“FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack” - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack”

 

-Associated Press

 

“…we need to put all of the mechanisms in place

to thoroughly vet these men and women…”

 

-Army Secretary Ryan McCarthy

 

Men of Destiny always make a mess

Of life, of death, of shabby governance

And from the safety of their bunkers

Polish their medals and send in the young

 

“These men and women” – “these” – he sneers the word

As if privates and corporals try to block votes -

His predecessors, trusting budgets, bullets, and bombs

Didn’t trust us one bit in Viet-Nam

 

It is the Pentagon’s original sin:

When they **** up they blame the enlisted men

 

 

FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack (apnews.com)

Coffee Shop Darwinians - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Coffee Shop Darwinians

 

“We’ll set a fine, new, well-oiled machine in place of the old one and 

this time we’ll put the Normans into it instead. That’s what justice

means, isn’t it?”

 

-Saxon Monk in Becket

 

No, of course it didn’t have to happen

We’re not campus coffee shop Darwinians

Determined that five innocents needed to die

Within the gears of our new, well-oiled machine

 

And that more should come, chanting “O Machine!” ¹

“Follow the Science!” and “Learn. To. Code!”

As they sacrifice themselves to a Tweeter-sanctioned

Infestation of Manifest Destiny

 

And I’ve got a feeling, as you might agree:

No one on either side quotes Dostoyevsky

 

 

¹ “The Machine Stops,” E. M. Forster

The Writer, the Reader, and the Synapse Between Them - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Writer, the Reader, and the Synapse Between Them

 

Per V.B. & W.K.

 

From the writer to the reader

From the speaker to the listener

 

Like a 16-year-old crossing a field at noon

A little word has a lot of ground to cover in the heat

A mile of open ground to a wall and some trees

Where confusion does not want it to arrive

 

From the writer to the reader

From the speaker to the listener

 

If we send a little word across a field

But stay behind ourselves and only watch

To see what happens - how responsible are we

If the word dies screaming among the wheat

 

From the writer to the reader

From the speaker to the listener

 

Like a 16-year-old crossing a field at noon

A little word has a lot of ground to cover in the heat

 

16 January 2021

This Side of the Covid - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

This Side of the Covid

 

The Covid still is spinning me around

And flinging random thoughts against the roof

The bat-cave roof of this cosmic centrifuge

Whoops-a-go with a plastic temperature

 

And here’s a finger for the oxygen thing

With which to touch a passing ice-cream dream

And clutch it to a forest long sacrificed

For all the snot-paper I needed last week

 

So if, dear friends, I fail to make any sense

My words are piled in drifts along the fence

 

I think.

 

Maybe.

 

An Orderly Transition of Power, They Say - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.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 Inauguration Day there should be:

 

Children waving sparklers, avenues of light

High school bands and Boy Scouts in formation

Merriment along streets scrubbed clean and bright

A happy people in love with their nation

 

But we are given:

 

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

 

Fear

 

Why?

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