Poetic Solitude and Public Tension - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Solitude and Tension

Tension comes from a lack of solitude
When even a thought is interrogated
Examined, suspected, found to be flawed
Through our loving Article 58

What is your religion? Your politics?
Why do you write your words with the wrong hand?
Why do you write at all? Is that about us?
Why don’t you I.M. like normal people?

In nature an artist finds only delight
In his fellow humans only suspicion

Beating the Gums of War - a poor poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Beating the Gums of War

“Hell hath no fury like a non-combatant”

-this phrase, attributed to many, dates back at least to the American civil war

Channeling John Wayne, their semi-autos on show
Leather-boy bandoliers draped with lots of ammo

          Hell hath no fury like a deer-stand commando

Old men beating their gums for war; oh, yes, it’s so
Each wearing his made-in-China camouflage chapeau

          Hell hath no fury like a café commando

Idle hookah heroes in Houston, don’cha know
Want their country liberated – our children must go

          Hell hath no fury like a narghile commando

Studs at their ‘puter games, screens all aglow
There’s nothing about George Patton that they don’t know

          Hell hath no fury like a keyboard commando

And corpses for the lamps of China to make the oil flow
They want your child to die for profits – just tell ‘em to blow

          Hell hath no fury like a private-jet commando

None of them made the first day of boot camp, oh, no
Though their thousand-yard stares are perfected guano

          Hell hath no fury like a ‘way-back commando

Dwarf Porn Star in the News - couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Dwarf Porn Star in the News

“Dwarf Porn Star Accused of Stabbing Boyfriend”
Maybe he got a little short with her.
                                                                  The End.

Never Pass Up an Opportunity to Flee for Your Life - weekly column

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Never Pass Up an Opportunity to Flee for Your Life

Several years ago a young person of my acquaintance came close to death by drowning.

Her first mistake was trusting her local government and the local dam authority to get anything right.

When the Harvey rains came the local government, via the usual media, urged the residents not to evacuate because they would only clog the roads and get in the way. Besides, the rain wouldn’t be all that bad.

Then, in the dark hours of the night, the dam authority upriver opened up the dam floodgates. They dam well didn’t bother telling anyone.

Even as the waters rose to the first floor of her building at dawn the local government kept telling people to shelter in place. The local government kept saying this even as the crew of a rescue boat told the young person of my acquaintance that there might not be another.

She was passed along a sequence of boats and a Houston Airport Authority dump truck in wind and rain, and at one point with others was wading waist-deep in foul and flowing waters, fearing at one point that she might have to release her two kittens and herself to the flood, giving them and herself to God.

At the end of this metaphorical chain she found shelter in a church. A few days later she wisely took a tetanus shot.

When we were able to able to drive through the muck to survey her apartment – there was much looting in the area – we found her car, well-mudded over and irretrievably ruined.

We could not open the doors to sort among her sodden belongings because her car was one of those whose features are entirely electric. The horrible reality then occurred to us – if many models of cars hit the water, you can’t get out. The door bolts are electrical, not mechanical.

You can’t get out.

You will scream out the horrible end of your life trapped in your car because some S.T.E.M. genius, a board of designers, and a board of corporate overlords are okay with you screaming out the horrible end of your life trapped in your car.

And then there’s the dam committee. In charge of the dam.

But, hey, plastic straws…

(https://dashcamtalk.com/forum/threads/can-you-unlock-your-door-lock-manually-if-not-it-could-be-dangerous.11993/)

-30-

"Now We're the People They Take Pictures Of" - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@aol.com

“Now We’re the People They Take Pictures Of”

A Harvey Refugee Reports:

When she with cats, papers, a change of clothes
And her old college bag to hold them all
Was one refugee among others in a dump truck
A Houston Airport Authority dump truck

Dieseling through rain and water and fear
With muck and mud sloshing across their feet
A woman next to her then laughed and said,
“Now we’re the people they take pictures of”

But there was no Capa to frame the scenes
Only oh-my-Godders with MePhone screens



(As the old saying goes, this isn't half the story. A young person of my acquaintance was caught in the flooding in Houston two years ago because she trusted her local government and the dam (and damn') authority when they told the people not to evacuate because they would only clog the roads.)

Why is Saint Jude Annoyed with Me? - rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Saint Jude Prayer Card

I thought to pray for a serious need, you see

But

Saint Jude seems a little annoyed with me




Really! He looks a bit like my high school principal.

The Ministry of Beer - rhyming couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Ministry of Beer

“The sun looks down on nothing half so good as…

two friends talking over a pint of beer...”

― C.S. Lewis, "The Weight of Glory"

They may keep their dark Ministry of Fear -
We joy in our bright Ministry of Beer

Tropical Storm Imelda - a poem of sorts

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Tropical Storm Imelda

As Mercutio in Romeo and Juliet did not say with his dying breath:

No, 'tis not so deep as a Harvey, nor so wide as a
Rita; but 'tis enough, 'twill serve.



Just because a tropical storm isn’t technically a hurricane doesn’t mean it won’t kill your children or you. Use your brain.

"AR-Style Weapon" - couplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“AR-Style Weapon”

In ‘Nam they jammed with jinx and jump and jerk
But now against children the d*mned things work

Taking the Pulse of the American People - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Taking the Pulse of the American People

I don’t want to take the pulse of the American people, she said

Only yours

You Had One Job - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

You Had One Job One Job One Job

You had one job. I mean, really, one job
Just one job, and you didn’t do that job
Right? Right? Just that one job. And you didn’t
You didn’t do that one job, just that one job

All you had was that one job, that was all
Just that one job. What’s the matter with you?
One job. Just one job. One job, am I right?
And you couldn’t be bothered to do that one job

And what was that one job you didn’t do?
TO STOP SAYING, “YOU HAD ONE JOB!”
                                                                                 STOP IT!

An Old Man on the First Day of School - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

An Old Man on the First Day of School

Okay, I’m scared. Seventy-one years old
And scared. What if the teachers don’t like me?
What if those old principals don’t like me?
And what if the children don’t like me, huh?

I’m apprehensive about my first day
The librarian likes me, though. She’s nice
She asked me to be there. I’ll shine my shoes
And wear a clean shirt and tie – still, I’m scared

Oh, yes, there’s tension in the atmosphere
For this library reading volunteer!

With a Side Order of Screaming Child - weekly column

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Lunch with Friends 

With a Side Disorder of Screaming Child and Bellowing Mother

Pajama Child, running and screaming: “Bye-bye. Bye-Bye! BYE-BYE! HEY!!! BYE-BYE!!!!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Don’t run, honey. No. Don’t run! I SAID, ‘DON’T RUN!!!”

Pajama Child, standing in her seat and chewing her food over diners’ backs: “Wlb. Glb. Blrt! Uerk! Blye-blye!

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone:: “One…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child: “NO! CAN’T MAKE ME! NO, YOU! NO, NO, NO, NO!!!!!!!!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Twoooooooooooooooooooooooooo…!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child, throwing food: (SHRIEKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!”)

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “NO! I MEAN IT THIS TIME! One………!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Pajama Child, running and screaming around the restaurant: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Twooooooooooooooo…!!!! I mean it this time!!!! Twooooooooooooooooooo…!!!!!!”

Pajama Child: “NO, YOU! CAN’T MAKE ME! BYE-BYE! BYE-BYE-BYE!”

Momma, not looking up from her MePhone: “Do you need a spanking? I mean it this time!”



I blame the teachers and Donald Trump. I mean it. No, really. I mean it this time.

Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Genuine Bull Durham Smoking Tobacco

He sat on the old board fence, his chair of state
All spiffy in his Sunday-pressed khakis
Though he wasn't much for going to church
And his Other Hat, still a farmer’s hat

With his teeth and his workworn, sunburnt hand
(The other hand somehow mislaid in France)
He played the paper and ‘baccy and tag
Into a censer of sacred sweet smoke

And all us little boys watched him in awe
And hoped for the bag with its little string draw

"Killed in Uncertain Circumstances" - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

“Killed in Uncertain Circumstances”

In re John Cornford, 1936

One of the many bad things about being
A fervent Communist organizer is
That pretty soon some other Communists
Organize you

Crew Quarters and the Mafia - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Crew Quarters and the Mafia

When I was a-serving of their majesties Brown and Root

Rows of racks under aquarium lights
And scattered paperbacks: Louis L’Amour
Bravo Company battlefield yarns, (love)-books
About blonde hot rod babes with really big (pretties)

The crew, all older than I, were better books:
Mechanics, enginemen, crane operators
Welders, riggers, radiomen, divers
Draftsmen for the “as built” modifications

The cook was a nervous man from New Jersey
He looked over his shoulder and dropped things

Sailing a September Sea with You - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Sailing a September Sea with You

When you sigh, tucked cozily beneath my arm
Are you thinking of a lover in the past
That worthy youth who was the first to sail
With you out into that wider, wilder sea?

How vain of me to wish that I had been
that sailor, how foolish, for here you are -
I think you’re laughing at me, and well you should
Are you as happy to be here as I am?

Growing old was not part of my master plan
The sea and I are both old now, but you –

                                           You are forever young

No Doubt the Polyester is Decaying as it Should - doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

No Doubt the Polyester is Decaying as it Should

Is there a man of such steely self-control
Of such virtue, character, fortitude
Strength and pride in his manly role
Confidence and heart and stern attitude

Valor, endurance, resolution, will
Courage, patience, defiance, intellect
Manliness, ruggedness, rock-like, chill
Decision, quality, all cool and collect

That he doesn’t have to go and upchuck
Whenever he hears that “Desiderata” muck?

A Farm Boy Smiles at the Moon; the Moon Smiles Back - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Farm Boy Smiles at the Moon; the Moon Smiles Back

A child smiles at the moon; the moon smiles back
For they are friends, you see, both peek-a-boo
Behind and through the leaves of their favorite oak
In an ancient world that is forever young

Adults are children who have forgotten how
To see, and who have lost their bearings, their course
Their pirate-maps for sailing to the stars
And their lunar love-letters to be read in dreams

Among the fireflies, on the cooling-dusk field
A child smiles at the moon; the moon smiles back

Nova Scotia and Newfoundland Do Not Exist - rhyming doggerel

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Nova Scotia and Newfoundland Do Not Exist

An American weather boy considers the storm
And all its tracks upon a glowing map
A hurricane by shape and scale and form
Roaring northeast through a low-pressure gap

There is nothing beyond holy New York City
Some unexplored land masses, it may be
Lost in the Atlantic (which is blue and pretty)
Where the hurricane will be harmless, you see

With a flip of his hand, they are dismissed:
Nova Scotia and Newfoundland do not exist