Tuesday, June 5, 2018

Upon Reading a Graduation Program Which Features a Clumsily-Formed Sentiment Wrongly Attributed to Shakespeare - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Upon Reading a Graduation Program Which Features
a Clumsily-Formed Sentiment Wrongly Attributed to Shakespeare

Scorn not the printed word, O thoughtful soul,
As Wordsworth 1 did not say, and do not set
An electric machine to grind through files
In search of gobbets all thinky and stuff

For Shakespeare set in iambs clean and neat
All the transcendent ideas of the good,
The beautiful, and the eternal true
Sustained in meters of steel and words of gold



Shakespeare never

                                     wobbled
all over the paper in unmetered rubbish
                                                                                                                  lines
of disconnected babble about stars and selves 2 without any citations for verification
stirred around in a sort of it-sounds-like-Shakespeare-kinda-sorta-they-won’t-care-anyway soup to be copied and pasted onto sheets of 8 1/2” by 11” fake parchment woodpulp because, like, y’know, that’s what you do for graduation ceremonies



1 Wordsworth, “Scorn not the Sonnet”
2 Possibly a misremembering of Cassius’ words to Brutus in Julius Caesar: “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” If so, the quotation has been, like Caesar, assassinated.

Monday, June 4, 2018

Monday Morning after Graduation - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Monday Morning after Graduation

For thirteen years one’s life is organized
By Mom and Dad and the glorious state 1
Passive behavior rewarded and prized
Just work your sums on an electric slate

Bubble in circles with a number two
Glitter-glue posters for every right cause
School’s all about state scores, not about you
And state exams, according to state laws

For thirteen years you were controlled and toyed -
Today you’re just one of the unemployed



1 You are the state. A school will be exactly what you and the other citizens want it to be. Always vote in your local school board elections; self-government is not a spectator sport.

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Life High the Red Cuppa, Rather - a mildly amusing couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Lift High the Red Cuppa, Rather

A proper English Communist, I say,
Should drink only that tea called Comrade Grey

Saturday, June 2, 2018

The People Gather to Honor Their Children Graduating from High School - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The People Gather to Honor Their Children Graduating from High School

To the Accompaniment of “Land of Hope and Glory” on a CD Player
Piped to Speakers on the Artificially Turfed Football Field
 
“Here, sir, the people govern”

-attributed to Alexander Hamilton, Benjamin Franklin, and others

Beards flowing over beer-swollen bellies
Tattoos, tee-shirts reading “I’m With Stupid”
Knee-pants, hairy legs, knives worn openly -
And some of the men are dressed that way too

Bubba caps worn defiantly during the pledge
Cell ‘phones at full wail during the opening prayer
Too few genetic codes and too few teeth
Rattling loudly during the valedictory

And air-horn cousins out on probation
To lend some elegance to graduation

Friday, June 1, 2018

A Doctor Seuss-Free Graduation Poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

On a Morning in June – a Doctor Seuss-Free Graduation Poem

The earth is all before me: with a heart
Joyous, nor scar’d at its own liberty,
I look about, and should the guide I chuse
Be nothing better than a wandering cloud,
I cannot miss my way.

- Wordsworth, Prelude, I.15-19

Soon you’ll depart for your own pilgrimage,
Seafaring through the life God has given you,
To the golden Canterbury of your heart,
Along the sunlit road you’ve chosen to walk,
A pilgrimage, perhaps, to Orwell’s dusty room,
Or deep into the mind of Thomas More
Or far-off Saint James of the Field of Stars,
Or sea-passages swift to Denmark’s shores,
Or fields of sonnets singing in the dawn -
All these you’ll find along your pilgrim road.

Take then, your haversack, and neatly pack
Your book, your song, your dream, a change of clothes
(Your dreams are happier when you wear dry socks)
A prayer that your parsoun will write for you
A cup, a bowl, a pocketknife, a pen;
And do take care to pack those useful words
Learned, shaped, and sharpened, polished from your youth:
The baby-sounds for supper, sandwich, cat,
The childhood sounds for play and your best friend,
Then words from Mom and words from books - and words from  
     you.

Words flown by you in dreams like sunlit sails
Then shaped again in pencil or in ink
And flung in hope upon a waiting leaf
Words made by you for honest purposes
And never employed in wicked deceit,
For thieves might steal your book, your song, your hopes,
And time decay your purposes and strength
But your own words, oh, yes, your good, strong words,
Like an old pair of boots will see you through
To your heart’s desire at your journey’s end.

Thursday, May 31, 2018

Existential Ants - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Someone mentioned existential angst the other day. At first I misread “existential angst” as “existential ants,” and so I dedicate this doggerel (why is there never catteral?) to all of you who suffer existential angst or existential ants:

Existential Ants

All creepy ants are existential ants
If ants across your old blue jeans advance
And bite into your tender skin by chance
You leap into an existential dance

And swear profane, wild, existential chants
Your good companions look at you askance
Each with a wondering existential glance
They seem to be in an existential trance

As you flail among the flowering plants
Because of those wicked existential ants!

Attack of the Robot Disposable Plastic Cups - column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Attack of the Robot Disposable Plastic Cups

A fast-food joint in California features a robot burger-flipper-robot-thingie (“Mustard, Will Robinson!”) that grills 300 hamburgers a day. A human short-order cook must marvel at the concept of only 300.

The restaurant says that no humans are losing jobs because of automation, and given the robot’s leisurely pace that’s probably true.

Any true burger-meister will want only a human cook, Clyde or Maria or Junior or Jorge or Bobbie-Ann, laughing and joking, building a burger with one hand while making coffee with the other, and at the apex of culinary creation calling out your number with a voice reminiscent of one of Bertie Wooster’s brassy aunts, loud enough to call the cattle home across the Sands of Dee.

The robot is not going to approach your table with a coffee refill, pop chewing gum, tell a joke, or ask you how your day is because it’s not programmed to move from its assigned spot on the floor and in any event is broken down again.

No robots, thank you, either in the fast-foodery or in the big-box store; there are no ethics or economy in firing a loyal, long-time local worker in order to lose money on an expensive gadget that never functions as it should and which requires constant maintenance and adjustment while the customers, tired of waiting, drift away to stores staffed by humans.

On the other hand, or grasping robotic arm, the manager of a taco stop in Chicago stabbed one of his employees in an argument over a woman. Possibly a robot worker would not flirt the boss’s girlfriend: “Hey, good-looking, do you ever go out with Chinese robots who dig Microsoft and The Big Bang Theory?”

The Scottish parliament has banned single-use coffee cups, a menace to the environmental purity of the highlands often related in iambic tetrameter in Sir Walter Scott’s yarns. In The Lady of the Lake the real crime of Roderick Dhu is not that he murdered a fellow knight in a sghian dubh-free zone and betrayed his king but because he drank his morning dram of whisky (with a frothy layer of latte and lightly dusted with cinnamon) from a plastic cup.

And then threw it away. Gasp!

This ban on nefarious plastic and paper cups applies only to parliament buildings for the present, saving the heather from the depredations of 450,000 cups a year. Given that Scottish parliamentarians drink 450,000 cups of coffee and tea each year, hardworking Angus in Dundee must wonder what his elected representatives do except sit around and quiver from atrial fibrillation.

The Scottish parliament has also appointed a high-level commission to study (translation: vacations under the guise of fact-finding missions) the elimination of the scourge of other fast-food disposables from Scottish society.

All good Scots still mourn the loss of Stirling Castle in 1304 to an attacking English force better armed with semi-automatic paper cups, wall-breaking plastic clamshells, and unregistered drinking straws.

From California to Scotland the theme seems to be the betterment of the world through the eradication of human workers and plastic cups. This continues the theme that since gasoline comes from a pump (now with a little television screen), electricity from a socket in the wall, and milk from the market, we don’t need those nasty, polluting oil wells, generating stations, and farms.

Once the purge is accomplished, no one will ever again be in want, and whales (vegetarian whales, of course) will frolic in the Sacramento River and in the Solway Firth.

-30-

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

School Websites - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

School Websites

A solution driven technology
Committee…paying it forward…globally
Competitive…peace poster…this flu season
We have had extra reminders in place

To wash hands and be contentious1 of spreading
Germs…child-centered learning…preparing your child
For the twenty-first century…a vibrant
And diverse living-learning environment

A cross-section of the district’s stakeholders

And, as ever,

Home of the Fighting Something-or-Others


1"Contentious of spreading germs" is the wording on the site during 'flu season.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

A Modest Celebration of the Dipthong - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


A Modest Celebration of the Dipthong

A dipthong - this is not a foolish man
Inappropriately dressed for sea or sand
Nor yet a verbal dipping, nor a thong
Nor yet a tropic river that flows along

A dipthong is two vowels in harmony
One with another dancing gracefully
Without a consonant to interrupt
Through a harsh, hinging sound that’s too abrupt

The poorly called but sweetly sounded dipthong
Is just another name for a little song

Monday, May 28, 2018

The Rodent vs. the Reptile - column

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Rodent vs. the Reptile

No, no, I’m not talking about the latest squabble at an office meeting.

Recently a couple of those roadside chain giganto gas ‘n’ gulp ‘n’ gorge places got into a legal tiff about one’s reptile logo looking too much like the other’s rodent logo.

Since neither establishment serves rodents or reptiles as takeout, what’s the point?

As Al said on the radio, if a driver can’t tell the difference between a giant rodent and a giant reptile, maybe he shouldn’t be driving at all.

Indeed, if the health department were to find rodents or reptiles in the food service spaces, a Godzilla of citations would be released into the wilds of the sandwich kiosks.

Another point of contention is that the rodent people accused the reptile people of copying the rodent people by bragging about their clean restrooms. That makes no sense. One can’t imagine any establishment advertising with, “Come on in; our restrooms are vile and disgusting!”

Of course no one’s restrooms would be vile and disgusting if The People, bless them, didn’t trash them constantly with populist incontinence.

The rodent people and the reptile people – those sound like new categories for a reality show. The competitions could be parking-lot drag races, the highest-decibel screaming children, and map-and-compass navigation of the souvenir area. The losing team would be voted to spend a night, without either weapons or anti-witch powder, in the truck stop restroom across the street, the one with the cologne dispenser because there’s nothing that says lot lizard magnet like cologne from a truck stop restroom.

According to Wookiepedia (or something like that), one of the rodent locations features “120 fueling positions, 83 toilets, 31 cash registers, 4 Icee machines, and 80 fountain dispensers.” All that is mildly interesting, but a cafeteria offering of 83 toilets hardly makes the place a vacation destination.

Texas has put a lot of miles (or maybe those godless Napoleonic kilometres) on the tires from the Ye Olden Days gas station along the two-lane, with a couple of pumps, a screen door, fizzy drinks in a tank of ice water, ceiling fans stirring the flypaper strips in the desert heat, and a couple of old geezers sitting on a wooden bench out front, whittling and watching the decades pass. Now we have sanitized giant rodent and giant reptile gargantua plazas with air-conditioning and 80 toilets and lawsuits.

Progress, I guess.

-30-

"We Will Remember Them" - Column, Memorial Day, 2018

Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

"We Will Remember Them"

Memorial Day is said to have begun during the Civil War as Decoration Day, when the fresh graves of the war dead were decorated with flowers in their memory. Numerous towns, north and south, claim to have begun the tradition of decorating the graves of all soldiers of both sides. Wherever this noble custom began, honoring those who served is what civilized nations do.

On Memorial Day we still honor the loyal departed, those who died in war and those who passed on in peace.

Last month, a C130 of the Puerto Rico Air National Guard went down with the loss of all its crew.

These fine young men and their aircraft recently served our nation throughout the Caribbean in evacuation and supply duties for months after Hurricane Maria.

As we now know, this aging C130 was being flown to Tucson to be scrapped. Some sources say the plane was 40 years old; some say 50 and some say 60. In any event, the plane was older than any of its crew.

Maybe it’s always been true that this nation sends its finest young men and women to fight contemporary wars with the leftovers from past wars.

Those young men are:

Major José Rosado, pilot

Major Carlos Serra, navigator

1st Lieutenant David Albandoz, co-pilot

Senior Master Sgt. Jan Paravisini, mechanic

Master Sgt. Jean Audriffred

Master Sgt. Mario Braña, flight engineer

Master Sgt. Víctor Colón

Master Sgt. Eric Circuns, loadmaster

Senior Airman Roberto Espada

We did not know these young men who died for us, but let us praise them now, and honor them, and let us remember these three things about them:

1. All of these young men served in the Air National Guard – you know, that safe duty. For decades some who never made the first day of recruit training have claimed that the Reserves and the National Guard are easy billets, a nice soft way of avoiding hazardous duty.

Rupert Brooke wrote in 1914 “If I should die, think only this of me / There is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England.”

Well, we can write that there are lots of corners of lots of foreign fields that are forever American Reserves and National Guard.

2. All of these young men were millennials – you know, that generation of delicate snowflakes who just lay around the house playing video games and who won’t demonstrate initiative. The reality is that our military, our emergency and police services, our workforce – they’re millennials, the generation that came of age at the turn of the century and who now are entering early middle age.

3. The nine who died were not eligible to vote in federal elections. Residents of Puerto Rico have been, since 1917, citizens of the United States, and yet they may not vote in federal elections. These nine young men, as part of their oath of enlistment, pledged personal loyalty to their president, and they could not, by law, vote for their president. They were not permitted to vote for the government of the nation for which they died in active military service.

We should do something about that.

I return to Senior Airman Roberto Espada – how old was he? 21? 22? – who is survived only by his grandmother, his meemaw. We can infer that his meemaw raised him. And she raised a good young man. And he won’t be going home to her. And yet some are pleased to dismiss Roberto as a millennial, a snowflake. His meemaw knows better, and all true Americans know better too.

Shakespeare, 400 years ago, wrote about young Roberto. In Act V of Macbeth:, a warrior who has fought against the tyrant Macbeth is told that his young son – let us call him Roberto – was killed in the battle. Macduff says to the grieving father:

“Your son, my lord, has paid a soldier’s debt:
He only lived but till he was a man”

Senior Airman Roberto Espada only lived until he was a man.

On Memorial Day let us remember him, his crewmates, and all the loyal departed with Lawrence Binyon’s fine words:


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old;
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn
At the going down of the sun, and in the morning
We will remember them.

-30-

When We Were Sailors - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

When We Were Sailors

To the tune of Detroit Diesels

When we were sailors we seldom thought about
Being sailors. We thought about, well, girls
And happenin’ tunes from AFVN
‘Way down the river in happenin’ Saigon

We thought about cars and beaches and girls
And would a swing ship bring any mail today
In big red nylon sacks of envelopes
Love postmarked in a fantasy, The World

We thought about autumn and home and girls
While sandbag stacking and C-Rat snacking
We thought about being clean and dry again
While pooping and snooping in Cambodia

When we were sailors we thought about our pals
And what they were, and who
                                                   before the dust-offs flew

Sunday, May 27, 2018

Right Wings and Left Wings - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Right Wings and Left Wings

Well, yes, there are wings, right wings and left wings -
If a bird is missing a wing, right or left
It cannot fly, it cannot lift away
From the cat-haunted lawn, and so is eaten

There are water-wings, and buffalo wings
(Although buffalo don’t really have wings)
And in the cafeteria chicken-ring-things
And other metaphors that just won’t fly

But you and I, we both belong to God
And not to a wing (that would be quite odd)

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Thirteen Reasons Why Not - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Thirteen Reasons Why Not

We are not permitted to choose the frame of our destiny.
But what we put into it is ours.
 
-Dag Hammarskjold

1. God made you; you can never be replaced
2. God made you for some purpose – live to find it
3. Someone is blessed each day in knowing you
4. You must live so that others may live
5. Someone desperately needs your kindness right now
6. You haven’t yet written your book, your story, your song
7. When you offer up your suffering, you help others
8. Children running barefoot through the flowers of spring
9. Children running barefoot through the leaves of autumn
10. Dachshund puppies. And leaves. And flowers. And children
11. Coffee and a talk with a good friend
12. Breakfast and the Sunday morning funnies
13. That empty pew God has saved just for you



from Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, 2017

Friday, May 25, 2018

Special and Awesome Spring Concert in the Parish Hall - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Special and Awesome Spring Concert in the Parish Hall

Well, gosh, thank you for being here today
I am honored to be the conductor
Of this very special and awesome group
So let me introduce them one by one
To this special and awesome audience
It’s been an awesome season, and we’re glad
You could share this moment with us today
We’d like to give a special shout-out to
(Name and name) for making this wonderful space
Available to all of us today
As you know this is the last performance
Of the season, and the last here for (name)
Who is being transferred to Albuquerque
And we want to wish her well; she has been
A cornerstone-rock-heart of our little group
And also for (name) who is retiring
After thirty years with (name-name, inc)
And is looking forward to spending time
With his family and traveling about
With his awesome and patient wife (name-name)
And also with his awesome and patient dogs
Although of course he would never say that they
Are more awesome than his sweet wife ha-ha
You will notice that our program today
Features a diversity of pieces to appeal
To all sorts of tastes because the pieces
We have selected in their diversity
Are meant to appeal to all sorts of tastes
Oh, wait, did I say that already ha-ha
Because we all believe that music speaks
To the hearts of all in their special ways
Because music is the language of all
From Tchaikovsky and Wagner to Elvis
From the stuffiness of grand old Vienna
To ‘way-cool happenin’ New Orleans
Or as they like to say down there Naw-lins
Ha-ha music is the language of all
Because it is inclusive and diverse
And speaks to all our hearts with love
And, like, you know, stuff, so now we begin
With some traditional classic pieces
And then some popular tunes you can tap
Your toes along to, and then at the end
We will enjoy a good ol’ sing-along
And maybe some audience participation
Ha-ha but we’ll let that be a surprise
Our first piece now is by Paganini
Who was neither a pagan nor a ninny
Ha-ha so let me give you’re a little background
On this piece…

Thursday, May 24, 2018

A Brief Discourse on the Subject of Standing or Not Standing for the National Anthem at Sporting Events That You and I Can't Afford to Attend Anyway

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Brief Discourse on the Subject of Standing or Not Standing for the National Anthem
at Sporting Events That You and I Can’t Afford to Attend Anyway

You don’t have to stand up, but I wish you would -
Standing up for the flag is standing up
For each other, me for you, you for me
But if you don’t, forgive me anyway

You don’t have to stand up, but I wish you would -
Because some fifty years ago That Man’s
Heel spurs kept him from crawling through the mud
With us; he’s not much of a stand-up guy

You don’t have to stand up, but if you do –
I would be humbly honored to stand with you

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Gap Year for the Children of the Poor - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Gap Year for the Children of the Poor

Just cruising through the endless sunny days
Along a rainforest river lingering
Hatless, shirtless, catching some serious rays
Listening to the national radio

A practical internship in cultural studies
Interacting with the authentic locals
And sampling their authentic cuisines
And learning so much from authentic them

The authentic locals had much to teach us,
And they did - during our gap year in Viet-Nam

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

We Do Not Burn Books in America - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

We Do Not Burn Books in America

We do not burn books in America
We just ignore them, for we light our nights
And burn away our individual souls
Upon an altar green, clean plastic grass

Come together as one unto the lights
The concept of the tablets now writ large
An electronic scoreboard – and if we’re good
We’ll see our snaggly grins all ten feet tall

Eighty-thousand dollars of education
Beaming civilization six nights each year

Monday, May 21, 2018

Snake Interruptedruptedruptedrupted - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Snake  Interruptedruptedruptedrupted - A Song of Spring

Our merry springtime is a glorious feast
Of joyful sights and scents and happy sounds,
Of breezes turning warmly from the east
Of bustling bees winging their flowery rounds

Above, around, and through a world of green
In dreams of life that move the seasons along
Where each day’s sunrise halos a Creation scene
And every blossom is its own soft song

But the sweetest sound echoing through the glades
Is a snake being shredded by the lawnmower’s blades

Sunday, May 20, 2018

A Pastoral Scene (without firearms) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Pastoral Scene (without firearms)

A fine wine’s not for us; we want cheap red
In paper cups beneath the apple trees
with cheese and bread upon the grasses spread
And you singing along each merry breeze

This fine day’s made for us; we want to kiss
Creation as we kiss each other’s lips
In celebration of sweet summer bliss
While soft away the dreamy twilight slips

Our fine moon’s rising, silvering the air -
She tells us we have kisses yet to share