Always proofread your work.
Wednesday, May 20, 2020
A Christian Writer Breaks His Silence - poem (and a true story)
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
At the guests’ table late on Sunday night
We were but few, and permitted to speak
But one was silent, who didn’t think it right
The Famous Writer, gaunt, and pale of cheek
He graced the company with his knowing smile;
His healing books, his poems about Christian peace
So noted for their teachings and grace-filled style
Made our poor converse seem like mere caprice
But as someone came ‘round with the coffee pot
He finally spoke: “Reagan ought to be shot!"
(My poor memory suggests that his actual words were, "That Reagan oughta be shot!" or "That Reagan needs to be shot!")
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Christian Writer Breaks His Silence
On a monastic retreat many years ago
At the guests’ table late on Sunday night
We were but few, and permitted to speak
But one was silent, who didn’t think it right
The Famous Writer, gaunt, and pale of cheek
He graced the company with his knowing smile;
His healing books, his poems about Christian peace
So noted for their teachings and grace-filled style
Made our poor converse seem like mere caprice
But as someone came ‘round with the coffee pot
He finally spoke: “Reagan ought to be shot!"
(My poor memory suggests that his actual words were, "That Reagan oughta be shot!" or "That Reagan needs to be shot!")
Tuesday, May 19, 2020
Anna-Apples in the Merry Month of May
These will be mature at the beginning of June, God, raccoons, winds, rains, and hail permitting.
Creation's Intermittent Rain - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Soft rain to
make the apples plump with pride
Soft rain to
fill the honeybees’ round pools
Soft rain to baptize
God’s beloved earth
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Creation’s Intermittent Rain
Bright sun to make the apples blush
with red
Soft rain to
batter at the sunflowers’ stride
Bright sun to call the honeybees to
work
Soft rain to make
all flowers into jewels
Bright sun again – is this a solar
quirk?
Bright sun to display its glory and
worth
(Anna-apples, modified for hot climates, ripen their sweet little apples in June)
(The transfer is erratic; there should be no underlining, blue coloring, or other errata.)
(Anna-apples, modified for hot climates, ripen their sweet little apples in June)
(The transfer is erratic; there should be no underlining, blue coloring, or other errata.)
Monday, May 18, 2020
Burning a Vacuum Cleaner - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
I burned a vacuum cleaner – and I was GLAD
It was broken beyond repair and so
I took it away to the Smithfield place
And torched the industrial revolution
After its long career of breaking the peace
Of violating domestic harmony
Of terrorizing little kittens and pups
And screaming all through Sunday afternoons
It finally fragmented, flailed, and failed
Polluting the atmosphere (I could be jailed!)
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Burning a Vacuum Cleaner
I burned a vacuum cleaner – and I was GLAD
It was broken beyond repair and so
I took it away to the Smithfield place
And torched the industrial revolution
After its long career of breaking the peace
Of violating domestic harmony
Of terrorizing little kittens and pups
And screaming all through Sunday afternoons
It finally fragmented, flailed, and failed
Polluting the atmosphere (I could be jailed!)
Sunday, May 17, 2020
An Unremarkable MePhone Photograph of a Tree Frog in the Rain Gauge
This tree frog lives in perfect safety at #5.
I use two drops of food color to make the water level more visible.
Fahrenheit, Celsius, and a Non-Sequitur Tree Frog - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
To ask what the temperature is today
Is too ask how high is up or low is down
For one must read what a red pointer says
In the arc of a circle or a line in a tube
The only true measures of temperature
Are sweating and shivering and just right
Those measures are of childhood and old age:
Sitting under an oak and reading in peace
A tree frog lives in the plastic rain gauge
When the rain falls he moves out ‘til it’s over
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Fahrenheit, Celsius, and a Non-Sequitur Tree Frog
To ask what the temperature is today
Is too ask how high is up or low is down
For one must read what a red pointer says
In the arc of a circle or a line in a tube
The only true measures of temperature
Are sweating and shivering and just right
Those measures are of childhood and old age:
Sitting under an oak and reading in peace
A tree frog lives in the plastic rain gauge
When the rain falls he moves out ‘til it’s over
Saturday, May 16, 2020
The Crucifix on the Wall has no Sount Effects - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A crucifix
A crucifix offers no sound effects
Perhaps a tiny electronic box
Could be hidden within it, programmed to speak
the words of Us – just pull the little string
A crucifix
God nailed to the Cross, then nailed to the wall
“That’s ever so nice; where did you get it?”
Hecho en China by way of Amazon
You can track our Lord’s delivery date
A crucifix
It can’t project the noise, the jeers, the boos -
It doesn’t drip Blood on your Sunday shoes
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Crucifix on the Wall has no Sound Effects
A crucifix
A crucifix offers no sound effects
Perhaps a tiny electronic box
Could be hidden within it, programmed to speak
the words of Us – just pull the little string
A crucifix
God nailed to the Cross, then nailed to the wall
“That’s ever so nice; where did you get it?”
Hecho en China by way of Amazon
You can track our Lord’s delivery date
A crucifix
It can’t project the noise, the jeers, the boos -
It doesn’t drip Blood on your Sunday shoes
Friday, May 15, 2020
An Up-to-Date Darwinian Squeaks, Speaks, Thunders, and Harrumphs - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Well, they were old; they needed to die, okay?
The children are immune, well, mostly immune
We won’t lose many of them, and we’ve got more
Let herd immunity sort them all out
Follow the science
Follow the science - we’ve got this new vaccine
We’ll try it out on the bedridden first
And old malarial pills for the veterans
Take another bullet for your country, guys
Follow the science
As for me
I sold my stocks early at an awesome rate
And now I Zoom™ science from my country estate
Obey The Science
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
An Up-to-Date Darwinian Squeaks, Speaks, Thunders, and Harrumphs
“…we’re going to get science applied to social problems and backed by the whole power of the state…”
-Mark Studdock in C. S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength
Well, they were old; they needed to die, okay?
The children are immune, well, mostly immune
We won’t lose many of them, and we’ve got more
Let herd immunity sort them all out
Follow the science
Follow the science - we’ve got this new vaccine
We’ll try it out on the bedridden first
And old malarial pills for the veterans
Take another bullet for your country, guys
Follow the science
As for me
I sold my stocks early at an awesome rate
And now I Zoom™ science from my country estate
Obey The Science
Thursday, May 14, 2020
In Isolation on Beer Can Road - weekly column
Lawrence (Mack) Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
As Garrison Keillor might have said, before he got all Lefty and petty, it has been a quiet week here along Beer Can Road and County Dump Extension.
The economic situation has been cruel to many businesses, but obviously not to the beer industry, whose cast-off cans sparkle in the spring sunshine up and down the road past my rustic rural retreat. And then there’s that old couch someone dumped weeks ago. I don’t suppose there’s a dead body in it, but I’m not going to look.
The guy speeding in the hot red sedan seems to be trying to make it launch, and that is possible, but without wings and controls the car would land in a tree – or tree in a tree – and that would be an unhappy ending. But maybe all the beer cans would cushion the impact.
This spring’s weather has been unusually pleasant. Soon enough the withering heat and humidity of summer will fall upon us, but for now sitting under an oak tree in the late afternoon with a refreshing beverage and the poems of Robert Frost is a joy.
Joining in the merriment are woodpeckers, cardinals, mourning doves, one tiny Carolina or black-capped chickadee, and a few insolent squirrels. They all gather at the water dish and the feeder to feast on chicken scratch from the feed store. Clouds of humming bees monopolize the water dish but will permit the birds and squirrels to take a sip if they act nicely and behave themselves. These are perfect occasions for reading Robert Frost, and the critters don’t seem to mind either him or me.
The setting sun permits a visual display of the bees as they speed between the water dish and their hives a few hundred yards away. Without those late sunbeams a human could not see them in transit and marvel at their speed and navigation. That they don’t hit each other head-on is a great mystery.
Without bees we would have very little to eat; their transfer of pollens from and to all sorts of trees, crops, grasses, and other plants makes possible the generation of fruits, grains, and vegetables season after season.
Thus, providing water for the little fellows and avoiding dusting the garden against pests until after dark is, as the old farmers always remind us, an essential in life.
As the sun sets the book must be closed and the seat cushions brought inside. After dark the raccoons, flying squirrels, ‘possums, feral cats, and an occasional deer will begin their night patrols in the front yard. Flying squirrels are so tiny that all the security camera catches of them are their bright eyes. If a bit of kitchen scrap has been tossed out then sometimes the Darwinian struggle – well, okay, more of a Darwinian hissy-fit – is played out as ‘possum vs. ‘possum, raccoon vs. racoon, and even raccoon vs. possum. The big raccoon always wins the supper against the ‘possum, but the ‘possum makes a good show of belligerence.
In the mornings there is a scent of skunk lately, but this creature hasn’t yet shown up on the video feed. And I understand; if we smelled like that we wouldn’t want to be out in public either.
Mhall46184@aol.com
In Isolation on Beer Can Road
As Garrison Keillor might have said, before he got all Lefty and petty, it has been a quiet week here along Beer Can Road and County Dump Extension.
The economic situation has been cruel to many businesses, but obviously not to the beer industry, whose cast-off cans sparkle in the spring sunshine up and down the road past my rustic rural retreat. And then there’s that old couch someone dumped weeks ago. I don’t suppose there’s a dead body in it, but I’m not going to look.
The guy speeding in the hot red sedan seems to be trying to make it launch, and that is possible, but without wings and controls the car would land in a tree – or tree in a tree – and that would be an unhappy ending. But maybe all the beer cans would cushion the impact.
This spring’s weather has been unusually pleasant. Soon enough the withering heat and humidity of summer will fall upon us, but for now sitting under an oak tree in the late afternoon with a refreshing beverage and the poems of Robert Frost is a joy.
Joining in the merriment are woodpeckers, cardinals, mourning doves, one tiny Carolina or black-capped chickadee, and a few insolent squirrels. They all gather at the water dish and the feeder to feast on chicken scratch from the feed store. Clouds of humming bees monopolize the water dish but will permit the birds and squirrels to take a sip if they act nicely and behave themselves. These are perfect occasions for reading Robert Frost, and the critters don’t seem to mind either him or me.
The setting sun permits a visual display of the bees as they speed between the water dish and their hives a few hundred yards away. Without those late sunbeams a human could not see them in transit and marvel at their speed and navigation. That they don’t hit each other head-on is a great mystery.
Without bees we would have very little to eat; their transfer of pollens from and to all sorts of trees, crops, grasses, and other plants makes possible the generation of fruits, grains, and vegetables season after season.
Thus, providing water for the little fellows and avoiding dusting the garden against pests until after dark is, as the old farmers always remind us, an essential in life.
As the sun sets the book must be closed and the seat cushions brought inside. After dark the raccoons, flying squirrels, ‘possums, feral cats, and an occasional deer will begin their night patrols in the front yard. Flying squirrels are so tiny that all the security camera catches of them are their bright eyes. If a bit of kitchen scrap has been tossed out then sometimes the Darwinian struggle – well, okay, more of a Darwinian hissy-fit – is played out as ‘possum vs. ‘possum, raccoon vs. racoon, and even raccoon vs. possum. The big raccoon always wins the supper against the ‘possum, but the ‘possum makes a good show of belligerence.
In the mornings there is a scent of skunk lately, but this creature hasn’t yet shown up on the video feed. And I understand; if we smelled like that we wouldn’t want to be out in public either.
-30-
The Darwinian Tomato and a Dead Ant - MePhone Photograph
Just before the rains I plucked this tomato because, although not quite ripe, it was on the ground and I feared it would rot. On the bottom of the tomato I observed a dead ant, somehow crushed by the tomato in the Samsara of my little garden.
Elephant Ears - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Summer's small children in shorts and bare feet
Scamper about in the dewy morning lawns
Among the elephant ears, chasing and laughing
Looking for the rest of the elephant
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Elephant Ears
Summer's small children in shorts and bare feet
Scamper about in the dewy morning lawns
Among the elephant ears, chasing and laughing
Looking for the rest of the elephant
Wednesday, May 13, 2020
Death to War Metaphors - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
No soldier nervously checking his magazines at dawn
Whispered that it was just like catching pneumonia
No soldier collapsing over his dying pals
Cried that it was as bad as working in a grocery
No soldier on that thousand-mile front in Russia
Thought that it was like missing graduation
No soldier drowning when his landing craft sank
Screamed that it was just like having to self-isolate
No soldier dying in his own blood and vomit
Agreed that it was like wearing a surgical mask
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Death to War Metaphors
No soldier nervously checking his magazines at dawn
Whispered that it was just like catching pneumonia
No soldier collapsing over his dying pals
Cried that it was as bad as working in a grocery
No soldier on that thousand-mile front in Russia
Thought that it was like missing graduation
No soldier drowning when his landing craft sank
Screamed that it was just like having to self-isolate
No soldier dying in his own blood and vomit
Agreed that it was like wearing a surgical mask
Tuesday, May 12, 2020
An Incomplete Guide to Magnolia Trees - poem and MePhone photograph
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The poor magnolia now is weaponized
Objectified through puerile jokes and scorn
A coarse cliché, a forlorn stereotype
An easy laugh or a malignant sneer
But before man fell with slavery and axe
Its moonlight blossoms blessed the wilderness
With their gifts of beauty and sweet incense
This Eden tree of truth and innocence
There is no evil in anything given
Unless foul man chooses to twist it so
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
An Incomplete Guide to Magnolia Trees
The poor magnolia now is weaponized
Objectified through puerile jokes and scorn
A coarse cliché, a forlorn stereotype
An easy laugh or a malignant sneer
But before man fell with slavery and axe
Its moonlight blossoms blessed the wilderness
With their gifts of beauty and sweet incense
This Eden tree of truth and innocence
There is no evil in anything given
Unless foul man chooses to twist it so
Monday, May 11, 2020
On Transcendent Poetry - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
That which is modern can only decay
Locked within the prison of transience
Ossification as a death sentence
Always refusing to roll the stone away
That which is modern is immediately lost
But springtime, flowers, pilgrimages, lovers
The darling, dancing hummingbird that hovers
Are ever young, not dead eternal frost
That which is modern is fast-rotting flesh
That which is transcendent is always fresh
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
On Transcendent Poetry
Contra Wallace Stevens
That which is modern can only decay
Locked within the prison of transience
Ossification as a death sentence
Always refusing to roll the stone away
That which is modern is immediately lost
But springtime, flowers, pilgrimages, lovers
The darling, dancing hummingbird that hovers
Are ever young, not dead eternal frost
That which is modern is fast-rotting flesh
That which is transcendent is always fresh
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