Thursday, September 10, 2020
A Wheel is a Wonderful Thing; this botched new dashboard is not.
A Wheel is a Wonderful Thing
A wheel is a wonderful thing: it goes
Around-around-around-around-around
Until it doesn’t. And then you are sad
Because your little wagon is tripedal now
And so you dismount the wheel and tire
And take them to Mr. Shannon at his shop
He repairs the tire with a brand new tube
And your father sighs, “A tube cost that much?”
A wheel is a wonderful thing: it goes
Around the world with your little wagon
And with you
Wednesday, September 9, 2020
On the First Day of School, the Smell of...Disinfectant - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Cedar pencils, fresh packs of notebook paper
A new vinyl notebook with a shiny brass zipper
New shoes, new socks, new jeans, new everything
All with the scents of optimism, of hope
But this year all your friends fit into cubes
On the computer screen at your kitchen table
And you hope your stupid brother won’t dance
Across the room in his Captain Marvel underwear
But you can still take comfort in remembering
That Robin Hood remains free in Sherwood Forest
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
On the First Day of School, the Smell of…Disinfectant
“Attention, comrades! This is disinfectant – use it.”
-Railway official in Doctor Zhivago
Cedar pencils, fresh packs of notebook paper
A new vinyl notebook with a shiny brass zipper
New shoes, new socks, new jeans, new everything
All with the scents of optimism, of hope
But this year all your friends fit into cubes
On the computer screen at your kitchen table
And you hope your stupid brother won’t dance
Across the room in his Captain Marvel underwear
But you can still take comfort in remembering
That Robin Hood remains free in Sherwood Forest
Tuesday, September 8, 2020
The Chainsaw Days of September - Poem and MePhone Photograph
The
Chainsaw Days of September
As mandated by the recent hurricane
These are the chainsaw days, humid
and hot
Wind-blasted shingles and
wind-blasted trees
And clearing windfall in the
gasping heat:
Litter to the burn-piles,
firewood to the stacks
Even the bees seem tired, but
the hummingbirds
Around the feeders form flittery
clouds
As if they have suddenly received
orders
For their long autumn flights
to Mexico
But as for me, I work and sweat
and stink
Pausing sometimes to watch the sky,
and dream
(As
Freud did not say, sometimes a chainsaw is just a chainsaw. Don’t grasp at
metaphors that aren’t there; people will stare at you. And if you grasp at a chainsaw you will lose your hand. And then people will stare at you even more while taking MePhone pictures of you in your agony. They won't do anything for you, of course.)
Monday, September 7, 2020
Not Burning the Books That Aren't There - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
In America books are neither burned
Nor banned - the State does not execute poets
Mostly because the mutual writers of grants
Move no one with their me-verse free-verse bleats
In America books are usually ignored
Robert Frost is a mystery to the president
James Baldwin means nothing to the DNC
And doesn’t Ernie Pyle play for the Jets?
Statues have been pulled down, each in its turn
As for the books – there aren’t many to burn
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Not Burning the Books That Aren’t There
In Eastern Europe the [Nazis] burned…375 archives,
402 museums, 531 institutes, and 957 libraries.
-Molly Guptill Manning, When Books Went to War, p. 13
In America books are neither burned
Nor banned - the State does not execute poets
Mostly because the mutual writers of grants
Move no one with their me-verse free-verse bleats
In America books are usually ignored
Robert Frost is a mystery to the president
James Baldwin means nothing to the DNC
And doesn’t Ernie Pyle play for the Jets?
Statues have been pulled down, each in its turn
As for the books – there aren’t many to burn
Sunday, September 6, 2020
Destry Rides No More - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Long Branch Saloon became a Goodwill
And then a souvenir shop, before it burned
The Santa Fe Trail is a two-lane blacktop
Lined with peep shows, tattoo parlors, and KFC
Boot Hill features clean restrooms and a gift shop
Curly the Cowboy cooks at the Dairy Queen
And lives in a trailer next to the pueblo fence
He owns a complete set of Louis L’Amour
(In hand-tooled leather)
John Ford filmed the Duke riding into the sunset
Where the tribal president parks her 250 Ford
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Destry Rides No More
The Long Branch Saloon became a Goodwill
And then a souvenir shop, before it burned
The Santa Fe Trail is a two-lane blacktop
Lined with peep shows, tattoo parlors, and KFC
Boot Hill features clean restrooms and a gift shop
Curly the Cowboy cooks at the Dairy Queen
And lives in a trailer next to the pueblo fence
He owns a complete set of Louis L’Amour
(In hand-tooled leather)
John Ford filmed the Duke riding into the sunset
Where the tribal president parks her 250 Ford
Saturday, September 5, 2020
The Allegory of The Cave Bar & Grill - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
One wonders what Plato did with his cave
After he had no further use for it
As an instructional tool for undergrads
In Philosophy Intro. 101
Perhaps he repurposed it as a club
Along the campus drag, with puppet shows
To keep the English students entertained
As they exchanged Miltonian bon mots
And when Daddy’s credit card bounced (the corner
booth)
The barman lectured on the nature of truth
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Allegory of The Cave Bar & Grill
One wonders what Plato did with his cave
After he had no further use for it
As an instructional tool for undergrads
In Philosophy Intro. 101
Perhaps he repurposed it as a club
Along the campus drag, with puppet shows
To keep the English students entertained
As they exchanged Miltonian bon mots
And when Daddy’s credit card bounced (the corner
booth)
The barman lectured on the nature of truth
Friday, September 4, 2020
A Week after the Hurricane: to Town for the Mail - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
I remembered my watch and pocketknife
But I had forgotten my duty mask
And so I scuttled into the post office lobby
Hoping that no one would see me bare of face
Our town is mostly plywood now, and weeds
There wasn’t much here before anyway
And now the plague-time and the hurricane
Have pulled the old brick walls into the streets
Plywood and weeds, blue tarps, MREs and showers
In shiny trailers outside the Baptist church
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Week after the Hurricane:
To Town for the Mail
"That's bad. All our sympathy. Still, it's none of our business."
-Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago, p. 227
But I had forgotten my duty mask
And so I scuttled into the post office lobby
Hoping that no one would see me bare of face
Our town is mostly plywood now, and weeds
There wasn’t much here before anyway
And now the plague-time and the hurricane
Have pulled the old brick walls into the streets
Plywood and weeds, blue tarps, MREs and showers
In shiny trailers outside the Baptist church
Thursday, September 3, 2020
The Poets are Remarkably Silent on the Subject of Portable Generators - weekly column
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener has nothing to add to the many Hurricane Laura narratives except gratitude:
1. To the Jasper-Newton Electric Co-Operative, who had the power up again within a very few days despite the multiple failures of large feeder lines and the many localized windfall line breakages.
2. To the Jasper-Newton Rural Water Co-Op, who through their professionalism and anticipation kept the water flowing.
3. To all the coppers and first responders and volunteers and charities and church groups who provided food and water and showers and support for the refugees and for those without resources during this bad time.
4. To the National Weather Service and to our local television and radio stations who gave us good, accurate, no-nonsense, timely information on the progress of the storm.
Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener has a criticism:
The well-paid, well-fed, loud-mouthed afternoon radio boys, who never pushed a verb against a noun without trying blow up something (Inherit the Wind) faulted the NWS and other weather services for creating unreasonable fear through hyperbole. Nonsense. And other words. The public and private weather services called it right. The storm was just as destructive as anticipated, only in a smaller area. As for survivability, in Louisiana they haven’t finished counting the corpses.
Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener has a wish:
I wish that a certain pompous jack-ass (am I permitted to say that?) who postures and pesters and prattles and pontificates for a corporate weather service that will remain nameless but not shameless, would, while standing in the wind and gassing off like a Dan Rather manque’ (and the original is tiresome enough), be hurled off his feet by the storm and sent skidding on his as(ininity) a block or two down the street. One wishes no real harm to him, of course, only a needed lesson in humility and professionalism.
As for your ‘umble scrivener, he bugged out to Midlothian (Dallas, not Scotland) with the extended family, including two dachshunds and two cats (and tooooooooo thrilling) for two comfortable nights at the Marriott, whose kind and patient staff are much to be praised.
One of the desk clerks is Leto, pronounced “Plato” only without the “P.” He is a juggler and entertainer, and one of the many Marriott staff who did so much for all of us.
Upon return I was happy to note that the new portable generator worked as advertised. No one was happy to note that the old window air-conditioner failed, and so we miseried through a couple of hot nights with only electric fans. But, hey, we had electric fans, and a lot of people in Jefferson County and in Louisiana southwestern parishes don’t have fans or electricity or water or any certainty about the future.
When on Sunday the preacher-man asks for a second collection for the displaced, give. GIVE. People are suffering.
Peace.
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Poets are Remarkably Silent
on the Subject of Portable Generators
-as G. K. Chesterton did not say
Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener has nothing to add to the many Hurricane Laura narratives except gratitude:
1. To the Jasper-Newton Electric Co-Operative, who had the power up again within a very few days despite the multiple failures of large feeder lines and the many localized windfall line breakages.
2. To the Jasper-Newton Rural Water Co-Op, who through their professionalism and anticipation kept the water flowing.
3. To all the coppers and first responders and volunteers and charities and church groups who provided food and water and showers and support for the refugees and for those without resources during this bad time.
4. To the National Weather Service and to our local television and radio stations who gave us good, accurate, no-nonsense, timely information on the progress of the storm.
Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener has a criticism:
The well-paid, well-fed, loud-mouthed afternoon radio boys, who never pushed a verb against a noun without trying blow up something (Inherit the Wind) faulted the NWS and other weather services for creating unreasonable fear through hyperbole. Nonsense. And other words. The public and private weather services called it right. The storm was just as destructive as anticipated, only in a smaller area. As for survivability, in Louisiana they haven’t finished counting the corpses.
Y’r ‘Umble Scrivener has a wish:
I wish that a certain pompous jack-ass (am I permitted to say that?) who postures and pesters and prattles and pontificates for a corporate weather service that will remain nameless but not shameless, would, while standing in the wind and gassing off like a Dan Rather manque’ (and the original is tiresome enough), be hurled off his feet by the storm and sent skidding on his as(ininity) a block or two down the street. One wishes no real harm to him, of course, only a needed lesson in humility and professionalism.
As for your ‘umble scrivener, he bugged out to Midlothian (Dallas, not Scotland) with the extended family, including two dachshunds and two cats (and tooooooooo thrilling) for two comfortable nights at the Marriott, whose kind and patient staff are much to be praised.
One of the desk clerks is Leto, pronounced “Plato” only without the “P.” He is a juggler and entertainer, and one of the many Marriott staff who did so much for all of us.
Upon return I was happy to note that the new portable generator worked as advertised. No one was happy to note that the old window air-conditioner failed, and so we miseried through a couple of hot nights with only electric fans. But, hey, we had electric fans, and a lot of people in Jefferson County and in Louisiana southwestern parishes don’t have fans or electricity or water or any certainty about the future.
When on Sunday the preacher-man asks for a second collection for the displaced, give. GIVE. People are suffering.
Peace.
-30-
Dreams / Limit Three Per Customer, Please - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
We passed in the market, next to the frozen foods
Shelves mostly empty; she was checking a list
I asked her how she was doing; she paused
Then wearily sighed, “I’m just living the dream”
We are all weary, evacuation-weary
Virus-weary, and hurricane-weary
Weary from the heat and damp and rot
Weary from the motions, weary from unpaid bills
Weary from the crises that wrecked many a plan -
And some were weary before all this began
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Dreams / Limit Three Per Customer, Please
For a Supermarket Worker
We passed in the market, next to the frozen foods
Shelves mostly empty; she was checking a list
I asked her how she was doing; she paused
Then wearily sighed, “I’m just living the dream”
We are all weary, evacuation-weary
Virus-weary, and hurricane-weary
Weary from the heat and damp and rot
Weary from the motions, weary from unpaid bills
Weary from the crises that wrecked many a plan -
And some were weary before all this began
Wednesday, September 2, 2020
The Juggler of Midlothian as Written in This Poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
He steps away from Cicely, Alaska
He steps away from the reception desk
He steps into the center of the lobby
He steps up and sends into inner space
Tennis balls Tennis balls Tennis balls
Tennis balls
Tennis balls
More tennis balls
And calls them back into his hands again
His name is Leto, pronounced like Plato
Only without the P; his text is Dune
Frank Herbert’s Dune, and he is Leto
The Emperor, in exile for a time
The tennis balls evoke the worlds he dreams
And this one too – nothing is as it seems
(I’m a plodding Dostoyevsky man meself)
Note: Leto is a desk clerk at the Midlothian (Texas, not Scotland) Marriott, who welcomes early-rising exiles with merriment, wisdom, and orbiting tennis balls.
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Juggler of Midlothian
He steps away from Cicely, Alaska
He steps away from the reception desk
He steps into the center of the lobby
He steps up and sends into inner space
Tennis balls Tennis balls Tennis balls
Tennis balls
Tennis balls
More tennis balls
TennisTennisTennisTennis balls
And calls them back into his hands again
His name is Leto, pronounced like Plato
Only without the P; his text is Dune
Frank Herbert’s Dune, and he is Leto
The Emperor, in exile for a time
The tennis balls evoke the worlds he dreams
And this one too – nothing is as it seems
(I’m a plodding Dostoyevsky man meself)
Note: Leto is a desk clerk at the Midlothian (Texas, not Scotland) Marriott, who welcomes early-rising exiles with merriment, wisdom, and orbiting tennis balls.
Tuesday, September 1, 2020
Not-a-Haiku about Haiku - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Not-a-Haiku
about Haiku
Only a Japanese master can
shape happy words
To fall upon the earth like
soft spring rain
Choreographing merry rivulets
Through which Ame-no-Usume
dances the dawn
Only a Japanese master can take
a leaf
As a page of the Emperor’s great
book
And taste it, hear it, touch
it, sing of it
And in it see the completion of
the world
Only a Japanese master can
wield
Kireji, On, and Kigo
as a sword
(In
this context “master” is gender-neutral)
Monday, August 31, 2020
Sweepers, Man Your Brooms! - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
If you think you’re too special to sweep the deck
Well, you’re not; get over yourself and turn to
But if someone hands you a broom and a ‘tude
That Irish pennant needs to get over himself
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Sweepers, Man Your Brooms!
(It’s a Navy thing)
If you think you’re too special to sweep the deck
Well, you’re not; get over yourself and turn to
But if someone hands you a broom and a ‘tude
That Irish pennant needs to get over himself
Sunday, August 30, 2020
Upon Return from the Hurricane Evacuation - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Upon Return from the Hurricane Evacuation
“…and that the fury of the storms may pass away.”
-Missale Romanum, p. 1612
The temperature is 97
The hummingbird feeders must go up first
The humidity is 77
The feeder for the birds and squirrels is next
The temperature is 97
The outside cats are nowhere to be seen
The humidity is 77
But food and water are waiting for them too
The temperature is 97
The largest oak has lost much of itself
The humidity is 77
Red oak – more firewood for the winter
The temperature is 97
The electrical lines are down – how long?
The humidity is 77
But happiness - the house itself seems okay
The temperature is 97
Leaves shoal across the lawn and against the walls
The humidity is 77
Insulation from lost houses reef the fields
The temperature is 97
Debris, human and natural, debris
The humidity is 77
The world is covered with a litterfall
The temperature is 97
The generator coughs and barks and starts
The humidity is 77
We will sleep under electric fans tonight
The temperature is 97
Electric cords slither across the floors
The humidity is 77
The refrigerator takes turns with the coffee pot
The temperature is 97
The window unit that worked two weeks ago
The humidity is 77
Failed – everything is damp and hot and still
The temperature is 97
The damp and rot make sleep impossible
The humidity is 77
Dawn is but headaches, heat, dampness, and despair
The temperature is 97
Shifting fallen limbs from the driveway and lawn
The humidity is 77
And breathing heavily in the soggy heat
The temperature is 97
The road is blocked down at the other end
The humidity is 77
Strangers back up to my lane to turn around
The temperature is 97
We share information, rumors mostly
The humidity is 77
And wish each other well in this fallen time
The temperature is 97
The cats return, shyly, and one by one
The humidity is 77
From among green cover new to them
The temperature is 97
I sit in the shade and drink lots of water
The humidity is 77
And sweat and stink and try to catch my breath
The temperature is 97
An insolent hummingbird buzzes me
The Humidity is 77
He wears a green coat and a bright red tie
The temperature is 97
The bees are back at their freshwater pool
The humidity is 77
I poison the ants who are invading the house
The temperature is 97
Day after day, like The Ancient Mariner
The humidity is 77
Becalmed for days on a sunbeaten sea
But then: today, to everyone’s great joy
The electrics were restored by the rural co-op
And I stopped cleaning up the yard and house
To kill the generator and roll up cords
And to write to you to say that all is well
At our little house
At our little house
Because we have houses to live in, you and I,
And lots of people don’t, and that’s easy to forget
At the foot of the thermostat
Peace especially for the homeless and for exiles
And for you too
And for you too
Thursday, August 27, 2020
The Juggler of Midlothian (Midlothian Marriot Courtyard, Desk Clerk Leto)
An enjoyable stay while in exile from Hurricane Laura. All the staff at the Midlothian Marriott Courtyard are very friendly and helpful. I was up at dawn for that first cup of coffee and met Leto, one of the many nice folks who work in this hotel.
Tuesday, August 25, 2020
"Now Tell Me Again the Things We're Against" - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
She told us that she had truly been saved
Her new life of freedom had now
commenced
Then she turned to a co-religionist and
raved
“Oh, tell me again about the things we’re
against!”
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
“Now Tell Me Again the Things We’re Against”
She told us that she had truly been saved
Her new life of freedom had now
commenced
Then she turned to a co-religionist and
raved
“Oh, tell me again about the things we’re
against!”
Monday, August 24, 2020
"Make Sure all Your Devices are Fully Charged" - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Nothing about a storm respects our trifles:
A flashlight is no good against the rain
A MePhone cannot block a falling tree
A watch cannot divert wild thunderbolts
“Make sure all your devices are fully
charged”
A wireless doorbell cannot stop the wind
A radio cannot swim to save its life
A tablet cannot operate a boat
A laptop is quite unable to float
“Make sure all your devices are fully
charged”
That’s thin advice when facing the eternal:
Nothing about a storm respects our lives
mhall46184@aol.com
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
“Make Sure All Your Devices
are Fully charged”
are Fully charged”
Nothing about a storm respects our trifles:
A flashlight is no good against the rain
A MePhone cannot block a falling tree
A watch cannot divert wild thunderbolts
“Make sure all your devices are fully
charged”
A wireless doorbell cannot stop the wind
A radio cannot swim to save its life
A tablet cannot operate a boat
A laptop is quite unable to float
“Make sure all your devices are fully
charged”
That’s thin advice when facing the eternal:
Nothing about a storm respects our lives
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