Saturday, March 28, 2020
We're All in This Together, Sure - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
We’re all in this together we’re coming
Together together as one we’re all
In this together we’re coming together
Together as one we’re all in this together
They twoot from their home studios i luv u
Their swimming pools i luv u their marble sinks
Remember i luv u here’s a song I wrote for u
And just for you copyright i luv u
And those of us encaged in little bed-sits
Are comforted by those posturing (tw)its
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
We’re All in This Together, Sure
We’re all in this together we’re coming
Together together as one we’re all
In this together we’re coming together
Together as one we’re all in this together
They twoot from their home studios i luv u
Their swimming pools i luv u their marble sinks
Remember i luv u here’s a song I wrote for u
And just for you copyright i luv u
And those of us encaged in little bed-sits
Are comforted by those posturing (tw)its
Friday, March 27, 2020
A Disapproval of Rene Descartes - cheesy rhyming couplet
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Rene Descartes, how foul thou art! Or wert -
For thou and thy mad maths art in the dirt!
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Disapproval of Rene Descartes
or
Putting the Cartesian Before Remorse
Rene Descartes, how foul thou art! Or wert -
For thou and thy mad maths art in the dirt!
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Learning in Virus-Time - weekly column
Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
One of the conventions of the virus-time is for scribblers to publish lists of suggested books that might help cope with homebound isolation (and with the slowdown of the movie streaming service).
Some reading lists address understanding and dealing with the alarming nature of a time in which the comforts of brief periods of stability collapse because they have no foundations, and the essential uncertainty of the human condition is revealed. Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning comes to mind, as does much of literature. Tolkien’s mythologies contrast the transient with the transcendent, as do both the fiction and the scholarly writings of C. S. Lewis. Especially relevant just now is his essay, “Learning in War-time” (http://bradleyggreen.com/attachments/Lewis.Learning%20in%20War-Time.pdf). In children’s literature, even Peter Rabbit must cope with the reality that his father ended up as rabbit pie.
Other lists feature escapism as therapy, and that’s necessary too; constant attention to the news is unhealthy. A good dose of Louis L’Amour, Agatha Christie, P. G. Wodehouse, James Bond, and Barbara Cartland provide a necessary therapy.
Not so very long ago in calendar time but very long ago in virus-time I asked a (brilliant) student who always came to my class with personal reading what books she had been exploring in the two or three months since term had begun. She thoughtfully wrote out the list for me:
I Am not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, Erika Sanchez
All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
Tell Me How it Ends: an Essay in Forty Questions, Valeria Luiselli
How to Become a Straight-A Student, Cal Newport
The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein
The Love Poems of RUMI
I Touch the Earth, the Earth Touches Me, Hugh Prather
None of these books was assigned; like all thoughtful people my student always had a book to consider between classes, work, footer, dance, and her job: a novel with Mexican-American-adolescent themes, a novel a German teen soldier in the First World War, a study in immigration, a how-to about doing better in school, a childhood comfort-book as a vade mecum, a book of poetry, and, well, with an icky-sugary title such as I Touch the Earth Blah Blah Blah I investigated no further. Not all men are strong enough to withstand such a horror.
The point is that an exceptional young woman considered her world through dance and music and assigned thinky-stuff and sports and work, and also through the thoughts of others through lots of good books. And all without a national shutdown and threats of temporal harm to prompt her. We should be more like her.
Men…propound mathematical theorems in beleaguered cities, conduct metaphysical arguments in condemned cells, make jokes on scaffolds, discuss the last new poem while advancing to the walls of Quebec, and comb their hair at Thermopylae. This is not panache; it is our nature.
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Learning in Virus-Time
One of the conventions of the virus-time is for scribblers to publish lists of suggested books that might help cope with homebound isolation (and with the slowdown of the movie streaming service).
Some reading lists address understanding and dealing with the alarming nature of a time in which the comforts of brief periods of stability collapse because they have no foundations, and the essential uncertainty of the human condition is revealed. Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning comes to mind, as does much of literature. Tolkien’s mythologies contrast the transient with the transcendent, as do both the fiction and the scholarly writings of C. S. Lewis. Especially relevant just now is his essay, “Learning in War-time” (http://bradleyggreen.com/attachments/Lewis.Learning%20in%20War-Time.pdf). In children’s literature, even Peter Rabbit must cope with the reality that his father ended up as rabbit pie.
Other lists feature escapism as therapy, and that’s necessary too; constant attention to the news is unhealthy. A good dose of Louis L’Amour, Agatha Christie, P. G. Wodehouse, James Bond, and Barbara Cartland provide a necessary therapy.
Not so very long ago in calendar time but very long ago in virus-time I asked a (brilliant) student who always came to my class with personal reading what books she had been exploring in the two or three months since term had begun. She thoughtfully wrote out the list for me:
I Am not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter, Erika Sanchez
All Quiet on the Western Front, Erich Maria Remarque
Tell Me How it Ends: an Essay in Forty Questions, Valeria Luiselli
How to Become a Straight-A Student, Cal Newport
The Giving Tree, Shel Silverstein
The Love Poems of RUMI
I Touch the Earth, the Earth Touches Me, Hugh Prather
None of these books was assigned; like all thoughtful people my student always had a book to consider between classes, work, footer, dance, and her job: a novel with Mexican-American-adolescent themes, a novel a German teen soldier in the First World War, a study in immigration, a how-to about doing better in school, a childhood comfort-book as a vade mecum, a book of poetry, and, well, with an icky-sugary title such as I Touch the Earth Blah Blah Blah I investigated no further. Not all men are strong enough to withstand such a horror.
The point is that an exceptional young woman considered her world through dance and music and assigned thinky-stuff and sports and work, and also through the thoughts of others through lots of good books. And all without a national shutdown and threats of temporal harm to prompt her. We should be more like her.
Men…propound mathematical theorems in beleaguered cities, conduct metaphysical arguments in condemned cells, make jokes on scaffolds, discuss the last new poem while advancing to the walls of Quebec, and comb their hair at Thermopylae. This is not panache; it is our nature.
-CSL, “Learning in War-Time,” 22 October 1939
-30-
The Dancer on the Garbage Truck - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
He lightly leaped from the old garbage truck
Waved back at me, and sprinted to the bin
He Fred Astaired it as a pas de deux
And lifted it up with panther-like grace
The battered bin - it could have been: Ginger,
Leslie Caron, or maybe Cyd Charisse
He was a muscled young dancer who made
Even tipping the garbage a work of art
He lightly leaped to the old garbage truck
Waved me good-bye, and danced the day away
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Dancer on the Garbage Truck
He lightly leaped from the old garbage truck
Waved back at me, and sprinted to the bin
He Fred Astaired it as a pas de deux
And lifted it up with panther-like grace
The battered bin - it could have been: Ginger,
Leslie Caron, or maybe Cyd Charisse
He was a muscled young dancer who made
Even tipping the garbage a work of art
He lightly leaped to the old garbage truck
Waved me good-bye, and danced the day away
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Logotherapy in the Virus-Time - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poetricdrivel.blogspot.com
I search for God within my books
Just as I scan the sky for Him
And peer into the minnow-shallows
And listen for His voice by night
(“Logotherapy” is an allusion to Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning)
mhall46184@aol.com
poetricdrivel.blogspot.com
Logotherapy in the Virus-Time
I search for God within my books
Just as I scan the sky for Him
And peer into the minnow-shallows
And listen for His voice by night
(“Logotherapy” is an allusion to Viktor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning)
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Obsequies for a Hummingbird - a virus-free poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Some disagree about the nature of death
Maintaining that it is in the nature of life
A logical end, and none should be mourned
But we were in Eden, and so we mourn
A hummingbird in death is unnatural
Its tiny wings should be as immortal as
They are invisible in darting flight
Shimmering forever in green and red
I will not bury it, no; I will lift
It gently into the bole of an oak
And from there, God…
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Obsequies for a Hummingbird
Some disagree about the nature of death
Maintaining that it is in the nature of life
A logical end, and none should be mourned
But we were in Eden, and so we mourn
A hummingbird in death is unnatural
Its tiny wings should be as immortal as
They are invisible in darting flight
Shimmering forever in green and red
I will not bury it, no; I will lift
It gently into the bole of an oak
And from there, God…
Monday, March 23, 2020
Fleur D'espoir (Flower of Hope) - poem and picture in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The deep blue spiderwort – she does not know
An epidemic now has been declared
And all the world beyond her cobalt glow
Has found itself panicked and unprepared
The sunbright spiderwort – upon the lawn
Reposes in her leafy springtime berth
Delighting in the sweet birds’ carillon
Smiling at Heaven, but close to the earth
The joyful spiderwort – careless of fear
Gives us hope, as always, in her new year
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Fleur D’espoir
The deep blue spiderwort – she does not know
An epidemic now has been declared
And all the world beyond her cobalt glow
Has found itself panicked and unprepared
The sunbright spiderwort – upon the lawn
Reposes in her leafy springtime berth
Delighting in the sweet birds’ carillon
Smiling at Heaven, but close to the earth
The joyful spiderwort – careless of fear
Gives us hope, as always, in her new year
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Toy Graduation Ducks - poem in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
In another era – two weeks ago –
I ordered a box of graduation ducks
To be given to the high school seniors
As is my custom, for a bit of fun
But now…
The ducks have not arrived; the schools are closed
The stores are open, but their shelves are bare
The students are dispersed, only god knows where
Maybe we won’t see all of them again
Is this a time to think about toy ducks?
Yes
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Toy Graduation Ducks
In another era – two weeks ago –
I ordered a box of graduation ducks
To be given to the high school seniors
As is my custom, for a bit of fun
But now…
The ducks have not arrived; the schools are closed
The stores are open, but their shelves are bare
The students are dispersed, only god knows where
Maybe we won’t see all of them again
Is this a time to think about toy ducks?
Yes
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Poetic First Lines Re-imagined for a Time of Self-Distancing - entertainment
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
1. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Robert Frost
Whose woods these are, I think I know
His house is still in lockdown, though
2. “Sea-Fever,” John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
But with all the travel restrictions, I can kiss that idea good-bye
3. “If,” Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs, and stealing T.P. from the loo
4. “Sailing to Byzantium,” W. B Yeats
That is no country for old men. The young
Keep social distance, birds watch Netflix
5. “Night Mail,” W. H Auden
This is the Night Mail crossing the border
Bringing the cheque and the quarantine order
6. “Zima Junction,” Yevgeny Yevtushenko
As we get older we get honester,
And hand sanitizer when we can find it
7. “La Belle Dame sans Merci,” John Keats
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The bread is all gone from the shelves
And no birds sing.
8. “Fiesta Melons,” Sylvia Plath
In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full
No good for wiping
9. “The World I Used to Know,” Rod McKuen
Someday some old familiar rain
Will come along and know my name
And tell me all the Spam is gone
And I’ll have to move along
10. “What is This Gypsy Passion for Separation?” Marina Tsvetaeva
What is this gypsy passion for separation, this
Readiness to rush off – when we’ve just met?
(I didn’t change a word of this one)
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Poetic First Lines Re-imagined for a Time of Self-Distancing
1. “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” Robert Frost
Whose woods these are, I think I know
His house is still in lockdown, though
2. “Sea-Fever,” John Masefield
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky
But with all the travel restrictions, I can kiss that idea good-bye
3. “If,” Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs, and stealing T.P. from the loo
4. “Sailing to Byzantium,” W. B Yeats
That is no country for old men. The young
Keep social distance, birds watch Netflix
5. “Night Mail,” W. H Auden
This is the Night Mail crossing the border
Bringing the cheque and the quarantine order
6. “Zima Junction,” Yevgeny Yevtushenko
As we get older we get honester,
And hand sanitizer when we can find it
7. “La Belle Dame sans Merci,” John Keats
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The bread is all gone from the shelves
And no birds sing.
8. “Fiesta Melons,” Sylvia Plath
In Benidorm there are melons,
Whole donkey-carts full
No good for wiping
9. “The World I Used to Know,” Rod McKuen
Someday some old familiar rain
Will come along and know my name
And tell me all the Spam is gone
And I’ll have to move along
10. “What is This Gypsy Passion for Separation?” Marina Tsvetaeva
What is this gypsy passion for separation, this
Readiness to rush off – when we’ve just met?
(I didn’t change a word of this one)
-30-
A Rainy Day and Locked-Down Anyway - poem in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
No excuses, of course: we must get dressed
If death itself appears at the front door
We would not want to be caught in our ‘jammies
Or in surrender flaked upon the couch
We will wake up to a glad morning hymn
And for inspection wash and brush and dress
For even if nobody else sees us, God will
And we must be ready for the Office of Lauds
That God doesn’t care how we’re dressed for prayer
Is a thumping lie: Up! and dress with care
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Rainy Day and Locked-Down Anyway
No excuses, of course: we must get dressed
If death itself appears at the front door
We would not want to be caught in our ‘jammies
Or in surrender flaked upon the couch
We will wake up to a glad morning hymn
And for inspection wash and brush and dress
For even if nobody else sees us, God will
And we must be ready for the Office of Lauds
That God doesn’t care how we’re dressed for prayer
Is a thumping lie: Up! and dress with care
Friday, March 20, 2020
With a Dog and an Oxygen Tank - poem in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
An old man with a dog and oxygen tank
Steers his duct-taped golf cart to the café
For the morning liturgy at his corner seat
The vinyl cathedra where he presides in state
At midnight all the cafes must be closed
It’s for our own good, the wise governor says
But since Pontius Pilate, who trusts governors?
All churches are closed, and, worse, all cafes
Where and with whom can he worship today
That old man with his dog and oxygen tank
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
With a Dog and an Oxygen Tank
An old man with a dog and oxygen tank
Steers his duct-taped golf cart to the café
For the morning liturgy at his corner seat
The vinyl cathedra where he presides in state
At midnight all the cafes must be closed
It’s for our own good, the wise governor says
But since Pontius Pilate, who trusts governors?
All churches are closed, and, worse, all cafes
Where and with whom can he worship today
That old man with his dog and oxygen tank
Pushkin and the Sheriff's Report - virus-free poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
In a languid Russian story or play
A beautiful young woman in a summer dress
Beside a willow-tree lake sits and dreams
Over a novel as a caller arrives
But in our time we read in the sheriff’s report
Of tatted old meth-gals knifing each other
In a junked-out trailer surrounded by trash
While a bony meth-boy watches the fight
Love ends
Sometimes with notes in rounded copperplate
Sometimes with knives down at the trailer park
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Pushkin and the Sheriff’s Report
In a languid Russian story or play
A beautiful young woman in a summer dress
Beside a willow-tree lake sits and dreams
Over a novel as a caller arrives
But in our time we read in the sheriff’s report
Of tatted old meth-gals knifing each other
In a junked-out trailer surrounded by trash
While a bony meth-boy watches the fight
Love ends
Sometimes with notes in rounded copperplate
Sometimes with knives down at the trailer park
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Keep Calm and Carry Out Lunch in a Paper Sack - weekly column in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
(The Governor of Texas has ordered that most businesses and all table-service restaurants, including the roadside old-guy cafes, be shut down indefinitely as of midnight, Friday, the 20th of March 2020.)
Several days ago a friend and I enjoyed our weekly lunch. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. We shook hands both hail and farewell. Wild ‘n’ crazy, eh? We didn’t realize then that this would be our last shared lunch for – how long?
With the schools closed, who else will village idiots (yes, I said “village idiots,” for that is what they are) telephone to make bomb threats?
Did any government agency make plans for comforting the losers whose reason for living is calling in bomb threats? And why not? And do the twits who make bomb threats receive a thousand dollars each for losing their purpose in life for a month or so?
Grocery shopping has become like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates – you never know what you’re going to get. Spam, which at other times rates only a sneer of disapproval, cannot now be found. A five-pound net bag of potatoes is another rarity, but the other day small bags of new potatoes were available, as well as single-wrapped potatoes for baking. Unlike the Night-of-Zombie-Terror-in-Abandoned-City pictures on the InterGossip the stores I’ve visited are stocked well enough, but you have to be flexible and creative.
If a serious food shortage develops, I propose that we eat the motivational speakers first.
A meme on Gyphy has Oprah Winfrey exclaiming happily, “And YOU get a roll of toilet paper and YOU get a roll of toilet paper and YOU get a roll of toilet paper…!”
A common analogy is that the current crisis is like the Second World War. I am too young to have been in that war, but I’m pretty sure that a spot of bother in finding a roll of toilet paper or a loaf of bread is nothing like the death marches, bombing raids, starving children, or prison camps.
A depressing fact is that everyone seems to be blaming everyone: why didn’t the president have stocks of testing kits in his garage, why did the mayor of Frontage Road, Texas shut down his town, why did the mayor of Trackside, Idaho not shut down his town, why didn’t your cousin the LVN know about the coronavirus ten years ago, why didn’t the governor tell me to stock up on toilet paper last month, why are the borders closed, why aren’t the borders closed, why are there people on the roads, why aren’t there people on the roads, why are the restaurants closed, why aren’t the restaurants closed, why aren’t there enough masks that don’t work anyway except that maybe they do work or maybe they don’t, why are churches closed, why aren’t churches closed, and on and on. Some of the comments on the InterGossip would embarrass Darwin, and Nonna and MawMaw would have something to say about such cruel words.
And, no, billionaires aren’t hoarding respirators.
This virus will end, probably just in time for the hurricanes, but we can get back to our proper jobs and the occasional visit to the coffee shop for the coffee we always say is too expensive but we will drink it anyway and enjoy being with friends again. In the meantime, let us Keep Calm and Carry Out the go-cups.
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
(The Governor of Texas has ordered that most businesses and all table-service restaurants, including the roadside old-guy cafes, be shut down indefinitely as of midnight, Friday, the 20th of March 2020.)
Keep Calm and Carry Out Lunch in a Paper Sack
Several days ago a friend and I enjoyed our weekly lunch. In a restaurant. Surrounded by people. We shook hands both hail and farewell. Wild ‘n’ crazy, eh? We didn’t realize then that this would be our last shared lunch for – how long?
With the schools closed, who else will village idiots (yes, I said “village idiots,” for that is what they are) telephone to make bomb threats?
Did any government agency make plans for comforting the losers whose reason for living is calling in bomb threats? And why not? And do the twits who make bomb threats receive a thousand dollars each for losing their purpose in life for a month or so?
Grocery shopping has become like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates – you never know what you’re going to get. Spam, which at other times rates only a sneer of disapproval, cannot now be found. A five-pound net bag of potatoes is another rarity, but the other day small bags of new potatoes were available, as well as single-wrapped potatoes for baking. Unlike the Night-of-Zombie-Terror-in-Abandoned-City pictures on the InterGossip the stores I’ve visited are stocked well enough, but you have to be flexible and creative.
If a serious food shortage develops, I propose that we eat the motivational speakers first.
A meme on Gyphy has Oprah Winfrey exclaiming happily, “And YOU get a roll of toilet paper and YOU get a roll of toilet paper and YOU get a roll of toilet paper…!”
A common analogy is that the current crisis is like the Second World War. I am too young to have been in that war, but I’m pretty sure that a spot of bother in finding a roll of toilet paper or a loaf of bread is nothing like the death marches, bombing raids, starving children, or prison camps.
A depressing fact is that everyone seems to be blaming everyone: why didn’t the president have stocks of testing kits in his garage, why did the mayor of Frontage Road, Texas shut down his town, why did the mayor of Trackside, Idaho not shut down his town, why didn’t your cousin the LVN know about the coronavirus ten years ago, why didn’t the governor tell me to stock up on toilet paper last month, why are the borders closed, why aren’t the borders closed, why are there people on the roads, why aren’t there people on the roads, why are the restaurants closed, why aren’t the restaurants closed, why aren’t there enough masks that don’t work anyway except that maybe they do work or maybe they don’t, why are churches closed, why aren’t churches closed, and on and on. Some of the comments on the InterGossip would embarrass Darwin, and Nonna and MawMaw would have something to say about such cruel words.
And, no, billionaires aren’t hoarding respirators.
This virus will end, probably just in time for the hurricanes, but we can get back to our proper jobs and the occasional visit to the coffee shop for the coffee we always say is too expensive but we will drink it anyway and enjoy being with friends again. In the meantime, let us Keep Calm and Carry Out the go-cups.
-30-
Dog Tags Somehow Remain - a virus-free poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
I didn’t take off my dog tags for a long time
How long? I don’t remember now – but long
It was as if they had always been there:
Name, service number, blood type, religion. Me
All the Navy wanted to know about me
If I were killed up some river somewhere
Some creature having then eaten my eyes
And then more of me, the tags would remain
A beaded chain, dog tags, a crucifix
Hard to let go then, hard to let go now
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Dog Tags Somehow Remain
I didn’t take off my dog tags for a long time
How long? I don’t remember now – but long
It was as if they had always been there:
Name, service number, blood type, religion. Me
All the Navy wanted to know about me
If I were killed up some river somewhere
Some creature having then eaten my eyes
And then more of me, the tags would remain
A beaded chain, dog tags, a crucifix
Hard to let go then, hard to let go now
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
The Shopping Mall Cancels the Easter Bunny - poem in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
From this Lenten season there will not be
A fading photo of a screaming child
Desperate to escape the boozy embrace
Of the shopping mall Easter Bunny (belch)
This low-Prole rite of passage is ended
But not by any parental common sense
About forcing a frightened girl or boy
To pose upon the lap of some strange man
In grubby polyester pretending that he
Is an oryctolagus cuniculus, you see!
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Shopping Mall Cancels the Easter Bunny
“…cancels Easter Bunny photos amid coronavirus concerns”
From this Lenten season there will not be
A fading photo of a screaming child
Desperate to escape the boozy embrace
Of the shopping mall Easter Bunny (belch)
This low-Prole rite of passage is ended
But not by any parental common sense
About forcing a frightened girl or boy
To pose upon the lap of some strange man
In grubby polyester pretending that he
Is an oryctolagus cuniculus, you see!
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
Cautions in Abundance - poem in the virus-time
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
From an abundance of caution
Uncharted territory flatten the curve
Abundance of caution the new normal
Self-isolate and hunker down ghost town
Shelter in place COVID-19 bars closed
From an abundance of caution
Coronavirus masks it’s not the ‘flu
Decolonize drive-through testing and stuff
Apocalyptic hand sanitizer
All toilet paper is self-quarantined
From an abundance of caution
A dangerous, adjectives-changing virus
And only buzzy speechlings to inspire us
From an abundance of caution
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Cautions in Abundance
From an abundance of caution
Uncharted territory flatten the curve
Abundance of caution the new normal
Self-isolate and hunker down ghost town
Shelter in place COVID-19 bars closed
From an abundance of caution
Coronavirus masks it’s not the ‘flu
Decolonize drive-through testing and stuff
Apocalyptic hand sanitizer
All toilet paper is self-quarantined
From an abundance of caution
A dangerous, adjectives-changing virus
And only buzzy speechlings to inspire us
From an abundance of caution
Monday, March 16, 2020
A Clumsy Sonnet in Praise of a Neighbor's Chainsaw - sonnet and a MePhone photograph
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A pine tree fell on Eldon’s bob-wire fence
And I showed up to help in some small way
The branches and needles were thick and dense
The ponies and horses galloped over to play
When Eldon fired up his manly chainsaw
The limbs and needles then shivered in terror
The ponies and horses backed away in awe -
Eldon blitzkrieged that tree, and that’s no error
For when a tree gets crossways of a Stihl
The tensile strength of a woody cell wall
Can never stand against the woodman’s skill -
Down must come branches and needles and all
But the ponies and horses realized too late
They’d have to go back behind the fence and gate!
(I have no connection with the rugged Stihl; I use this effective backyard electric Oregon):
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Clumsy Sonnet in Praise of a Neighbor’s Chainsaw
- from an idea suggested by Ingrid
A pine tree fell on Eldon’s bob-wire fence
And I showed up to help in some small way
The branches and needles were thick and dense
The ponies and horses galloped over to play
When Eldon fired up his manly chainsaw
The limbs and needles then shivered in terror
The ponies and horses backed away in awe -
Eldon blitzkrieged that tree, and that’s no error
For when a tree gets crossways of a Stihl
The tensile strength of a woody cell wall
Can never stand against the woodman’s skill -
Down must come branches and needles and all
But the ponies and horses realized too late
They’d have to go back behind the fence and gate!
(I have no connection with the rugged Stihl; I use this effective backyard electric Oregon):
Sunday, March 15, 2020
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