Saturday, May 4, 2019

I Visited a High School ("Hisssssssss...!") - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

I Visited a High School

I visited a high school the other day
Walking past the police car at the door
Into a vestibule cold-camera-watched
Presenting identification at a window

Efficiently buzzed through into a hall
Which stank of aggressive disinfectant
Among the shoalings a poor unhappy girl
Angrily picked her nose and glared at me

And hissed behind my back as I went my way
(It’s all the fault of the teachers, they say)




(If you want to be alone for a while, go vote in your local school board elections. Everyone else is too busy complaining.)

Friday, May 3, 2019

The Sorrows of Younger Werther, B.A., M.A., Ph.D. Candidate - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Sorrows of Younger Werther, B.A., M.A., Ph.D. Candidate

A grown man in knee-pants and a cartoon tee
Flip-flopping along in his shower shoes
His hands up in surrender as he runs
A MePhone in his left, water bottle in his right

Nasaling “OmyGod! OmyGod! OmyGod!”
It’s his all-purpose whining upspeak chant
Wailed out for any grade less than an A
Or for a kitty-cute MeTube video

And now for a campus shooting: “Why me!?”
I just didn’t think it would happen here!”


(cf. Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther)

Thursday, May 2, 2019

That Tricky Trompe L'oeil - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

That Tricky Trompe L’oeil

Wait! I thought I saw
A trompe l’oeil trompe-ing along -
I could have been wrong

Wednesday, May 1, 2019

A Worker's Response to Carol Vanderveer Hamilton's "May Day" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Worker’s Response to Carol Vanderveer Hamilton’s “May Day”

As one of the blue-jacketed workers
As a defiant student
As a child of poverty
Who never had a bicycle to ride to the Sorbonne

I repudiate your vivid red flags
And your graduate-school keyboard revolution
And your catalogue of cliches’ and cant
And your crawling housefly symbolism

As one of the blue-jacketet workers
As a defiant student
After an all-night shift in the plastics factory
I like my cuppa Earl Grey tea in my bleeding hands

Someday I’ll have a bourgeois balcony
And from it look down on your stereotypes

Tuesday, April 30, 2019

Streaming Forbidden Love - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Streaming Forbidden Love

So many movies on the streaming service
Advert themselves as about forbidden love
Until one wonders if there is any love
Which is not forbidden
                                           your credit card welcome

Monday, April 29, 2019

An Extraordinary Ordinary Life - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An Extraordinary Ordinary Life

For Mrs. Tinney Davidson, The Waving Grandma
Comox, British Columbia

She lived in an ordinary house in an ordinary street
And every day she waved to children passing by
And every day the waved-at children waved back
Because a wave is a good beginning to the day

In the morning she waved the children along to school
And in the evening waved them back again home
And every day the waved-at children waved back
Just like the waves that hug a beach, with love

And then one day she went away, and waved -
And the waved-at children will wave back forever

Extraordinary!

(cf. Here and Now, CBC St. John’s, 26 April 2019)

Sunday, April 28, 2019

Manic Pixie Dream Girl at a Funeral - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Manic Pixie Dream Girl at a Funeral

The manic pixie dream girl of my youth
Curving and tight, scampering along the beach
Her wild black hair flying about as she danced
Teasing all the boys with her sunlit joys

I read to her Rod McKuen by candlelight
While Joni Mitchell on the turntable mused
We played and smoked, and drank good screwcap wine
And played some more, and then she went away

And now - an old lady in a funeral home pew
And I’m not so sure of myself anymore


(“Manic pixie dream girl” is a neologism attributed to film critic Nathan Rubin)

Saturday, April 27, 2019

Pascha at St. Michael's Orthodox Church - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Pascha at St. Michael’s Orthodox Church

Happy Easter / Pascha to a Russian Orthodox Friend

What sort of man sits in the silent dark
And waits for a small candle to be lit
When he could reach over and flip a switch
For the miracle of electricity

Bravely to course through the building’s wired veins
The march of progress with a touch controlled
By the hand of humanity triumphant
Over Byzantine superstition. Tell us:

What hopeful sort of man waits for the dawn,
For Light to appear from a cold, sealed tomb?

Friday, April 26, 2019

A Clerisy of One - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Clerisy of One

I am a clerisy of one
I argue with myself a lot
And as I speak I know I’ve won
I’m all about me, and you are not

Thursday, April 25, 2019

For President of the United States - Me - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

For President of the United States - Me

For fear of being the only American not to run for office this election cycle, I now announce that I want to serve me I mean…You The People…of this great land as your next president.

I also want the fleet of presidential jets, the garage of great big SUVs, the household staff, an armored train with great big nuclear cannons that go “BOOM!”, a bunch of helicopters, and a gold-plated toilet that lights up and plays “Hail to the Chief” when flushed, just like the Constitution says.

I solemnly swear that if you elect me as your next president I will let you little people look at all the jet airplanes, SUVs, the armored train, and the helicopters you pay for.

The Gold-Plated Toilet of The People is off-limits, though.

As your president I’m not going to ride Amtrak, carry my own suitcase, or eat in a roadside diner. I want all the goodies. I want my presidency to be a reflection of my America. And you can look at your reflection in a mirror.

As your president I will see to it that my family and my friends fly on presidential airplanes to London, Paris, Rome, Saint Petersburg, Saint Moritz, and Tokyo on shopping trips and vacations so that you can be inspired by how your tax dollars are making my buddies happy. Just like some of the previous presidents.

As your president I will bill the Secret Service for protecting me at the best rate quoted by the Deutsche Bank. After all, if those guys are going to hang around on my lawn in all sorts of weather protecting me and my family, they should pay me rent, okay? Just like the previous president.

As your president I will hang around with and pay off only those dictators with a good fashion sense. When Kim Jong Ill ditches the mousey-dung play-school outfit and learns to wear a coat and tie like a grownup, then we can talk. And no Justin Trudeau socksies, either.

As your president I will tell you what’s in Area 51. And Area 50. It stands to reason that if there is an Area 51 then there must be an Area 50. It’s so secret that you haven’t even heard of it. That’s what The Voices tell me.

As your president I will develop a national health and exercise program whose core strategy is having everyone run laps around former Governor Christie of New Jersey.

As your president I will build a big, beautiful, yuuuuge wall built around the Internal Revenue Service.

As your president I will sign an executive order banning the death penalty except for telemarketers - for them death by throwing them into a pit of ravenous dachshunds will be mandatory.

As your president I will ask Snoop Dogg and Willie Nelson to form a select committee for writing lyrics for “Hail to the Chief, and I am the Chief.”

And remember, my fellow Americans, a vote for me is a vote for, well, me.

Thank you, thank you. And don’t forget to send the Benjamins.

-30-

An Execution - Maybe the Prisoner was Already Dead - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Maybe the Prisoner was Already Dead

“...he stepped slightly aside to avoid a puddle on the path.”

-George Orwell, “A Hanging”

Evening. Maybe he was already dead
Dead long before the State boys strapped him down
And a functionary started an I.V. drip
Left arm? Or right? In a cinder-block room

Fluorescent lights

With windowed faces posted on both sides
Testaments to the protocols of death
The liturgy of falling away because
He and the lads murdered a helpless man

Fluorescent lights

He breathed. And then he didn’t. His bowels let go
And did they put a Band-Aid on the wound?

Fluorescent lights

But now

Let’s go outside and feel the wind

                                                            We live

Wednesday, April 24, 2019

Choking on Aspirational Hyphens - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Choking on Aspirational Hyphens

Our straw boss, now, she hyphenates her name
And there is something frightening about
Those faux dashes fastened between the nouns
Her proper nouns, as if they might slip loose

And fall onto the pages of Debrett’s
As isolated bits of DNA
Dropping their aitches and their gees, oh, please!
So tack that Burberry hyphen back again

Let no proletarian taint be seen -
Made in China becomes Fabrique en Chine

Tuesday, April 23, 2019

"We Will Rebuild Notre Dame Even More Beautifully" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“We Will Rebuild Notre Dame Even More Beautifully”

-President Macron

Your privacy is guaranteed
There’s nothing to see here, nothing
He died while trying to escape
Now, then, this might sting a little

Winning the hearts and minds of the people
A light at the end of the tunnel
Lose weight without diet or exercise
We never sell your information

Uploaded unintentionally
Oh, sure, I’ll pay you back next week

Monday, April 22, 2019

Neo-Platonic Darwinian Bird-Ness - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Neo-Platonic Darwinian Bird-Ness

The birds might say, “Oh, look at the pretty humans!
They have waited all winter for us to return!”
And so we have, like seasonal hoteliers
Inviting our guests back for their holiday

The seed-buffets on little metal trays
And little plastic houses in the trees
Bespeak our thoughtful hospitality
For little friends who live upon their wings

Now summering in nest and eave and steeple
The birds must laugh, “Oh look at the people!”

Sunday, April 21, 2019

Ubi Petrus - poem (a repost for Easter Sunday)

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Ubi Petrus

For Inky and Jason


“Ubi Petrus, ibi Ecclesia”

- St. Ambrose of Milan


Where Peter was, there also was the Tomb --
Blood-sodden dreams cold-rotting in old sin,
The Chalice left unwashed, the Upper Room
A three-days’ grave for hope-forsaken men.

Where Peter is, there also should we be,
Poor pilgrims, his, a-kneel before the Throne
Of Eosian Christendom, and none but he
Is called to lead the Church to eternal Dawn.

Where Peter then will be, there is the Faith,
Transubstantiation, whipped blood, ripped flesh
A solid reality, not a wraith
Of shop-soiled heresies labeled as fresh.

Where Peter is, O Lord, there let us pray,
Poor battered wanderers along Your way.

Saturday, April 20, 2019

No One Has Messed Up Good Friday Yet - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

No One Has Messed Up Good Friday Yet

All Souls’ and All Saints’ were made to disappear
Easter is bad enough with rabbit eggs
And Christmas was appropriated by The People
As a tribute to (belch) Glorious Excess

But no one has taken Good Friday away
With gifts and treats and two-for-one specials
Down at Chez Bubba’s Discount Liquor and Smokes,
And Colonial Auto Parts stays open - why not?

But while the world spins along on its way
A few eccentrics remember Him this day



I'm late with this.  I hope the Holy Saturday Hamster (who leaves omelettes for good little girls and boys) isn't miffed about it.

Friday, April 19, 2019

"Stop Crying While I'm Making Your Lives Happy! - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An All-Purpose Holiday Behavior Modification Plan
 
(no, no, just a house I visited long ago -
I escaped as fast as I could)

She will make it a perfect holiday

(“Don’t touch those cookies! They’re for later!”)

Just like the ones on H & G TV

(“Don’t touch Santa! I’ve got him where I want him!”)

With the perfect table and decorations

(“Who moved the Easter bunny, *** **** it!?”)

Exactly like the ones in the magazines

(“Just leave the tree alone; I’LL decorate it!”)

And smiling faces all around the house

(“I expect a little cooperation around here!”)

Perfectly wrapped presents with perfect bows

(“Turn the tree…not that way…LISTEN TO ME!”

Cute Easter baskets for each little child

(“Leave those chocolates alone! you’ll ruin your lunch!”)

Marshaled prettily for a photograph

(“Oh, ****! There’s a grass stain on your church dress!”

Meemaw and Pawpaw will be proud of them

(“**** it! I told you not to play outside in your church dress!”)

The children’s table is just like a picture

(“Not yet! We haven’t even said the ****ed grace!”)

A perfect holiday, or she’ll just die -
No matter how many children are made to cry

Thursday, April 18, 2019

A Load or Two of Codswallop - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Load or Two of Codswallop

One hears of a load of codswallop
But no one knows what a codswallop is
And only by the load, or can you buy a dollop?
And just who is in the codswallop biz?

Wednesday, April 17, 2019

If There is a Rebound, There Must Have Been a Bound - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

If There is a Rebound, There Must Have Been a Bound

Rebound!

I don’t understand basketball at all
Women and men run around in funny clothes
Yelling a lot while keeping a basketball
From each other in a shoe-slapping gym

Rebound!

And they yell “REBOUND!” more than anything else
And I hear each “REBOUND!” echoing about
And shoes slide-squeaking on the wooden floor
And I have no idea what any of it means

Rebound!

I only know that roundballers are tall

Beyond that

I don’t understand basketball at all

Rebound!

Tuesday, April 16, 2019

The Pragmatic Sanction of a Penny Candle - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Pragmatic Sanction of a Penny Candle

Nothing is more pragmatic than a votive light
A candlelight
A little light
A prayer light