upon his (brass)
His life flailed out among the roadside grass

Tuesday, May 1, 2018

Off the Beaten Cliche' - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Off the Beaten Cliché

Upon Reading Literary Reviews

Off the beaten path – is that part of the trail
That was blazed after the door to the future
Was unlocked with the key of somethingness
As an imaginative entrée, hmmmmmmm?

How dangerous it now must be to walk
Beneath that stress-fractured ceiling of glass
Paving the way that was blazed and unlocked
With the key to the future where dreams live

The oppressed voiceless up in champagne class
In resistance to the something-archy

And let The People yawn “iconic”

Monday, April 30, 2018

The Arts Community is Watching You Carefully - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


The Arts Community

First Member of Social Group to Number Forty Two: “All right, you say you're a poet and you were composing, and you failed to hear Number Ten's greeting.”

Second Member of Social Group, accusingly: “Neglect of social principle.”

Number Six: “Poetry has a social value?

Number Forty Two to Number Six: “You're trying to undermine my rehabilitation! Disrupt my social progress!”

Number Six: “Strange talk for a poet.”

-The Prisoner, “A Change of Mind”

The arts community unmutuals
The individual who dares presume
To work outside The Committee’s deep love
For democratic creativity

The arts community instructs us all
In unison chanting freedom of thought
Painting, writing, and thinking within the lines
As set before us harmoniously

The arts community sets us all free
As long as we are free obediently

Sunday, April 29, 2018

Who IS Jack Robinson, Anyway? (But Bob's Your Uncle!) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Who is Jack Robinson, Anyway?

(But Bob’s Your Uncle!)

Before you can say “Jack Robinson”
You’ll want to pause and take another breath
Your heart will beat tum-tum-tiddly-tum times
The earth will rotate on its axis some

Before you can say “Jack Robinson”
You’ll wonder if you brushed your teeth after lunch
The clock will go on strike for four o’clock
The moon will hold her mirror to the sun

Before you can say “Jack Robinson”
You will forget why you meant to say that

Saturday, April 28, 2018

Selling Jesus at the Truck Stop - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Selling Jesus at the Truck Stop

A table of Jesus-stuff at the door
A beefish man in gas-station shades
Channeling Chaucer’s Pardoner – he ain't
Never heard of him – in peddling salvation

“It’s for the church. It’s for the missions,” he says
Ignored by most. Then in a mutton moment
He spreads his legs and clutches at his (faith)
Laughing a pelvic thrust at his fellow apostle

A gormless guide to The Golden Shore
Touting tawdries and tidings at the truck stop door

Friday, April 27, 2018

The Weekly Hollering Lady at Tia Linda's Get 'N' Go - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Weekly Hollering Lady at Tia Linda’s Get ‘N’ Go

“I sure like your blowed-up hair!
A lovely day!
A lovely day!
Let’s light a candle for your blowed-up hair!

No ideas for being locked in for a week!
It’s later!
Play with the peacocks and the monkeys yesterday!
Play with the peacocks and the monkeys yesterday!

Well y’all have a blessed day! A blessed day!”

A kind voice from the next booth: “Bless her heart.”

Amen

We Could Ask for King George III Back - column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

We Could Ask for Santa Anna or King George III Back

Last week there was a merry meeting of the democratically-elected Houston I.S.D. school trustees with lots of adults yelling at each other “for the children” (https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/answer-sheet/wp/2018/04/25/wild-night-at-houston-school-board-meeting-as-police-drag-out-protesters/?noredirect=on&utm_term=.8bd7fc283371).

The democratically-elected board president, someone wielding a hyphen between her two names, ordered the boardroom cleared so that the people’s business could be continued. Removing the people from the people’s meeting dealing with the people’s business seems contradictory, but when there is disruption this is legal and necessary.

One of the people was shown being cop-pulled along the floor on her aspiration, but since the floor had recently been waxed by the always unappreciated cleaners she suffered only indignity. After a while the two police officers stopped (they seemed to be tired from the exertion of heaving democracy along) and asked the lady if she would like to walk now, and she did, and they helped her up, and life went on.

The thoughtful observer asks himself if any of the unhappy people yelling at their democratically-elected trustees, including the trustee with the hyphen, bothered to vote for or against them in the previous school board election.

Y’r ‘umble scrivener recuses himself from commenting on the specifics of the people’s business being conducted, but will address the matter of government by guerilla theatre.

Americans seem to have developed a tendency to try to govern by yelling instead of by voting. Only about 50% of the electorate – those people who are registered to vote - participated in the last several presidential elections. Democrats, Republicans, and all those little inhaled-too-much-weird-stuff parties yell and scream and ALL-CAPS on the InterGossip, but they don’t vote. Perhaps they are too busy yelling at or along with the fat boys on a.m. radio to do so.

Local school board elections are more important than presidential elections, because democratically-elected school boards are the people’s democratically-elected trustees, charged by the people with establishing local school policy in all matters, from curriculum to choosing the brand of floor wax for the people to be pulled along upon, and funding the people’s schools by assessing, taxing, and spending millions of dollars of tax revenues. School boards also hire and fire everyone, from the superintendent to the nice folks (always underpaid and underappreciated) who wax the floors so that the people may be pulled along them with minimal let, hindrance, or friction.

And yet voting in a local school board election is a lonely experience.

There is much babble about the decay of the public school system in this nation, but a prior point is that something that does not exist cannot decay. There has never been a public school system from sea to shining sea; there is only a mess of sometimes conflicting federal laws, state laws, judicial rulings, and policies set by local, democratically-elected boards of trustees.

The local trustees we elect do the metaphorical heavy lifting. While the Texas legislature swoons at the cooings of that seductive foreign publisher who pushes the goofy textbooks and goofier standardized tests inflicted on Texas children, the people’s democratically-elected board of trustees must make our children’s education function in spite of conflicting laws and rulings and edicts.

We the people are those “government schools” sneered at by the gossips because we the people are the government. It says so in the federal constitution and in the state constitution. If a school is bad it is because we the people make it so by voting for inept trustees or by not voting at all.

Our ancestors rid themselves of kings because they felt that the people knew their own needs best. To fail to vote is to surrender that individual power our ancestors sacrificed to give to us.

There is dignity in the exercise of power through the vote; there is only embarrassment in waving a MePhone around while yelling like an ill-raised brat.

In Texas, a very few good men and women are freely choosing the governance of their schools by secret ballot through the 5th of May. There aren’t many people voting, only the best, and you can choose to be one of the best.

-30-

Thursday, April 26, 2018

A Movie Review over Coffee at Tia Linda's Get 'N' Go - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Movie Review over Coffee at Tia Linda’s Get ‘N’ Go

V: “There was this police chief and the cartels
beheaded his wife so it was vengeance
ride time and then they raided this house with
armored personnel carriers and 7.63

machine guns and stuff and BOOM! and there was
heads in the walls ‘cause they’d hid the bodies
in the walls man it was gross and then they
sneaked up on the super-secret cartel

bunkers and silently killed all the guards…”

R: “Well, I guess I got to get to work now…”

Wednesday, April 25, 2018

The Wheels on the Quantum Bus Go 'Round or Not, But Not Simultaneously - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Wheels on the Quantum Bus
Go ‘Round or Not, But Not Simultaneously

Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle
Is certainly not uncertain at all
Or, rather, to avoid the negative
The certainty is that no one gets it

Not even the skilled quantum mechanic
That thoughtful hermitian operator
On his symmetry-breaking creeper beneath
A cosmological Schrodinger’s Cat

Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle
Doesn’t rhyme with orange or anything else

(Observation Changes) The End

Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Cerulean - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Cerulean

Once upon a time
I calligraphed “cerulean” -
Now I just write “blue”

Monday, April 23, 2018

Friends Don't Let Friends Sing Barbershop - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Friends Don’t Let Friends Sing Barbershop

For the CBC Anchormen’s Quintet

Take the keys (of C and G), call a cab
Take the ‘phone from the moaning baritone
Bury their sheet music beneath a slab
And chase from the bass the inverted cone

Hot coffee to purge demons a capella
With fervent prayers to our merciful Lord
Please save each and every harmonic fella
And free them from the ringing chord

Oh, call a priest, call a mom, call a cop
Because friends don’t let friends sing barbershop

Sunday, April 22, 2018

Most Things End in Sorrow - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Most Things End in Sorrow

The happiest marriages we’ll ever know
End in death; the unhappy marriages
Decay in cycles of disappointment
And fall apart in court on a working day

A glorious autumn ends in blue-ice winds
A favorite childhood toy is forever lost
An anticipated promotion is denied
And golden youth in hospice slips away

But morning’s cup of courage freshens hope,
And the world is optimistically green

Saturday, April 21, 2018

Oh, Let You NOT Show me a Cute picture - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Oh, Let You Not Show me a Cute Picture…

Oh, let me show you this cute picture
I found on the internet; it’s right here
Oh, wait, it was right here; let me find it
You’re going to like it, just the thing you like

Here it is - no, wait, that’s not it; now where
Is it; let me just scroll down here - no, wait,
Maybe I should just scroll the other way
I know you’re going to like this, really

I know you’re in a hurry but this is cute
Now isn’t this just the funniest thing…?

No?

Friday, April 20, 2018

A Copy of The Oxford Book of English Verse - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A copy of The Oxford Book of English Verse Remaindered from
the London Borough of Barking and Dagenham Public Libraries

This happy gift of 1939
Rescued from the good comrades’ loving fires
From the liberation of censorship
From the gentle criminalization of thought

This little book and its happy, dancing lines
Crafted with thought and care and art and love
A celebration of civilization
Oh, save it, read it, love it, smuggle it

Because

More dangerous to tyrants than weapons
Are the poems of a people living free

Cinco de Mayo - column

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Cinco de Mayo

When in the middle of the 19th century France decided that the conquest of Mexico would compensate for the loss of its previous North American empire, the Austrian empire provided one of their extra archdukes to serve as a sock-puppet emperor. Both the French and the Austrian governments expected to enrich themselves by looting, exploiting, and taxing Mexicans, a program which anticipated our own Internal Revenue Service.

President Lincoln was opposed to the scheme, not from any love of the Mexican people but from fear of French intervention on the Confederate side in the Civil War. There is a possibility that the Confederacy meant to seize Cuba from the Spanish and create an empire centered on the Gulf of Mexico, a Southern Mare Nostrum. Beyond all this, the Spanish, the English, and the French were already involved in Mexico and the Gulf for their own purposes. And beyond yet all this, Mexico, after years of civil war, was divided, with many considering government by the French better than ongoing violence, starvation, and economic collapse. Some of the quarreling Mexican factions invited France and Archduke Maximilian to Mexico.

In sum, everyone was against everyone.

The French army had not lost a battle in over fifty years (anyone who dismisses the courage, character, and aggressiveness of the French soldier is ignorant of history), and through superior organization, technology, and numbers, and poor intelligence from its spies, assumed that they would be victorious in Mexico.

Marching from Vera Cruz to Mexico City in the spring of 1862, the French were assured by spies and propagandists that the citizens of Puebla de los Angeles would welcome them with flowers.

Instead of flowers, Mexicans welcomed the French army with archaic Brown Bess muskets sold them by the English long before as war surplus. The Mexican victory was wholly unexpected, and the whole French invasion timetable had to be re-set.

The invaders reorganized, and with reinforcements and craftier leadership occupied Mexico City within a year and set the Hapsburg upon his throne for a brief reign that ended before a firing squad in 1867.

The theme of this first Battle of Puebla (there were two others) on the 5th of May, 1862 was that it showed that a poorly-organized but determined Mexican militia and populace could defeat a modern European army. This gave the people hope, and led eventually to their victory over the occupiers in 1867.

Maximilian was a liberal in the old-fashioned sense, and proposed reforms for agricultural laborers and the poor which in the end could not be carried out. Too bad Juarez had him shot instead of employing him; Maximilian had restructured the Austrian navy into a real battle force, and could have done the same for the Mexican navy.

On the fifth of May this year we have important elections in Texas, free elections. Maximilian, a monarchist, disapproved of government of the people, but Benito Juarez, a republican-with-a-small-r, said people should show up and vote for their leaders. He would be disappointed to see that most Texans don’t vote at all. They listen to the a.m. radio boys and complain about their several governing entities, but seem to think that self-government is a spectator sport.

Maximilian would have been okay with that sort of passivity.

We have many reasons to think about Cinco de Mayo this year.

-30-

Thursday, April 19, 2018

We Lay Our Coats Down at the Feet of Saul - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

We Lay Our Coats Down at the Feet of Saul

We lay our coats down at the feet of Saul,
And stones we hurl, curses and stones:
                                                                libtard,
     Fascist, snowflake, reactionary, slime
     Commie, demoncrat, shrillary, trumptard,

     Republicrap, boomer, millennial,
     Commie, moron, alt-right, leftie, scumbag,
     Crayon-people, pansy, tape-worm, muppet, dweeb,
     Sock-puppet, Russkie, nazi, trash, and creep

And thus we deny the Cornerstone when
We lay our coats down at the feet of Saul