Thursday, January 9, 2020
A Full Moon, a Vapor Trail, and a Star - a happy poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The night is disturbed – there will be storms tomorrow
Wild wind, wild rain, tornado watches and warnings
The air has been warm and dark and heavy all day
And now grim clouds are massing for a rally
But suddenly the moon breaks free of them
Of wind, of clouds, of earth, of limitations
And joined by a vapor trail and a star
Sails a silent journey for all of us
The night is disturbed – there will be storms tomorrow
But know that soon the moon will sail us to
Our hearts’ desires
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Full Moon, a Vapor Trail, and a Star
The night is disturbed – there will be storms tomorrow
Wild wind, wild rain, tornado watches and warnings
The air has been warm and dark and heavy all day
And now grim clouds are massing for a rally
But suddenly the moon breaks free of them
Of wind, of clouds, of earth, of limitations
And joined by a vapor trail and a star
Sails a silent journey for all of us
The night is disturbed – there will be storms tomorrow
But know that soon the moon will sail us to
Our hearts’ desires
Wednesday, January 8, 2020
The President will Lie to the American People at Eleven - an unhappy poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
In illo tempore:
When President Eisenhower spoke on the radio
We stopped everything, and listened to him
He was the President, and spoke the truth
He was the President, and could do no other
When President Kennedy spoke on the tv
We stopped everything, and listened to him
He was the President, and spoke the truth
He was the President, and could do no other
In diebus nostris:
And now when a president speaks at all
We assume that he is lying again, and will do no other
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The President will Lie to the American People at Eleven
In illo tempore:
When President Eisenhower spoke on the radio
We stopped everything, and listened to him
He was the President, and spoke the truth
He was the President, and could do no other
When President Kennedy spoke on the tv
We stopped everything, and listened to him
He was the President, and spoke the truth
He was the President, and could do no other
In diebus nostris:
And now when a president speaks at all
We assume that he is lying again, and will do no other
Finding Iran on a Map - weekly column
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The ambush question is asked: Can you find Iran on a map? (https://morningconsult.com/2020/01/08/can-you-locate-iran-few-voters-can/)
Someone who asks you a trivia question has first looked it up himself (the pronoun is gender-neutral), of course, just to score a transient feeling of superiority over at The Old Men’s Corner.
Quick, find Bessarabia on this blank map. Ha. Thought so. You dummy. You don’t even know where Bessarabia is. And you think you’re so smart.
Morning Consult says that a third of American voters can’t find Iran on a map.
Well, really, do you want to find Iran on a map?
If so, just take out your MePhone, type in “Iran,” and you’ll find maps and statistics and the fascinating history of Persia / Iran, one of the oldest countries in the world.
A greater challenge for American voters is finding their local voting booth. Only about 50% of the electorate vote in presidential elections, while only a few, lonely souls, like tormented characters in a novel by Dostoyevsky, vote in local and school board elections, which are far more important.
If you read anything about the geography, history, and culture of Persia, even on a Wickedpedia site, you will probably know more about the reasons for conflict than our leaders.
A good place to begin with the modern history of Iran is: http://origins.osu.edu/article/frenemies-iran-and-america-1900. There are reasons why Iran, Britain, Russia, and the USA have such complex love-hate relationships.
There are, by the way, lots of now middle-aged Americans who were born in Iran in happier times.
Pictures of life in pre-revolutionary Iran are easily sourced. This site is typical:
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5103795/Fascinating-photos-Iran-1979-revolution.html
By the way, there is no draft, hasn’t been since 1973, and there will never again be a draft. Young men (not women) still must register, and no one seems to know why.
Finally, feel free to challenge me to find Bessarabia on a map. I did look it up, but now I have forgotten.
Mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Finding Iran on a Map
“Teheran moves fast – everywhere I went, Iran.”
-a very old wheeze
The ambush question is asked: Can you find Iran on a map? (https://morningconsult.com/2020/01/08/can-you-locate-iran-few-voters-can/)
Someone who asks you a trivia question has first looked it up himself (the pronoun is gender-neutral), of course, just to score a transient feeling of superiority over at The Old Men’s Corner.
Quick, find Bessarabia on this blank map. Ha. Thought so. You dummy. You don’t even know where Bessarabia is. And you think you’re so smart.
Morning Consult says that a third of American voters can’t find Iran on a map.
Well, really, do you want to find Iran on a map?
If so, just take out your MePhone, type in “Iran,” and you’ll find maps and statistics and the fascinating history of Persia / Iran, one of the oldest countries in the world.
A greater challenge for American voters is finding their local voting booth. Only about 50% of the electorate vote in presidential elections, while only a few, lonely souls, like tormented characters in a novel by Dostoyevsky, vote in local and school board elections, which are far more important.
If you read anything about the geography, history, and culture of Persia, even on a Wickedpedia site, you will probably know more about the reasons for conflict than our leaders.
A good place to begin with the modern history of Iran is: http://origins.osu.edu/article/frenemies-iran-and-america-1900. There are reasons why Iran, Britain, Russia, and the USA have such complex love-hate relationships.
There are, by the way, lots of now middle-aged Americans who were born in Iran in happier times.
Pictures of life in pre-revolutionary Iran are easily sourced. This site is typical:
https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-5103795/Fascinating-photos-Iran-1979-revolution.html
By the way, there is no draft, hasn’t been since 1973, and there will never again be a draft. Young men (not women) still must register, and no one seems to know why.
Finally, feel free to challenge me to find Bessarabia on a map. I did look it up, but now I have forgotten.
-30-
Sunlight on the Floor of the Flying J - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
To get to the floor light starts with the sun
About 92 million miles from here
Eight minutes
Unless a photon wrecks along the way
And everyone must wait for a cosmic tow
Sunbeams slant silently across the sky
And in formation past our coffee cups
So fast
Down past our table, and ever more down
Until they land on the freshly-mopped tiles
I take a picture of the sunlit floor
Because I am so easily amused
Light is fun
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Sunlight on the Floor of the Flying J
“Light breaks where no sun shines”
-Dylan Thomas
To get to the floor light starts with the sun
About 92 million miles from here
Eight minutes
Unless a photon wrecks along the way
And everyone must wait for a cosmic tow
Sunbeams slant silently across the sky
And in formation past our coffee cups
So fast
Down past our table, and ever more down
Until they land on the freshly-mopped tiles
I take a picture of the sunlit floor
Because I am so easily amused
Light is fun
Tuesday, January 7, 2020
Doorbell Spy Cameras of Omnipresent Spookery - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Electric eyes and subtle microphones
Click and glow in anticipation of crimes
Against the sanctity of packages and porch
By trespassers (sometimes my dearest friends)
Beyond the nightly possums, Bob the Cat
Deedra’s little Tuxedo, squirrels, and raccoons
We humans mostly see and hear each other
So I must learn to mind what I do and say
We need no baleful elves upon bookshelves -
We pay a fee to spy upon ourselves!
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Doorbell Spy Cameras of Omnipresent Spookery
“Be seeing you.”
-Patrick McGoohan, The Prisoner
Electric eyes and subtle microphones
Click and glow in anticipation of crimes
Against the sanctity of packages and porch
By trespassers (sometimes my dearest friends)
Beyond the nightly possums, Bob the Cat
Deedra’s little Tuxedo, squirrels, and raccoons
We humans mostly see and hear each other
So I must learn to mind what I do and say
We need no baleful elves upon bookshelves -
We pay a fee to spy upon ourselves!
Monday, January 6, 2020
But the Magi Did Arrive - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
We can’t be sure when the Magi arrived
Or where
But if they hadn’t arrived at all
They still would have arrived because they began
Even if their bones in the desert disappeared
We can’t be sure of the meanings in their gifts
Or why
But if they had been stolen
The gifts would still have been given anyway
Because the Magi gave themselves to Him
We can’t be sure of most things, only of the journey
And the journey always leads to where He is
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
But the Magi Did Arrive
We can’t be sure when the Magi arrived
Or where
But if they hadn’t arrived at all
They still would have arrived because they began
Even if their bones in the desert disappeared
We can’t be sure of the meanings in their gifts
Or why
But if they had been stolen
The gifts would still have been given anyway
Because the Magi gave themselves to Him
We can’t be sure of most things, only of the journey
And the journey always leads to where He is
Sunday, January 5, 2020
Feast of the Epiphany (which is not about Epiphany) - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
From 2006:
Grey days recede into dreary, drizzling dusks
Baptismal rains across the windows slip
And even the candlelight is not proof
Against the gathering gloom of heartfall
Shakespeare leans uncertainly on the shelf
And agonizes over his writer’s block
Milton is writing yet another tract
On faith while smoking Players cigarettes
Warnie and Jack are out for a brisk walk
And Tollers is busy correcting proofs
Under a yellow puddle of lamplight
Bleak Spenser in his grief Kilcolman weeps
We all hold castles abandoned and burnt
Friendships grown mouldy, squabbles unresolved
Walks not taken, rough drafts uncorrected
Pipes gone quite out, cups of tea gotten cold
Has it been that long since I saw you last?
Come in; I’ll put the kettle on for tea
Just leave your coat and brolly by the door
Come sit by the fire; come, and talk with me
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
From 2006:
Feast of the Epiphany
Grey days recede into dreary, drizzling dusks
Baptismal rains across the windows slip
And even the candlelight is not proof
Against the gathering gloom of heartfall
Shakespeare leans uncertainly on the shelf
And agonizes over his writer’s block
Milton is writing yet another tract
On faith while smoking Players cigarettes
Warnie and Jack are out for a brisk walk
And Tollers is busy correcting proofs
Under a yellow puddle of lamplight
Bleak Spenser in his grief Kilcolman weeps
We all hold castles abandoned and burnt
Friendships grown mouldy, squabbles unresolved
Walks not taken, rough drafts uncorrected
Pipes gone quite out, cups of tea gotten cold
Has it been that long since I saw you last?
Come in; I’ll put the kettle on for tea
Just leave your coat and brolly by the door
Come sit by the fire; come, and talk with me
Saturday, January 4, 2020
Old Men Rattling Their Made-in-China Forks of War - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The old men rattle their made-in-China forks
And, yes, their dentures too, gumming stern death
Upon the breakfast special with war-like barks
Killing sausage and treason with their coffee-breath
Their stereotypes fly like missiles in the mist
By-Gods and f-bombs and quotes from Patton
Blasting targets that don’t even exist
Imaginary machine guns rat-a-tat-tattin’
“All these here snowflakes, they oughta go!”
The waitress asks, “Another cuppa joe?”
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Old Men Rattling Their Made-in-China Forks of War
For us lads of eighteen they ought to have been mediators and guides…
While they continued to write and talk, we saw the wounded and the dying.
-Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front, p. 11
The old men rattle their made-in-China forks
And, yes, their dentures too, gumming stern death
Upon the breakfast special with war-like barks
Killing sausage and treason with their coffee-breath
Their stereotypes fly like missiles in the mist
By-Gods and f-bombs and quotes from Patton
Blasting targets that don’t even exist
Imaginary machine guns rat-a-tat-tattin’
“All these here snowflakes, they oughta go!”
The waitress asks, “Another cuppa joe?”
Friday, January 3, 2020
A Box of Tissues in the Top, Right-Hand Desk Drawer - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Every good teacher keeps a box of tissues in reach
(The bad ones don’t)
For adolescents racketed in tears
For adolescence bracketed by fears
One must not, dare not hug a hurting child
(Oh, fashionable fear!)
But a tissue is safe, and gentle words
And after school a tissue-silent prayer
Every good teacher keeps a box of tissues in reach
And kindness too
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Box of Tissues in the Top, Right-Hand Desk Drawer
Every good teacher keeps a box of tissues in reach
(The bad ones don’t)
For adolescents racketed in tears
For adolescence bracketed by fears
One must not, dare not hug a hurting child
(Oh, fashionable fear!)
But a tissue is safe, and gentle words
And after school a tissue-silent prayer
Every good teacher keeps a box of tissues in reach
And kindness too
Thursday, January 2, 2020
Celebrating Talmud - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
How could it be otherwise?
For even as the Temple burned
Our teachers gathered
Their thoughts
Their notes
And us
And made the Mishna and the Gemera
Our Temple in exile
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Celebrating Talmud
How could it be otherwise?
For even as the Temple burned
Our teachers gathered
Their thoughts
Their notes
And us
And made the Mishna and the Gemera
Our Temple in exile
Wednesday, January 1, 2020
No Dead Bodies on the Lawn, Please - a poem for the new year
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
There are no dead bodies on the lawn at dawn
So the new year is beginning well enough
No worse than last year at least, when each day
Featured on the calendar of disappointments
There are no dead hopes on the lawn at dawn
The air is cool, the overcast is low
Early-morning silence promises peace
And squirrels are frisking in the front-yard oaks
There are no dead dreams on the lawn at dawn
But both the day and the year are new – just wait
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
No Dead Bodies on the Lawn, Please
There are no dead bodies on the lawn at dawn
So the new year is beginning well enough
No worse than last year at least, when each day
Featured on the calendar of disappointments
There are no dead hopes on the lawn at dawn
The air is cool, the overcast is low
Early-morning silence promises peace
And squirrels are frisking in the front-yard oaks
There are no dead dreams on the lawn at dawn
But both the day and the year are new – just wait
Tuesday, December 31, 2019
Smoking a Ziggurat on New Year's Even - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Young men are attacking an embassy
Advancing with their cell ‘phones and their bodies
Against the American ziggurat
Spiraling pointlessly into the sky
Its Babel-gridded steel and plastic towers
Babbling babble out into the world
Of Keyboard Kommandos on little screens
Rattling loudly their geriatric tweets
Our fearless president knows about war
For he has been watching Patton again
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Smoking a Ziggurat on New Year’s Eve
Young men are attacking an embassy
Advancing with their cell ‘phones and their bodies
Against the American ziggurat
Spiraling pointlessly into the sky
Its Babel-gridded steel and plastic towers
Babbling babble out into the world
Of Keyboard Kommandos on little screens
Rattling loudly their geriatric tweets
Our fearless president knows about war
For he has been watching Patton again
Early Hours are Best - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The early hours are best
For waking up before the sun has risen
For kindling a fire against the morning frost
For making coffee to celebrate the light
For stretching out a yawn in happiness
The early hours are best
For greeting the ikons next to the stove
For watching sunbeams slip across the floor
For coaxing colors into dressing for the day
For chancing fresh new possibilities
The early hours are best
For thinking and remembering this truth:
That every morning is Eden again
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Early Hours are Best
The early hours are best
For waking up before the sun has risen
For kindling a fire against the morning frost
For making coffee to celebrate the light
For stretching out a yawn in happiness
The early hours are best
For greeting the ikons next to the stove
For watching sunbeams slip across the floor
For coaxing colors into dressing for the day
For chancing fresh new possibilities
The early hours are best
For thinking and remembering this truth:
That every morning is Eden again
Monday, December 30, 2019
Is the Catholic Church Dead? - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Did you see the beautiful young people singing before
The smoking wreckage of Notre Dame? They live
They are more powerful in their quiet singing
than the shrieking Antis
than the bellowing Communists
than the scribbling Jack Chicks
than the posturing Napoleons
than the strutting Hitlers
The young people live
Song by song and stone by stone they rebuild Notre Dame
They have lived
They live
They will live
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Is the Catholic Church Dead?
Did you see the beautiful young people singing before
The smoking wreckage of Notre Dame? They live
They are more powerful in their quiet singing
than the shrieking Antis
than the bellowing Communists
than the scribbling Jack Chicks
than the posturing Napoleons
than the strutting Hitlers
The young people live
Song by song and stone by stone they rebuild Notre Dame
They have lived
They live
They will live
The Great California Earthquake of Seismic Doom - rhyming doggerel
Lawrence Hall
mhall4614@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Some are fearful that California will sink
Into the Pacific, into the drink
It’s a matter of time; they’re on the brink!
Ignoring the obvious reality
California will be high and dry, you see -
‘Tis the rest of us who will slide into the sea!
mhall4614@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Great California Earthquake of Seismic Doom
Some are fearful that California will sink
Into the Pacific, into the drink
It’s a matter of time; they’re on the brink!
Ignoring the obvious reality
California will be high and dry, you see -
‘Tis the rest of us who will slide into the sea!
Sunday, December 29, 2019
"Dropping Students During Jenzabar Conversion" - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A memorandum like a corpse bobs up
A memorandum from a year ago
The final term when I was keepin’ school
In a little college before it closed
I never asked what a Jenzabar was
Nor yet to what it might convert, or if
It is something to which someone converts
(I was raised a Methodist, after all)
But that last term I dropped the syllabus
And gave the young the 18th century
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
“Dropping Students During Jenzabar Conversion”
A memorandum like a corpse bobs up
A memorandum from a year ago
The final term when I was keepin’ school
In a little college before it closed
I never asked what a Jenzabar was
Nor yet to what it might convert, or if
It is something to which someone converts
(I was raised a Methodist, after all)
But that last term I dropped the syllabus
And gave the young the 18th century
Mrs. Willane Wright's First-Grade Class - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
When we started Little Lost Bobo
I couldn’t read
And when we finished
I could
I don’t know how it happened
No one knows how reading happens
It’s magic
And there is magic everywhere
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Mrs. Willane Wright’s First-Grade Class
When we started Little Lost Bobo
I couldn’t read
And when we finished
I could
I don’t know how it happened
No one knows how reading happens
It’s magic
And there is magic everywhere
A Brief and Unhappy Review of the IPhone 7-Plus - review
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
1. My email contacts won't move over, tho' The Machine (O Machine!) says they have.
2. The home button is not a button but rather a balky, function-resistant touch screen. Double-clicking to minimize a screen for sliding away requires repeated efforts (I know, first-world problems). When trying to slide away a screen it often doesn't slide away at all, but becomes a half-screen to no apparent purpose.
3. It's so much bigger than my old 5C, which fit comfortably in my pocket. The iPhone 7-Plus is the slab from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
4. I ordered a leather case for it; for now, I am reluctant even to carry it around the house for fear of dropping it because it is heavy, thin, and GREASY-SLICK.
5. There is no ear-phone port; one must buy the very expensive and easy-to-lose Apple buds. This is not important for me because I don't listen to music or books, but for those who do and who travel or spend time in public places, this is pretty much a matter of Apple being greedy.
6. I haven't tried the camera yet; I am told I will be very happy with it, esp. the portrait mode, which flattens the focal plane.
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Brief and Unhappy Review of the IPhone 7-Plus
It is clunky, with features made more difficult (aka "progress")
1. My email contacts won't move over, tho' The Machine (O Machine!) says they have.
2. The home button is not a button but rather a balky, function-resistant touch screen. Double-clicking to minimize a screen for sliding away requires repeated efforts (I know, first-world problems). When trying to slide away a screen it often doesn't slide away at all, but becomes a half-screen to no apparent purpose.
3. It's so much bigger than my old 5C, which fit comfortably in my pocket. The iPhone 7-Plus is the slab from 2001: A Space Odyssey.
4. I ordered a leather case for it; for now, I am reluctant even to carry it around the house for fear of dropping it because it is heavy, thin, and GREASY-SLICK.
5. There is no ear-phone port; one must buy the very expensive and easy-to-lose Apple buds. This is not important for me because I don't listen to music or books, but for those who do and who travel or spend time in public places, this is pretty much a matter of Apple being greedy.
6. I haven't tried the camera yet; I am told I will be very happy with it, esp. the portrait mode, which flattens the focal plane.
Saturday, December 28, 2019
Hitchhikers May be Escaped Prisoners - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Well, yeah, that’s pretty much true of most of us
Who are adrift, looking for something else
Far from the shiny coils of razor thoughts
That lacerate our souls instead of flesh
Escaping is a risky endeavor, though
We might be caught, imprisonment made worse
But worse than being captured and returned
We might succeed
If we knew what lay beyond those sunset hills
We might not go
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Hitchhikers May be Escaped Prisoners
-road sign
Well, yeah, that’s pretty much true of most of us
Who are adrift, looking for something else
Far from the shiny coils of razor thoughts
That lacerate our souls instead of flesh
Escaping is a risky endeavor, though
We might be caught, imprisonment made worse
But worse than being captured and returned
We might succeed
If we knew what lay beyond those sunset hills
We might not go
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