Soldiers Sleeping Beneath a Bust of Father Abraham - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Soldiers Sleeping Beneath a Bust of Father Abraham

 

In the Capitol exhausted soldiers sleep

Beneath a bust of Abraham Lincoln

And a sign that reads: “Cameras and related gear

Not authorized in this area.”

 

After days of transports and formations

Of stringing wire and policing the area

Of orders and marches and lines for the head

And maintenance of all weapons and gear

 

They sprawl just any whichaway on a floor

To be mocked with sneaky MePhone photographs

“Is that all our overpaid soldiers do? Sleep?”

And stepped around by those whom they protect

 

Insolent civilians might not give a damn

But our soldiers are blessed by Father Abraham

(Based on a photograph published in Drudge)

An Orderly Transition of Power, They Say - weekly column

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

An Orderly Transition of Power, They Say

 

Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame

That darkness does the face of earth entomb

When living light should kiss it?

 

Macbeth II.iiii.9-11

 

On the 20^th of January in the capital of the United States there should be children waving sparklers, avenues of light, marching bands and Boy Scouts in formation, merriment along streets scrubbed clean and bright, hot dog stands, souvenir shops selling shiny tat in red, white, and blue, and a good and happy citizenry in love with their nation and practicing good will to each other.

 

But in the present unhappy reality the capital on Inauguration Day will be a mottled scape of soldiers, concertina wire strung between Corinthian columns, secret service, chain-link fencing, police, checkpoints, soldiers, roadblocks, secret service, rooftop marksmen, police, missile batteries, soldiers, no-go zones, secret service, lockdowns, police, lockouts, soldiers, security gates, secret service, identification checks, police, radar, soldiers, radios, secret service, body scans, police, x-rays, soldiers, sniffer dogs, secret service, permits, police, passes, soldiers, patdowns, secret service, badges, police, questions, soldiers, suspicion, secret service, bollards, police, armored vehicles, soldiers, and all the other menacing apparatus of a decayed state.

 

In our nation’s capital on Inauguration Day the dominant emotion will not be national pride or joy or even relief, but fear.

 

Fear.

 

Why?

 

-30-

The Understated Joys of Crows and Bedroom Slippers - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Understated Joys of Crows and Bedroom Slippers

 

The morning lawn is white with frost and mist

And speckled black with a claque of sneaky crows

Bullying the little birds aside for the seeds

Before the squirrels are up to contend for them

 

Into my Christmas slippers I push my feet

Slowly so as not to startle the birds

But they spy me through the window and rustle off

In insolent protest against all men

 

Because their feet are cold and mine are hot

Since I have slippers, and the crows have not!

The Ever-Glorious Presidential Medal of Freedom with a Wal-Mart Gift Card Attached - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Ever-Glorious Presidential Medal of Freedom

With a Wal-Mart Gift Card Attached

 

As a child I played miniature golf, you see

So is there a Medal of Freedom for me?

"My Temple Stands in Ephesus" - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“My Temple Stands in Ephesus”

 

-Pericles V.i.241

 

“My temple stands in Ephesus,” the goddess says

I don’t believe in goddesses, of course,

And stern Saint Paul would up cut rough about them

But we could wish them so, temples and gods

 

We could board a ship with a seeing eye

A ship of wonderful cargoes safely stowed

And let there be “Lords, Knights, Gentlemen,

Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers”

 

To speed our stories and our very selves

To where a temple stands in Ephesus

Snow Clouds for children on a January Dawn - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Snow Clouds for Children on a January Dawn

 

There could be snow later, and that would be nice

Children can grow up here and never see snow

Today they might go out and play in it

While we old folks tut-tut, “You’ll catch your death…”

 

But they are asleep, the snow is asleep

Only the rain is awake, drip, drip, drip

Making last summer’s leaves speak one last time

As they crumble into their winter sleep

 

There could be snow later, and that would be nice

For the children: a happy new year twice

Antihistamine Dreams - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Antihistamine Dreams

 

My night-time sneezing, cold, and ‘flu medicine -

It flew me back to Viet-Nam last night

Not on a battlefield or Ye Olde Veterans’ tour

But with a mixed group younger than any war

 

From a tour bus I pointed out scenes of my youth

To people who wisely were not interested

Who with their Leicas took pictures of fields

And the languid flow of the Vam Co Tay

 

And there were no hard feelings anywhere

Until someone shot me from a window

You are the Daily Good - Thank You - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

You are the Daily Good – Thank You

 

What good shall I do this day?

 

-Benjamin Franklin

 

So much good is being accomplished today:

Women and men going about their daily work

Food pantry volunteers stocking the shelves

Retirees prepping meals for everyone else

 

So much good is being accomplished today:

Little children study (and clean their plates)

A teen shops for his MeeMaw so she’ll be safe

A neighbor gives comfort to her grieving friend

 

So much good is being accomplished today:

And you and I are going to be a part of that

Light, Love, Song, Feast, and Dance - weekly column

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Light, Love, Song, Feast, and Dance

 

Someone wrote that if you were a mile away from the Battle of Hastings (October 1066), you not only couldn’t hear any of it but unless you were in direct line of sight you wouldn’t know it was happening.

 

Similarly, a current attempt (so far unsuccessful) to overthrow our freely-elected government also probably could not be heard a mile away, with the flash-bangs and occasional gunfire subsumed within the noise of traffic and commerce.

 

Within a mile of the Capitol are thousands of businesses and homes connected by busy streets and highways. A man or woman coming off shift and burrowing within his or her own peaceful thoughts while enjoying a book or podcast over a light supper might well do so without hearing or even hearing of the crude grasp for illegitimate power by a physical and moral coward urging his followers into dubious tumult from the safety of a glowing screen in his bunker.

 

And that is because life goes on. In his A Preface to Paradise Lost, C. S. Lewis writes,

 

In the midst of a world of light and love, of song and feast and dance, he [Satan] could find nothing to think of more interesting than his own prestige.

 

And it is the joys of light, love, song, feast, and dance that are important. An omelette and a cup of coffee might be feast enough for someone who is going on shift or off shift, and a book to discuss with a friend later is a feast of the intellect, a dance of the Poirot-ish Little Grey Cells, a celebration of light, while the nimble waiter’s excursions among the booths and table are a dance indeed.

 

Any man, even a president, who withdraws into an unnatural obsession with his feelings and moods, hugging to himself all the satanic resentments that poison his mind and heart, is leading himself into a nothingness. He would resent the idea that no one would mourn his passing, but more than that he would be shocked that he would not be missed at all, no more than anyone would miss an earache or an abscessed tooth.

 

Those who live in light, love, song, feast, and dance celebrate civilization, and want to share the joy, not grasp it selfishly. If the good among us cannot hear the self-wounding bellowings of those who have broken faith, it is because they hear the stronger, and more joyful voice of truth.

 

-30-

Storm Heaven, if You Will - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Storm Heaven, if You Will

 

In the midst of a world of light and love, of song and feast and dance, he could find nothing to think of more interesting than his own prestige.

 

-C.S. Lewis, A Preface to Paradise Lost

 

Storm Heaven with your selfless prayers, if you will

But not your fellow man with fists and flags

All the President's Mob - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

All the President’s Mob

 

Sedition batters past the capitol police -

As Congress, sweet harmless Merovingians,

Arming from a thesaurus of pomposity

Meet the attempted coup with lofty words

 

While hidden far away, lurking unseen

Our Leader screams into his telescreen

Moving his dementia along the Potomac:

Glorifying himself in the highest

 

Our government, cowering on the floor

Maintains that it will not be intimidated

Drive-Through Covid Testing and Bladder Control - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Drive-Through Covid Testing and Bladder Control

 

Just waiting in a car-queue, something new

Every hour up a hundred yards or so

Readings on the MePhone, a book or two

And good ol’ Morning Al on the radio

 

Clutch, go, brake, clutch, inches at a time, wait

News on the up hour, and news on the down

Scan the QR code, number, name, and date

For the nice lady in a mask and gown

 

Hold your head forward, now strike a pose

Then up my nose the little swabbie-thing goes…

 

(And that’s all. Boring, eh?)

An Asymptomatic Sinner - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

An Asymptomatic Sinner

 

I burned a television set today

Which was a rewarding experience

A bonfire of the vanities indeed

Burn, you 140 channels, burn!

 

I am in quarantine, ‘though symptom-free

And there was an old television around

And so I burned it. And I’m glad, ha-ha!

Tomorrow I will rake the ashes for its guts

 

While in quarantine, waiting for my test -

A burning television is a merry jest!

Behold! - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Behold!

 

A story requires an occasional “Behold!”

Merely to see the magic is not enough

The children do not merely see Aslan

Nor does Uncle Andrew merely see the witch

 

Behold!

 

A story requires an occasional “Behold!”

Merely to see the Truth is not enough

The Magi do not merely see the Star

Nor do the shepherds merely see the Child

 

Behold!

 

A story requires an occasional “Behold!”

Or else the magic isn’t truly told

 

Behold!

Seraphim of Sarov and the Bear and the Robbers - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Seraphim of Sarov

And the Bear

And the Robbers

 

Saint Seraphim was seen feeding a bear

He would have fed the robbers too, poor men

With both the little in his larder bowl

And healing from the greatness of his soul

 

With his own axe they beat him near to death

Before looting his cell of its rumored riches

They found indeed a treasure of great wealth:

A peasant’s Ikon of the Mother of God

 

For the rest of his life

 

Seraphim leaned upon his axe and upon God

Taking our brokenness upon himself

Useful Things Aboard a Delivery Truck on New Year's Day - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Useful Things Aboard a Delivery Truck on New Year’s Day

 

A new clothes-dryer for our little house

“MADE IN AMERICA” – but is it really?

By hand to the hydraulic lift, and down

And by dolly trolley into the laundry

 

It made its journey with someone’s new washer

A refrigerator, and a cast-iron cooker

Useful things delivered by working men

Wrestling trucks and freight for the common good

 

When their day’s work is done I hope that they

Can relax

 

(around a cooker, with a cold one in hand)

 

                        and say, “This was a good day.”

Happy Roman New Year! - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Happy Roman New Year - Join me for a Cuppa!

 

 

“I went, and I am still going.”

 

-Yevgeny Yevtushenko

“Zima Junction”

 

 

The dogs and I are out on our morning patrol

Greeting the new day, new month, and new year

Greeting the sun as he sings through woods

His song of Creation, Creation-fresh

 

I have fed the animals, lit the fire

Made coffee to enjoy at my old desk

With Edmondson, Wells, and their pal Shakespeare

And John Senior with his awfully thinky words

 

Fresh coffee, fresh words for me and for you –

Join me, won’t you, for a merry cup of brew!

 

 

I have no connection with the authors or publishers:

 

Edmondson, Paul and Wells. All the Sonnets of Shakespeare. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020

 

Senior, John. Pale Horse, Easy Rider. Lawrence, Kansas, Shakespeherian Rag Press, 1992

 

Dostoyevsky Writes to the Coronavirus - weekly column

 The possibilities were good, but this is poor stuff. I hope someone will take the gag and make it funny:

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Dostoyevsky Writes to the Coronavirus

 

More than one scribbler has re-written the first lines of famous novels as humorous takes on the covid-time. I go them one better in re-writing the first lines of famous Russian novels:

 

 

Alexey Fyodorovich Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovich Karamazov, a landowner well known in our district in his own day and still remember among us due to his tragic death when his stockpile of hoarded toilet paper fell and crushed him.

 

-Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

 

 

Reveille was sounded, as always, at 5 a.m. – a hammer pounding on a rail outside Camp Fast-Track Vaccines H. Q.

 

-Solzhenitsyn, One Day in the Live of Ivan Denisovich

 

 

On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though in hesitation, towards K Bridge in search of P. P. E.

 

- Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment

 

 

“Well, Peter, still no sign of the promised disinfectant aerosols?

 

-Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

 

 

On they went, singing “Rest Eternal,” and whenever they stopped there was a sign reminding them to maintain a distance of six feet from each other.

 

-Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

 

 

I am merely copying out here, word for word, what was printed today in the State Gazette: Glass rooms in glass buildings are not enough – you must also wear your glass masks.

 

-Zamyatin, We

 

 

“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Microsoft Corporation.”

 

-Tolstoy, War and Peace

 

 

Happy viruses are all alike; every unhappy virus is unhappy in its own way.

 

-Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

 

 

Every day the factory whistle bellowed forth its shrill, roaring, shuddering noises into the smoke-begrimed and greasy atmosphere of the workingmen’s suburb where vaccines were developed.

 

-Gorky, Mother

 

 

The Melekhov farm was right at the end of Tatarsk village, next to Dr. Fauci’s house.

 

-Sholokov, And Quiet Flows the Don

 

-30-

31 December 2020 - Time Out for a Penalty Flag

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

31 December 2020 –

Time Out for a Penalty Flag

 

The old order changeth, yielding place to new,

And God fulfills himself in many ways

 

-Tennyson, “The Passing of Arthur”

 

Change does not lie in calendars or dates

But in the seasonal turnings of the year

And in the ordered ways of God with us

Compassing us truly in spite of ourselves

 

Years are but our usages and measurings

Tools lent us for a time for learning Creation

For balancing the better against the good

And the transcendent against the transient

 

Life is not lived in calendars or dates

But beyond all time, and only in Truth

 

Our Fearless Leaders / Have Got / the Shot - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Our Fearless Leaders / Have Got / The Shot

 

But as for us, well, we have not