Under the Shadow-Tree - a poem on Remembrance Day

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Under the Shadow-Tree

For David Jones, 1895-1974

Poet, Artist

Pte., Royal Welch Fusiliers

One can go back to one's own home…

and everything is so changed that one is a stranger.

― Graham Greene, The Ministry of Fear

I went away, a young and foolish lad
Imagining I would go home someday
Made manly in the war, someone to respect
Admired by all in the old, familiar scenes

There was only exile. Echoes and screams
Fumbling through the flashbacks for charger clips
And stepping carefully lest the lawn explode
In dreams lit only by parachute flares

While waiting for the order for volley fire
And is the safety on? Or am I off?

Ecclesiastical Frequent Flyer Miles - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Ecclesiastical Frequent Flyer Miles

1.

(Our bishops in synod in Rome respond to a crisis)

Ombudsman, ombudsperson, om, om, om
As pressing as that issue is enhanced
Mediation roles for the whistleblowers
Accountable to the norms of canon law

Refashion the role of a promoter
Of justice creating a climate of
Having legal tools available for a
Strategic partnership the bottom line

And somewhere yet again a line or two
About the ‘way cool spirit of Vatican II

2.

(A populist priest posts about his of-the-people-ness

as he stands up to rascally bishops)

There wasn’t Fox News in the first-class lounge
But only CNN my plane was late
The merlot in first class was mediocre
And here’s a picture of my first-class lunch

Oh, such a long flight all the way to Rome
Where I’m fighting for you and for the Faith
In the cutest little sidewalk cafes’
And here’s a picture of my cappuccino

Travelling for your prayers is such a slog
So send me money to support my ‘blog

3.

(In a poor parish scheduled by the bishop for closure)

Father is on perpetual holiday
The abandoned faithful are left to say
Introibo ad altare Dei
Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam

And what is an ombudsperson?

The Geriatric Cosmic Casino Bus in a McDonald's Parking Lot - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Geriatric Cosmic Casino Bus in a McDonald’s Parking Lot

A space casino painted on its sides
Its airbrakes hissing and spitting against the wheels
The charter bus clanks to a potty stop
Its hatches open to discharge aliens

Optimistically rattling their walkers
And dragging their oxygen machines along
Spongy shoes challenged by the parking lot
Knobby white knees all rattling through the dawn

The moustache in his cool gas-station shades
Admires himself in his big West Coast mirror



(Casino gambling is illegal in Texas, thus the fleets of charter busses zooming to the Louisiana border.)

The Great American Dream Ballot - column

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Great American Dream Ballot

After our nation’s recent fratricidal dust-up, and in anticipation of the next, I propose that we consider a return to paper ballots for all elections.

Mr. Mueller’s investigation of purported hanky-panky-Pokemon™® between Mr. Trump and the pesky Russians has being going on for two years now. While Thanksgiving dinner with that uncle who insists on sharing over the turkey all the details of his latest gastrointestinal adventures might seem longer than two years, it only seems that way.

That Vladimir Putin was sitting at his glorious desk in the Moscow Kremlin and manipulating your auntie’s vote via his Official Danger Man®™ Snoopocontrolloscope (the collectible model comes with a certificate of authenticity signed by the late Patrick McGoohan) seems unlikely, but the allegations of electronic tonkering have cost all of us millions of dollars in order to pay the alligator-shoe-boys to share tittle-tattle.

Further, the reports of hardware failures, computer failures, printout failures, power failures, and in at least one Houston location a shortage of extension cords – yes, extension cords – delayed last week’s voting in many locations.

How much do the various brands and models of gollygeewhizpinball voting machines cost us? How reliable are they? How much do the various brands and models of tabulating machines, printers, scanners cost us? How much do the legions of IT functionaries, electricians, operating crews, programmers, software developers, software sales people, and the bidding and acquisition processes cost us?

And, yeah, the extension cords – the glories of our mighty Republic had to be put on hold while someone found a hardware store still open late at night.

And, in the end, how many Americans trust a jumped-up video game to have been programmed honestly and to record accurately even one vote?

The honest, effective, rational, and cost-saving approach to fair elections is to vote on paper ballots, and then for each ballot in its turn counted, checked, and verified by small committees of thoughtful people who don’t quite trust each other. If a ballot is approved by all it is counted; if there are disagreements then the ballot is carried by a messenger to another room where another small committee of thoughtful people who don’t quite trust each other resolve the problem.

Make the ballots big. Make them clear. Make the choices obvious through plain language free of weak verbs, the passive voice, and euphemisms.

The useless pachinko voting machines could be broken up for scrap metal or sunk along the coast as artificial reefs for the little fishes.

Paper ballots – good for America, good for the little fishes, bad for the Chinese manufacturers of videogaming toys, and really bad for the comrades in Broward County, Florida.

-30-

Why Did He Shoot People He Did Not Know? - poem (speculation only)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Why Did He Shoot People He Did Not Know?

Why did he shoot people he did not know?
Maybe he did not know what else to do

He was told all his life he could do anything
But he couldn’t
He was told all his life how special he was
But he wasn’t

He was told all his life to follow his dreams
But what are dreams?
And the success and the money would follow
But they didn’t

He was told all his life to be himself
But what was he?
He was given noises all his life, but when
The silence fell…

He had no poetry, no prayer, no art
He looked inside himself, and nothing was there

Why did he shoot people he did not know?
Maybe he did not know what else to do

Simon and Schuster and the Construction Trades - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Simon and Schuster and the Construction Trades

“…you’ll love this riveting memoir.”

One longs to see a memoir riveting,
Setting in place with tongs the hot red steel,
Bucking the tail, and quickly pivoting
For another – a worker’s life is real

Election Day: Executive Inaction with Moderate Prejudice in Fits of Absent-Mindedness - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Election Day:

Executive Inaction with Moderate Prejudice

in Fits of Absent-Mindedness

The old order changeth, yielding place to new

-Tennyson, Idylls of the King

Like dinosaurs our institutions gasp
In spasms of existential death; they pass
At first unnoticed by the casual unobserver
Who trips over a covenant that isn’t there

If you vote they give you a sticker

The ephemeral Constitution changed
Like sweaty skivvies by each president
Law libraries catalogued for pulp
By obedient functionaries in tees

If you vote they give you a sticker

The faithful escorted out of the cathedral
By a bored security guard on overtime
The altar linens for sale at Goodwill
And the sanctuary repurposed on T.V.

If you vote they give you a sticker

Some of The Just Plain Folks cheer for the Reds
And the others cheer only for the Blues
As the reincarnation of Jack Chick
Blesses their four-wheelers and plastic caps

If you vote they give you a sticker

Election placards on abandoned buildings
Promise again prosperity for all
The meth lab cooks behind The Kute Kidz
Private Academy of the Dance and Math

If you vote they give you a sticker

An outreach of the Bright Light Free Will
Missionary Temple of the Lord Jesus Christ
Of the Lamb Sanctified 501C The Reverend Doctor Master Bishop Billy-Bob Hairdo PhD, DD a-brangin’ Messages and His Esteemed Lady Apostle Heather

If you vote they give you a sticker

And blessed be the Holy AR-15
God gave to His People to defend themselves
Here in the freest country in the world
Which you can find behind the barbed-wire fence

If you vote they give you a sticker

While fleets of luxury presidential jets
Arc high over our public housing projects
Reminding us of our prosperity
Here in the richest country in the world

If you vote they give you a sticker

And them Jews for Jesus I guess they’re all right
But them other Jews they just ain’t no good
Nor them Cath’lics nor them Mormons neither
And don’t you get me started on them Baptists

(We seem to have been otherwise engaged)

“The old order changeth, yielding place to new” –
(But neither cares at all for me or you)

But if you vote they give you a sticker

Guy Fawkes Forgot to Set His Smart Phone on Silent - not nearly a poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Guy Fawkes Forgot to Set His Smart Phone on Silent

Remember, remember the Fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot!
I see no reason
Why gunpowder treason…
Wait – dude, is there an app for that?

Western Civilization and Radio Static - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Western Civilization and Radio Static

…These men are worth your tears:

You are not worth their merriment.

-Wilfred Owen, “Apologia Pro Poemate Meo”

When that loudmouth on the wireless machine
Alludes to Western Civilization
What does he mean? Paradise Lost? Probably not
Nor Saint Paul speaking on the Field of Mars

The Kalevala, Hagia Sophia
With its pendentives lifting up our prayers
Horatius fighting to defend his bridge
And Wilfred Owen dying bravely on his

Lord Tennyson and Idylls of the King
Chapultepec, Henry V, Becket
The paratroops at Arnhem, Saint Thomas More,
His King’s loyal servant, but God’s first

The Stray Dog poets of Saint Petersburg
The brave last stand of Roland at Roncesvalles
Lewis and Tolkien and glasses of beer
Montcalm and Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham

Hildegard von Bingen, Siegfried and the Rhine
Magna Carta, HMS Hood, the Thames
The Grove of Daphne, “The Old Rugged Cross”
Beatrix Potter and her little pet rabbit

El Cid, Anne Frank, John Keats, Saint Benedict
“I Have a Dream,” Dostoyevsky, and Greene
Viktor Frankl, Dag Hammarkskjold, and Proust
Good Chaucer’s naughty pilgrims telling tales

The Gettysburg Address, Willie and Joe
Stern Saint Augustine of North Africa
Wodehouse writing a jolly bit of fun
Saint Corbinian and Bavaria

The ancient glories of Byzantium
Pius XII contra the bombs and lies
The 602nd TD Battalion
Saint Joan, the Prado, and Robert Frost

And far, far more.

When that loudmouth on the wireless machine
Alludes to Western Civilization
What does he mean?



Of your mercy please pray for the repose of the soul of Wilfred Owen who was killed in action on 4 November 1918, one week before the Armistice.

Clockery - a Practical Guide for Bending Time to One's Will - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Clockery – a Practical Guide for Bending Time to One’s Will

“I can buy a clock, sir!”

-Will Roper, obtuse as usual, to Sir Thomas More in A Man for All Seasons

Some vague authority for this and that
Advises us that now is the time for all
Good men to come to the aid of their clockery
And set each loyal clock an hour back

For after all, the old times were much better
When an American-made watch or clock
Required a good, strong man to wind it up –
None o’ yer godless Chinese ‘tronics, eh

And as the seasonal will must have it so
Upon my rounds to each house clock I go!

The First Day of Deer Season (a catchy and original title, eh!) - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The First Day of Deer Season

The first shots slammed across the woods at dawn
Into my sleep, there taking down my dreams
Which can’t be slung into a pickup truck
And carried to the processors by noon

Venison is a bit gamey, of course:
That’s why they call it game, wild game, then food
Blended with pork and spices for Thanksgiving
And that’s a nice little dream in itself

Let’s not indulge sentimentality here
In forest glades or on china plates – it’s just a deer

An Earthworm in Flood-Time - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An Earthworm in Flood-Time

If that poor worm remained in his earthy lair
He then would drown in mud and muck and mould
And if that worm crawled up to breathe the air
A robin would eat him as a luncheon cold

He had to make a choice…

And as he died the poor worm cried:
“Mid-term elections! Everybody lied!”

A Cafeteria Constitution? - column

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

A Cafeteria Constitution?

Will Roper: “So now you give the Devil benefit of law!?”

Thomas More: “Yes, what would you do, cut a great road to the law to get at the Devil?”

Roper: “Yes, I'd cut down every law in England to do that!”

More: “Oh? And when the last law was down, and the Devil turned 'round on you, where would you hide, Roper, the laws all being flat? This country is planted thick with laws, from coast to coast, man's laws, not God's! And if you cut them down…do you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then? Yes, I'd give the Devil benefit of law, for my own safety's sake!”

That some members of Congress and some American citizens want to regard the Constitution as a sort of salad bar and thus reject the bits they don’t want is disturbing. The Constitution is a foundation document, not a throwaway leaflet, and that some Americans regard it as nothing more than an obstacle to the acquisition of power both by individuals and by identity groups is a rebuke to their character.

Enjoying the freedom to vote for our leaders and for many laws and causes means, by definition, that we don’t always get what we want. An ill-mannered child who demands the biggest slice of chocolate cake does not understand that; an adult should

The utility of the electoral college (Article 1 and the 12th Amendment) is always questioned when a candidate for the presidency wins the popular vote but loses the electoral vote. Those of us who did not pay attention in civics (our name is Legion) fail to grasp that the Constitution requires that the president be chosen by the several states, not by a majority vote. This was designed as a hedge against the tyranny of large groups – without the electoral college and other calculated inefficiencies this nation would be ruled only by the populations of a New York / New Jersey / Chicago / Los Angeles / San Antonio / Houston / Dallas Borg. No candidate for president would ever campaign outside those jurisdictions nor would a president serve any interests but those of the Borg.

In 2016 Mr. Trump was outvoted by Mrs. Clinton by 2.9 million votes (https://www.thoughtco.com/why-keep-the-electoral-college-3322050), and in 2000 Mr. Bush won 543,800 few votes than Mr. Gore. Some maintain that this is unfair, but a stable government does not function according to moods and feelings, but according to the agreed-upon laws which govern us all.

This situation has been uncommon; only four other candidates have won the presidency without the popular vote: Mr. Harrison, Mr. Hayes, Mr. John Quincy Adams, and Mr. Lincoln, who won with only 40% of the popular vote.

Another Constitutional matter some wish to violate is the 14th Amendment, which begins with “All persons born or naturalized in the United State and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State where in they reside…”

Some have suggested that this Amendment is flawed because of the phrase “…and subject to the jurisdiction thereof…’ suggesting that a foreign national is subject to the laws of his (the pronoun is gender-neutral) own nation. Perhaps, but an immediate reality is that a visitor is subject to the laws of this nation too. A German is not exempted from the traffic laws of Wisconsin, and a Russian may not rob a bank with impunity because he is not an American.

Even granting the argument, a more urgent law is this: the Constitution can be amended only by a two thirds vote of both the Senate and the House of Representatives.

The matter is subject to debate; it always is. That a foreign national born in the USA is automatically a citizen is questionable. If we are going to change that, we must do so by the laws we claim to be the source of our freedom.

No president may presume to alter the Constitution; to attempt to do so is a violation of the Constitution, of the core document of federal law.

Our previous president also suffered from the I’ve-got-a-pen-and-a-telephone ego-thing, which was often accepted passively by our Merovingian Congress. It wasn’t right then, and it wouldn’t be right now.

The Constitution is based on wisdom, on the heritage of at least 6,000 years of human civilization and experience and learning, not on the numbers of individuals who upvote or downvote a game show on the Orwellian telescreen.

Remember what Thomas More said: if we tear down the law to get at those we don’t like, then the law will no longer exist to protect us.

-30-

In the Hospital Laboratory Waiting Area - a very short one-act play

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

In the Hospital Laboratory Waiting Area

A MePhone rattles and twanks and pings like Robby-the-Robot gone bad.

Woman: “Yeah?”

(silence)

Woman: “YEAH?”

(silence)

Woman: “I’m in the hospital.”

Noise from MePhone: (think Charlie Brown’s parents)

Woman: “I’m in the hospital!”

MePhone: (Charlie Brown’s parents)

Woman: “I’M IN THE HOSPITAL!”

MePhone: (a small child babbling)

Woman: “I’M IN THE HOSPITAL!”

MePhone: (a small child babbling)

Woman: “YEAH!”

MePhone: (a small child babbling)

Woman: “YEAH!”

MePhone: (incoherent noises – could be a murder)

Woman: “FOR MY COLONOSCOPY!”

MePhone: (the murder continues)

Woman: “FOR MY COLONOSCOPY!”

Offstage, a young woman in scrubbies: “Mr. Lawrence…?”

(Deo gratias)

Exit, pursued by Too Much Information.

The President Wants us to Come Together (slightly vulgar doggerel)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The President Wants us to Come Together

The president wants us to come together –
One imagines a sea-to-shining sea
Patriotic orgasm (with a touch of leather?)
And everyone moaning “MAGA!!!!” simultaneously

Simon and Schuster and a Carnivorous Book - mere doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Simon and Schuster and a Carnivorous Book

Simon and Schuster assure me that I
Will be consumed by J. R. Ward’s new book
But I am neither steak nor apple pie
And probably would be difficult to cook

Today's Special: Pot Roast with Two Sides - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Today’s Special: Pot Roast with Two Sides

For W.K. Kortas

In Response to his Sonnet for Wednesday’s Meatloaf

It’s an unusual pot roast, of course
Having only two dimensions, two sides
Incomplete on the space-time continuum
But free of fat, gristle, and growth horsemones

You can’t take a picture of it in 4-D
Because it appears only in 2-D
But how did you like the presentation
In a bed of herbivores all named Herb

It’s an unusual post roast discourse
In featuring only two sides of a horse

The Tree of Life has Many Branches - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Tree of Life has Many Branches

“Thy people shall be my people”

-Ruth 1:16

Smoke rises here from foul Gehenna’s fires
Fires set by souls twisted like cold barbed wire
Sole argument of ideologies
Strung geometrically from hate to hate

Smoke rises here; soft ashes fall as death
Torah, Mishnah, and Gemera – and us
For without the Word and the People Israel
We are but wraiths, and darkly blown about

O Israel!

You are the broom tree in the wilderness
The Tree of Life who shelters all with love
You are the tent of Sarah and Abraham
And we are blessed who find refuge in you

About that Prayer-Meeting Thing - column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall461994@aol.com

About that Prayer-Meeting Thing

An Ulster Scot may come to disbelieve in God, but not to wear his week-day clothes on the Sabbath.

-C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

A body styling its collective self as the Freedom from Religion Foundation recently sent a hissy-fit letter to Newton County, Texas Sheriff Billy Rowles because of his eloquent use of a local metaphor. The words that the foundation found “alarming” were “prayer meeting” (cf. Beaumont Enterprise, KJAS Radio, and The Jasper Newsboy).

Eeeek.

So there we are for the next horror movie: a monster crashes through the woods devouring teenagers and bellowing “prayer meeting!”

A well-brought-up monster would not bellow with its mouth full, of course.

I think “prayer meeting” is one of Grendl’s Dane-ripping cries in Beowulf.

In local usage “prayer meeting” can mean:

1. Denotatively, an occasion on which people with a shared belief system gather informally over coffee or a nice glass of iced tea to discuss theological topics with reference to scripture and ecclesiastical authority, and to pray with and for each other.
2. Figuratively, an occasion when an authority figure sternly reminds someone of his (the pronoun is gender-neutral) responsibilities under the mutual obligations of civilized people.

Similarly, “a come-to-Jesus moment” can refer to a conversion experience, a sudden awareness of a bit of knowledge, or #2 as above.

These colorful and effective expressions are used and understood even by people belonging to other religious traditions or to no religion at all.

Well-read men and women of all cultures understand the concept of colloquialisms, even in Wisconsin where the Freedom from Religion Foundation is, well, foundated.

If one were to visit Israel he would no doubt find there lapsed Jews who still allude to Moses and the Prophets in conversation.

In India, the same for Hindus.

In East Texas the long-dominant Reformation tradition, waning but still significant, presents our common discourse with delightful usages which are celebrated by all.

C. S. Lewis, in his autobiography Surprised by Joy, remembers with great love and respect his old tutor, Mr. Kirk, a lapsed Presbyterian who, despite his professed atheism, put on his best suit to work in his yard on Sundays. Happily for Mr. Kirk, there was no Freedom from Religion Foundation to suffer the Aunt Pitty-Pat vapors about the association between divine services and one’s Sunday-go-to-meetin’ clothes.

I do not know what religion Sheriff Rowles professes (I’m reasonably sure he doesn’t worship trees, but I could be wrong). As St. Thomas More said, I have no window with which to look into another man’s soul. Furthermore, it is not my business, nor is it the business of the Freedom from Rational Thought Foundation. A civilized person’s only concern is that the sheriff is an honorable man.

And beyond all that, the Freedom from Growing Up Foundation is obviously ignorant (and I mean that in the worst possible use of the word) of Mr. Rowles’ service to this nation in Viet-Nam and to civilization in terrible times here twenty years ago.

The Miz Grundies of the Freedom from Religion Foundation appear to be much like Eustace Clarence Scrub in Lewis’ Voyage of the Dawn Treader, obsessed with their sour, parochial (so to speak) self-obsessions and perpetually hurt feelings, and ignoring the joyful sharing of cultures.

They are free to wallow in their fear; the rest of us are free to celebrate life.

-30-

On Refusing to MAGAbomb One's Self - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

On Refusing to MAGAbomb One’s Self

In the midst of a world of light and love, of song and feast and dance,

he could find nothing more interesting to think of than his own prestige.

-C. S. Lewis, A Preface to Paradise Lost

Just look into the mirror, and there you are
Could lose a little weight, but there - you are
You comb your hair, you brush your teeth, and then
You should always remember to make a face

And laugh

For you are not a sloganed comrade-hat
Nor yet a shadow in a marching mob
A noise, a post, a bumper-stickered oaf
An obedient tool being pushed about

Because

You are not a tagged and labeled identity
But a true child of God, brave, loving, and free