Monday, January 28, 2019

For a Friend Who Died in the Night - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Like an Autumn Leaf

O may her life close like a leaf that falls
And laughs in falling at its happy end
Air-dancing through a sky of Dresden blue
Sun-sliding sideways in a blithesome breeze

Soft-singing in a sweet sinopian sun
Who smiles grandfatherly on each blest leaf
Remembering its spring, and summer too
Pushed from the wood after the last fell frost

To grow from mother-tree and taste the air
In that Apollonian sun of youth
To work and play in Saturnian summer
And then to glow in ripe Pomona’s dusk

In celebration of all life, and then
At last to leap into eternity




Of your mercy please pray for the repose of Beverly Jean.

"Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and make perpetual Light to shine upon her."

Sunday, January 27, 2019

The Lovers of Cherbourg - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

The Lovers of Cherbourg

In memory of Michel Legrand

Young lovers have from time to time made promises
On midnight docks before the troopships sailed
On dripping railway platforms censed in steam
At bus stops and on glassed-in airport ramps

Young lovers have from time to time made promises
And pledged them in their letters with kisses sealed
And cancelled politicians upside down
Then posted to a world that is not yet

Young lovers have from time to time made promises -
If it takes forever, we will wait for them

Saturday, January 26, 2019

Monastery Over the Garage: A Canticle for a Rented Room - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Monastery Over the Garage: A Canticle for a Rented Room

You fling your hurting soul against old walls
Those peeling walls presume to fling it back
A wood-roach scuttles across your hopeless hopes
Through cigarette-ashes of eternity

The wreckage of the past a pile of books
The bleakness of the now a cheap tv
Unheard in the humming of electric strips
Unholy unpostolic poverty

There is no insulation against tomorrow
But the Poly-Perk blesses your cup of sorrow

Friday, January 25, 2019

Just Before Dawn, So Technically It's Not a Midnight Knock - rhyming doggerel

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Just Before Dawn, So Technically It’s Not a Midnight Knock

We are the F.B.I.; we beat and yell and roar

But it’s okay –

We are not SMERSH pounding upon your door

Thursday, January 24, 2019

Our Demographic Issues - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Our Demographic Issues

Someday our mouldering bones will grace the walls
Of a museum’s scientific display
And little Martians will play through the halls
Ignoring us on their school’s field-trip day

Our zygomatic bones in exasperation
Attempt to roll (but, sure, cannot) because
We are extinct, a disappeared nation
Your skull and mine won’t even have jaws

And so the Beothuk on the opposite shelf

Will ask

“Well, European, are you finally over yourself?”

Wednesday, January 23, 2019

Satan Witnesses His Own Exorcism and is Outraged - rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Satan Witnesses His Own Exorcism

Suggested by a Thought from Eldon

“Whatever Power or powers there might be,
The rules can’t possibly apply to ME.”

Tuesday, January 22, 2019

Humans to Download Their Souls onto Microchips - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Humans to Download Their Souls onto Microchips
So They Can Live Forever

-Headline

And so all hopes and dreams and fears and loves:
That beautiful girl who kissed you one night
Your after-school job, your first little car
Recruit training, your Navy buddies, the sea

Your wedding day, your children at their play
Your coffee pals at the Old Men’s Café
The songs you wrote, the dreams you dreamed, your - self
Light-beamed and streamed into a little pill

The chip was lost; in someone else’s drive it sits -
He replaced your soul with Elvis’ greatest hits

Monday, January 21, 2019

The Super Wolf Blood Moon Eclipse - Rhyming Doggerel

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

The Super Wolf Blood Moon Eclipse – Rhyming Doggerel

The Super Wolf Blood Moon Eclipse
Into its orbit quietly slips

Eclipse the Super Wolf Blood Moon
The fork drives away with the spoon

Moon Eclipse The Super Wolf Blood
It trips and falls into the mud

Blood Moon Eclipse The Super Wolf
Growls “Ha!” ‘cause nothing rhymes with “wolf”

Wolf Blood Moon Eclipse The Super
Cleans up the mud with a little scooper

Super Wolf Blood Moon Eclipse The
Shines bravely over my favourite tree -

The moon always gives us delight
Especially on this frosty night!

Sunday, January 20, 2019

Jesuit Bob Stylin' to the Rhythms of 1968 - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Jesuit Bob Stylin’ to the Rhythms of 1968

And Lord we just wanna

Upon my folk guitar I plang three chords
I place the book of Psalms upon a stand
And I can sort of mix them for the Lord
And twankle-twank clichés throughout the land

And Lord we just wanna

Now with her tambourine comes Sister Jean
To help me score MY song (MY name comes first)
She’ll rhythm that machine to our happenin’ scene
And wrap our Jesus in a tune chain-versed

And Lord we just wanna
And Lord we just wanna
And Lord we just wanna

“And Lord we just wanna” is our sugary tone
But the holy copyright is mine alone

And Lord we just wanna

Saturday, January 19, 2019

Neo-Colonialist Intersectionalism at an Intersection - limerick

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

Neo-Colonialist Intersectionalism

Two wideawake birds bumped into each other
On the distant island of Ascension
Said one to the other, “Excuse me, dear brother!”
And the other replied, “Don’t mention
                                                                        it.”

Friday, January 18, 2019

Lovers Disappoint Each Other in Time - a sappy poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Lovers Disappoint Each Other in Time

Lovers disappoint each other in time
The protestations of eternal love
Those breathless kisses on a summer night -
They leave no lipstick on a shopping list

Lovers disappoint each other in time
The protestations of eternal youth
When even the sell-by dates have faded away
From the shopping lists of our yesterday

We mourn the lips we’ve kissed, the lips we’ve missed

But still…

Would you leave lipstick on my shopping list?

Thursday, January 17, 2019

Toxic Mooseculinity and that Gillette Commercial - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Toxic Stereotypeinity

           “A soldier should know the difference between words
            And deeds, and keep that knowledge clear
            In his brain. I believe your words, I trust in
            Your friendship.”

-Danish Coast Guard to Beowulf

-Beowulf, trans. Burton Raffel, Glencoe Literature: British Literature

These few lines from Beowulf reveal many of the values properly attributed to manliness: martial discipline, honorable language, honorable behavior, logic, clarity in speech, trust, personal and national loyalty, and friendship.

No man can live up to all that, but the point is that all men are supposed to try.

As the narrative develops, the reader understands that other manly virtues include protecting the weak, including women and children.

At this point we might want to consider that many women are in the military, and in combat have accomplished for real what John Wayne did only in the movies.

The matter of masculinity, of manly behavior, now inaccurately and unjustly chained to the pejorative adjective “toxic,” is much criticized just now.

I submit that there is no such thing as toxic masculinity.

I submit that this is a categorical imperative: since “toxic” means “poisonous” (and by extension any sort of evil), and since the attributes of manliness obtain as categories of good, “toxic masculinity” is an inherent contradiction, and, like the figure of a snake swallowing its tail until it disappears, cannot be.

There appears to be an ideological fashion in associating evil actions with masculinity. If the village idiot (One is not supposed to say “village idiot,” but how not? And there are so many of them now!). But as I say, if the village idiot drives along a street discharging a weapon because his mum hurt his feelings, some say that this is an example of toxic masculinity. The behavior is toxic, all right, but it is not manly; it is a failure to be manly.

If a man spends his days flaked out on the couch with video war games while his wife or momma goes to work and supports his sorry ***, that is not toxic masculinity; it is not masculinity at all.

If a man is crooked, lazy, lecherous, creepy, predatory, violent, and stupid he is not demonstrating anything but a complete lack of masculinity.

There are a great many men like that, and often The People (bless their hearts) elect to high office candidates like that, both men and women, who never made the first day of recruit training, made an ambulance run to a flaming wreck, did time with the fire department, patrolled the streets, built fence, herded cows, framed a house, or busted a sweat except on the golf course.

And I don’t get it. But we should still call things as they are, and not mock the manly virtues.

About that Gillette ad – I haven’t seen it, though I shaved with a good, American-made Gillette and the fetid water of the Vam Co Tay along the Cambodian border. I hope that’s okay with the Gillette people.

-30-

Oklahoma in the Spring of 2013 - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Oklahoma in the Spring of 2013

A young mother cradles her broken child
Amid the fragments of her world, her soul.
Blood drips. Rain-sodden insulation drips.
Stillness between storms. The trees are all gone.
A dark Sargasso Sea of shattered wood,
Bricks, clothes, books, toys, rags, glass, papers, bodies.
In the gasping heat the rot begins now.
No houses. No lights. A helicopter
Floating valley boys with plastic boxes
Taking cruel pictures and O-My-Godding
For the telescreen (between soda ads).
And in their fortresses of personal affronts

( Safely far away)

Keyboard commandos leap into inaction:

People who choose to live there deserve it.
We told you that global warming is true.
We didn’t have these things ‘til they kicked Jesus
Out of these here schools. And paddling, by God.
It’s Obama’s fault. Or is it George Bush?
It’s the Republicans. Public schools. Gaia.
British Petroleum. Coal. SUVs.
Suburbs. Not reading the Bible. Comets.
You’re stupid. Well eff you back. Eff you more.

While in the second lowering line of storms
A young mother cradles her broken child.

Wednesday, January 16, 2019

Saint Francis of the Garden Center - a frivolous four-line poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Saint Francis of the Garden Center

Saint Francis is depicted in fine art
In great museums and in modest homes -
And you can find him too, down at Wal-Mart,
Between the plastic frogs and concrete gnomes

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Chaucer and the Lightendyten - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Chaucer and the Lightendyten 1

“The Prologue” to The Canterbury Tales
Grinds from the photocopying machine
And thus the casual observer, he wails
That technology produces the scene

And yet good Chaucer wrote in the long ago
Rhymed rhythms to instruct and to delight
The copier came later, as you know -
Our pilgrim was the first these tales to write

Or was he?

So here is a problem, which I you begge:
Of which came first, the cicen or the egge?



1 There was of course no Middle English word for “photocopier” so I cobbled one together from “lighte,” to give light, and “endyte,” to write. Chaucer said it was okay.

Monday, January 14, 2019

Tears, BUSY Tears - rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Tears, BUSY Tears

These are not tears of sorrow or joy;
These are tears from allergens, m’boy.


(As Tennyson did not say)

Sunday, January 13, 2019

If Robert Frost Slep with a CPAP Machine - a pastiche

Lawrence Hall
mhall4618@aol.com

If Robert Frost Slept with a CPAP Machine

Whose breaths these are, oh, yes, I know
And on the laptop they will show
With lines and graphs so all can cheer
Each breath of mine I huff and blow

My little dog must think it queer
To sleep with a machine so near
Sighing all night without a break
Every evening throughout the year

She gives her collar bell a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the beep
Of mechanical air intake

Breathing is lovely, counting sheep
And I have life to love and keep
And hours and hours of healing sleep
And hours and hours of healing sleep



All honor to Robert Frost, to the scientists and medicos who invented CPAP and BIPAP machines, to the makers of those little life savers, and to all medical workers.

In cartoons and in family lore snoring is amusing; in reality snoring indicates a lack of oxygen to the brain and the body’s struggle to make it good. Snoring = oxygen deprivation, which leads to stroke and / or mental issues, and a too-soon death.

A sleep study involves no needles or indignities, only a night’s sleep with some flat little electrodes taped to one’s chest and extremities. Early in the morning the nice technician brings you a cup of fresh coffee. Now that’s my kind of medical care!

Saturday, January 12, 2019

Weaponizing Weaponization - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Weaponizing Weaponization

“Weaponization” has been weaponized
So that a shutting down may be shut down
By weaponizing a shutdown’s downside -
And let The People shout “Absolutely!”

By weaponizing one’s feelings and whims
There is projected a transparency
That calls for a personal comfort snake -
And let The People shout “Actually!”

So please shut down the shutdown; that’s the tonic -
And let The People shout “Iconic!”


A consideration made after reading Alan Glyn’s thoughtful essay, “Conspiracy Fiction Once Helped Us Tell the Truth. Now It’s a Weapon for Liars,” in Vulture: https://www.vulture.com/2019/01/can-conspiracy-thrillers-work-under-a-conspiracy-presidency.html. The title is preachy and too long, reflecting the heavy hand of an editor, but the essay is most interesting.

Antihistamine Dreams with a Little Touch of Grendel in the Night - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Antihistamine Dreams with a Little Touch of Grendel in the Night

Silence is here

I shine a light             into the night
I see an eye                an eye sees me
It seems to see           inside of me
It seems to see           what I might be
It sees in me               a recipe
A single eye               it seems to blink
It’s not a deer             I dream, I fear
And now a mist          I dream, I think
Slips from the wood   across the field
In silence slips            it flows, it dips
It comes this way        I must not stay
I see the eye                the eye sees me
I feel its breath            I feel its death
I cannot move             I cannot wake
I cannot walk              I cannot take
A step, a step               a saving step
The dream won’t end
The dream won’t end
The dream won’t end



The caesura divisions might not have survived the transfer.

“A little touch of Grendel in the night” is a takeoff of “a little touch of Harry in the night” in Henry V.


Friday, January 11, 2019

Camping on the Edge of Forever: a Memorial to Youth - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

from 2103

Michael Dean Marconett of Minnesota was a Navy buddy in 1967-1968 through recruit training, Hospital Corpsman ‘A’ School, and Field Medical Service School. One weekend Mike, Bill, and another friend rented an old car, loaded up our Marine Corps sleeping bags, and went camping in the snow:


Camping on the Edge of Forever

For Mike Marconett

of happy memory

Bright star, beyond a Sterno stove’s brief glow,
We’ll live forever as we live this night:
Coffee and cigarettes and comradeship,
Our backs against the sun-warmed Sierras
As the cold falls from infinite darkness
To keep the snow in place another night,
To smile in ancient silence back at you,
To make a glowing, slumberous twilight until dawn.
Those C-rations were good after a day
Of scrambling among pre-historic rocks
Made musical by the dinosaur creek,
Water as cold as the dark end of time.
San Diego glows in the south-southwest,
Silently, inefficiently, light lost.
But you, dear, happy star, will still shine down
On dreaming youths, tonight and other nights,
Counting for us, for them, each millennium.