Friday, July 27, 2018

This is the Last Straw! And Some Inspirational Singer-Songwriters... - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

This is the Last Straw –
and Something About Sacred Buckets of Holistic Ice Water

Sexual predators, human smugglers
Starvation in the Sudan, civil war
in Syria, mass executions in China
Journalists murdered almost everywhere
Fashionable infanticide, homelessness
Unemployment, urban terrorism
Mass murder, school shootings, wildfires, racism
An unstable national government
Anti-Semitism, border desperation
Riots, arson, ecclesiastical corruption
Meth, alcoholism, historical cleansing
Skinheads, abuse, Khardassianistas
Volcanos, the death penalty, free verse
Affluenza, Jerry Springer, The View
Herbal tea, antifa, anti-antifa
And the soul-sucking existential despair
Of inspirational singer-songwriters:

Nah, not a bit worried about plastic straws

But I must go now; The Voices are telling me
To pour a bucket of ice water over my head
(As long as it’s not a plastic bucket)

Thursday, July 26, 2018

A Straw Man Accessorized with Exclamation Marks from the Eighth Grade - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Straw Man Accessorized with Exclamation Marks from the Eighth Grade
 (Rainbow Brite™ © Glitter Optional)

I heard it, dude; it’s part of the nexus!
A floating island as big as Texas!
All made of straws, there in the Pacific!
It’s on the ‘Net, dude, it’s there, specific!

It’s a Russian plot, sponsored by Putin!
It’s on the ‘Net, dude, sure as shootin’!
Them plastic straws will soon bring down the grid!
They kill the whales; they even got a squid!

The science is settled; let’s make some laws:
The source of all evil is them plastic straws!!!!!!!

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

It's Not a Bad Cell, But it is a Cell - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

It’s Not a Bad Cell, But it is a Cell

         If…
          Some Crown of sorrows sit
          Upon a little world for a little hour –
          Who shall remember it? Who shall care for it?

-C. S. Lewis, “In Prison,” Spirits in Bondage

It’s not a bad cell, but it is a cell
Requiring you not to be who you are
Quietly within your designated space
And keeping your insolence to yourself

A grated hatch of disapproval drops
And leaves you to the berth penanced to you
A hard and narrow bunk of pain and guilt
Against a wall that now must be your world

And in that world do thoughtful battle against
Shrill voices telling you how wrong you are

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

On the Resignation of the Executive Director of a Certain Veterans' Service Organization - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

On the Resignation of the Executive Director
of a Certain Veterans’ Service Organization

Our leaders’ reputations decay in the corners
Of their star-spangled offices, curling up
Like fallen leaves wind-blown against a fence
Then writhing in the rubbish-fires of history

Their bubble reputations in their own mouths 1
Ephemeral as the grey and ashy smoke
Adrift among the vaporous lies that once
Scented the sewage of their resumes’

Our leaders call us comrades, shipmates, brothers -
From their forward positions on the 501C

1 Shakespeare, “The Ages of Man”

Monday, July 23, 2018

Saint Gregory of Nyssa Orders a Cup of Coffee in Constantinople - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Saint Gregory of Nyssa Orders a Cup of Coffee

The whole city is full of it – in the squares,
The coffee shops, the ‘blogs, the op-ed pieces
The emails, the news sites, the grocery stores
They are all busy arguing -

If you ask someone to give you change
He says the President is the Begotten One
If you inquire about the price of a croissant
You are told by way of reply that he is not

That the Supreme Court is greater, and that
The President is inferior; if you ask
“Is my cup of Blue Mountain ready?”
The barista answers that Congress is nothing

In the squares, the coffee shops, the ‘blogs,
The op-ed pieces – the whole city is full of it





Saint Gregory’s amused (one hopes) observation on the fondness of the population of Constantinople for arguing theology is well known, and is available at:

http://readthefathers.org/2012/08/19/patristic-theology-is-for-everyone/

Sunday, July 22, 2018

The Dangers of Smoking after Heaving the Dead into a Helicopter - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Dangers of Smoking

from an idea by Sheila Sharpe

In the foul heat and damp and rot and stench
After dusting off 1 the bodies of dead pals
The living and the dead, the living dead
Old Boats 2 lit off a cigarette and growled

“They say this stuff’ll kill ya.”


1 Dustoff – noun. Dust off – verb with an adverb. A dustoff is a medical evacuation via helicopter, as in “Doc, your dustoff will be here in three.” To dust off a patient, then, is to transport a patient, not to tidy him. I have recently read detailed arguments about the terms dustoff, dust off, and medevac, but no one quibbled about such minutiae along the Cambodian border.

2 Boats – a boatswain’s mate, the brains and muscle of the Navy. Boatswain’s mates do it all and are seldom acknowledged in history or art, not even in the recent film about Dunkirk. A boatswain’s mate is usually addressed as Boats, and always with deference, even by the C.O.

Saturday, July 21, 2018

M. Poncy Hector-Tworbst, B.A., M.Ed., Ph.D. Candidate, Speaks - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

On the Packing of Intersectionality: A Cross-Cultural Study

By M. Poncy Hector-Tworbst, B.A., M.Ed., Ph.D. Candidate

Unpack that intersectionality
And privilege transphile autonomy
Unite the paradigm’s hegemony
In the diaspora of agency

Cross-gender all peripherality
In post-colonial diversity
Dialogue augmented reality
And deconstruct avatar identity

All for the cause of authenticity
(But mostly I’m all about me, me, me)

Friday, July 20, 2018

A Summer Afternoon at 209 East Huisache Avenue - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Summer Afternoon at 209 East Huisache Avenue

Kingsville, Texas, 1955

A loaf of bread from the Piggly Wiggly
A quart of milk because MawMaw forgot
A Coke and a Mickey Mouse funnybook
A water pistol and Eskimo Pies

A pack of PawPaw’s brand of cigarettes
So he can watch his Yankees this afternoon
On the Sylvania with the rabbit ears
In gloriously static-y black-and-white

Plays called by Dizzy Dean and PeeWee Reese
In our childhood world, forever at peace

Thursday, July 19, 2018

Two Middle-Aged Youth Ministers in a Convertible - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Two Middle-Aged Youth Ministers in a Convertible

Two middle-aged youth ministers (perhaps)
In a convertible babble away
A dialogue but poorly understood
By a seeker wanting a burger and fries
                                                and truth

Their message seems to be that a pilgrim
In search of meaning might find happiness
                                                and lunch
At a famed neon-y fast-foodery
And so I gird up my billfold and I go

I push the red votive button and wait
And wait
                And wait
                                And wait
                                                And wait
                                                                And wait

And in the end go empty away

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Syllabus for a Summer Day - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Syllabus for a Summer Day

Awaken with the sun, and while thin mist
Slinks eerily across the fields, step out -
Labor across the dewy grass, near ripe
For the second cutting of summer hay

The lesson for today is clearing brush
Along the fence lines of both fields and life
The attendance check is for needed tools:
Old gloves, old boots, old saw, and fresh new verse

Awaken with the sun, honor the day
With work and play to earn a grade of A

Alternative Syllabus for a Summer Day

Ignore the stupid sun; go back to sleep
Reject the chatter of the alarming beep
And waken at a reasonable Christian hour –
Oh, ten will do; earlier is so sour!

Then bathrobe-shuffle to the coffee pot
See what is on the news, or maybe not
And scratch and yawn and look around to see
That nothing has changed since last night at three

Ignore all work; just stick it on the shelf
And for my grade, I’ll happily take an F!

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

Provide Yourself with Words - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Provide Yourself with Words

Tollite vobiscum verba, et convertimini ad Dominum

-Osee 14:3 1

Provide yourself with words, with magic words,
And like Old Väinämöinen 2 sing them
Into the air, the wild, clean air, those words
Sing all that’s Good and Beautiful and True

The Sampo 2 of your mind spins not out flour
Nor salt nor gold, but needful thoughts and songs
In words that sing and sail beyond the sun
And back into that Founding whence they came

Write, then, the Good, the Beautiful, the True
And let God write them back again to you



1 Osee / Hosea
2 The Kalevala

Monday, July 16, 2018

If You Don't Have a Guitar, Are You Permitted to Pose for Publicity Photos on a Railway Line? - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An Existential Issue for Many Writers: If You Don’t Have a Guitar,
Are You Permitted to Pose for Publicity Photos on a Railway Line?

His battered old laptop slung across his back
That famous laptop with the sticker that reads
In font Albertus “This Machine Kills Haters”
He poses rustically on a railway line

His happenin’ hipster hat pulled ‘way down low
Over the deep-souled Eyes That Have Seen It All
While his slender, artistic fingers seem
To flutter in search of existential truth

(Or maybe two forms of identification)

While off camera a cop writes him a ticket
For trespassing on railway property

Sunday, July 15, 2018

Of That Ilk (or, perhaps, Ilk Hunting) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Of That Ilk

For three Voices

First Voice:

What is an ilk?

Second Voice:

Well, they got ‘em up in Montana, you know,
And Canada, and them countries like that
And they got horns and stuff; you can hunt ‘em
They make good eatin’, or that’s what they say

Third Voice:

Naw, man, ilks is what attaches to boats
That’s why you got to scrape the hulls each year
They’re kinda like sea urchins or barnacles
They make good eatin’, or that’s what they say

First Voice:

I read about ilks in the op-eds each day -
They make good eatin’, or that’s what they say

Saturday, July 14, 2018

Robin Hood's Favorite Saint - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Farmer to Saint Swithin

O good Saint Swithin, please, to you we pray,
On this your high-summer rain-making day –
Of your blest kindness send us sweet, soft showers,
The kind that gently fall for hours and hours,

To heal the sunburnt land of thirst and drought
And nourish the corn that sees the winter out;
And if you grant the boon we humbly ask
We’ll work the harder on each rural task:

We’ll ditch and fence and plough, and milk the cow,
Share with the widder-folk, and feed the sow,
Count out some plantful seeds for poor folks’ needs,
And daily tell God’s Mysteries on our beads.


(The 15th of August is Saint Swithin's Day.)

Friday, July 13, 2018

Dici ei Pilatus: Quid est Veritas? - poem

Dicit ei Pilatus: Quid est Veritas?

Pontius Pilate was probably being flippant
When he asked of a prisoner, “What is truth?”

But he was an administrator, and so
He possibly did not know

Thursday, July 12, 2018

Exclamation!!!!! Marks!!!!!!!!! - a frivolous but useful rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Exclamation!!!!! Marks!!!!!!!!!!!!

One exclamation mark is right and proper
Add any more, and your thought comes a cropper

Real Cowboys Don't Forget the Oxford Comma - column

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Real Cowboys Don’t Forget the Oxford Comma

A sports team whose mascot is the cowboy is usually an unoriginal disconnect, copying the Dallas Cowboys who aren’t really cowboys anyway.

With the University of Wyoming, however, one understands that many of the students, both men and women, Arapaho, Crow, Lakota, Shoshone, and generic white people, grew up ridin’ and ropin’ on the High Plains. Their usage of the cowboy as a symbol is authentic.

One imagines a UW student being a little late for his Brit Lit 1302 class: “Dang, Hank, you forgot to take your spurs off.”

At the University of Wyoming a student can be ticketed by the campus cops for double-parking his horse.

The reality is that our Hank (or Chloe or SueAnn or Leonicio or Kimana or Yevgeny) is fluent in two languages, has applied for UW’s law school, and loves horsemanship.

The University of Wyoming (http://www.uwyo.edu/), with an enrollment of some 12,000, offers degrees and programs in law, engineering, education, biology, chemistry, psychology, earth sciences, mathematics, pharmacy, social work, and speech-language pathology. UW students come from all fifty states and ninety nations.

UW’s famous outdoors programs include rock climbing, white water rafting, ice climbing, snowshoeing, backcountry skiing, and mountain biking.

Unhappily for the real students, those with intellectual curiosity and a desire to learn as much as they can in the great matters of civilization, the campus is infected with a group styling itself The University of Wyoming Committee on Women and People of Color (http://www.laramieboomerang.com/news/new-uw-slogan-draws-criticism-from-faculty/article_acc18990-8242-11e8-911f-c3e97f4bc1bd.html).

The purpose of any group with so many words in its title is to be against things, in this instance, the use of “cowboy” as a mascot. Professor of Communications Tracey Patton has published a book on the subject entitled Gender, Whiteness and Power in Rodeo.

One notes that the learned professor does not employ the Oxford comma; for clarity and for parallelism in structure the title should read Gender, Whiteness, and Power in Rodeo.

Real cowboys don’t forget the Oxford comma.

From Tierra del Fuego to the Yukon, gauchos, vaqueros, charros, caballeros, picadors, and the First Nations horsemen who made themselves the world’s finest light cavalry can only smile in disdain at the ignorance of The University of Wyoming Committee on Women and People of Color in stereotyping the cowboy as a white-boy construct.

The concept of the cowboy in every language and culture is an ideal to which all should aspire: courage, strength, character, ruggedness, ethics, the ability to work alone when necessary, the ability to work together when necessary, horsemanship, iron-mongery, fence-building, agriculture, equine and bovine nutrition, veterinary skills, knowledge of weather and geography, cooking outdoors in all weathers, mathematics, report-writing, and dozens of other skills and skill-sets.

In stereotyping the horsemen of the Plains and of the world in their own false and narrow-minded construct, The University of Wyoming Committee on Women and People of Color deny noble strivings and positive identification with high ideals.

To paraphrase George Orwell, little boys and girls sit on the floor and play with toy cowboys and Indians; no little boy or girl ever sat on the floor and played with a toy committee.

-30-

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Non Draco Sit Mihi Dux 1

That wicked liar offers us a poisoned cup
In whose sheeny surface we see ourselves
Reflected in his cold imaginings
And not our own, in what we ought to be

There is another Cup for us, not this one
Just as there is a stone that must be moved
A bird of night to be repudiated
A thorny bush that burns, but not itself

A blessing breaks that false and bitter cup -
We share the one that God has lifted up


1 In English, let not the dragon be my guide; it appears on the medal of Saint Benedict as NDSMD.

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

The Awful Majesty of American Law, Free from the Tyrannies of Kings and Czars - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Awful Majesty of American Law,
Free from the Tyrannies of Kings and Czars

Children shot daily despite our stern laws
But at least they are safe from plastic straws

Children shot daily, caught in street-gang fights
But at least they are safe from 100-watt lights

Children shot daily, high death rankings
But at least they are safe from parental spankings

Children shot daily, murdered by crooks
But at least they are safe from The Little House books

Children shot daily, may God bless their souls
And too our regulated toilet bowls

Monday, July 9, 2018

When Romantic Conventions Go Bad - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


When Romantic Conventions Go Bad

O Dear Heart…or Pancreas…or some vital organ…

When I gaze into your ear canals
And cuddle you in my comforting feet
Oh, yeah, I wanna hold your earlobe
You make my sella turcica skip a beat

Your nostrils are so very soft to the touch
Your toenails are like silver-pale moonlight
Your elbows smell like roses in the spring
Your hair follicles are so sunrise bright

And when I meditate upon your liver
Cupid shoots every arrow from his quiver!