Friday, September 10, 2021

Saint Augustine's Stolen Apples, My Dead 'Possum - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Saint Augustine’s Stolen Apples, My Dead ‘Possum

 

Saint Augustine reflected on the sins of his youth

The stolen apples especially bothered him

In his life-long penance and his quest for truth

That memory, somehow, was especially grim

 

As for me I remember a long-ago night

When I flung a dead ‘possum at Miss Cates’ door

I know that such a thing just isn’t right

But she was mean and old (maybe twenty-four)

 

Saint Augustine’s sins hung about him like weights

And I –

I don’t feel bad about tormenting Miss Cates!

 

 

(My friend Gordon and I found the ‘possum as ripe roadkill, and the deed quickly followed the inspiration. I did the tossing because Gordon was the getaway driver. Miss Cates was a brand-new teacher and probably quite nice. I do know that we were little jerks and that she deserved better. Gordon won the Silver Star in Viet-Nam, was a good husband and a beloved stepfather, and died in early middle age.)

Thursday, September 9, 2021

Searching September for You - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Searching September for You

 

Everyone writes poems about September

That month which serves as a hinge to each year

Tired summer collapsing into cool autumn

A new term and new terms on the quarter-day

 

I remember walking in the fields with you

And holding hands among the stubbled crops

While you sang to me and our changing world -

You were the joy of golden Michaelmas-time

 

And though all those Septembers have flown away

Whenever I pass a field

                                        I look for you

Tuesday, September 7, 2021

General Robert E. Lee Stands Down - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

General Robert E. Lee Stands Down

 

Richmond, Virginia

8 September 2021

 

Today his statue will be lifted down

And broken up to be museumed somewhere

Beyond the roar of cannon and musketry

Beyond the hiss of tear gas and abuse

 

The most sentimental mythologies

Might be the worst: moonlight and magnolias

And sweet old songs softening and perfuming

The memories of bloody chains and whips

 

Let us hope that the plinth is left intact -

For a new statue, a universal pact

If This Were Kabul We’d Call It Nation Building - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

If This Were Kabul We’d Call It Nation Building

 

At Least 6 Killed, 56 Wounded In Chicago Labor Day Weekend Gun Violence

 

-CBS 2 Chicago

 

Maybe one of the civilized nations

Will send us aid: food packages, nylons

Chocolate for the children, used clothing

Cigarettes for the old men, can openers

 

Maybe one of the civilized nations

Will send their young soldiers to guard our streets

And missionaries to teach us the Bible

And volunteer nurses to teach us hygiene

 

Maybe one of the civilized nations

Will pity us, and make us a protectorate

 

 

(From a reminder by Anthony Germain)

Monday, September 6, 2021

Cognitive Dissonance by Order of Higher Authority - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Cognitive Dissonance by Order of Higher Authority

 

The greatest evil is…conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried,

and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed and well-lighted offices…

 

-C. S Lewis, Preface to The Screwtape Letters

 

It is illogical to determine

That a class of humans must not be human

And so not only may this class be destroyed

But must be destroyed for some sort of cause

 

It is illogical to determine

That some should be ashes or specimens in jars

Quivering bloody lumps flung into fires

Or into bags labeled “Medical Waste”

 

It is illogical to determine

Who may live, and who must be

                                                    medically served

Sunday, September 5, 2021

A Wristwatch Named Karen - weekly column, 5 September 2021

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Wristwatch Named Karen

 

Okay, that’s really not fair. Every Karen I have every known is a joy to be around. Let’s just say that I have a wristwatch with a bossy ‘tude.

 

This summer someone near and dear to me gave me one of those clever computerized watches to replace my classic (old) $8 Timex.

 

Karen-the-Watch features a big screen onto which I can easily sweep dozens of different faces. I picked the one most like my minimalist (old) Timex with sweep hands and plain numbers that light up all the time, the day, the date, and, as a tribute to our ancestors who followed lunar calendars, a moon phase image.

 

When I sweep the face up a dashboard with six features appears: wi-fi signal strength meter, a find-the-dumb-phone tap-thing, a battery indicator, an on-off for sounds, a switch to kill the watch’s lights while in a theatre, and a walkie-talkie gadget I haven’t yet figured out.

 

If I receive a message from Dick Tracy or anyone else, or some other notification (they bounce from the MePhone), I sweep the face down to read it.

 

Tapping the stem calls up a list of some 47 (I counted) features, including all the applications on my MePhone made available on Karen-the-Watch, only somewhat modified. On a news app, for instance, you see the headlines and maybe a part of the story. If you have more apps on your MePhone you will have more apps on your Karen-the-Watch

 

Others on the list include pulse, blood oxygen levels (ask your grandpa about femoral sticks for that purpose), ‘phone, pulse, wake-up alarm (soft Viennese music that slowly becomes rather Germanically noisy if you don’t respond), calendar, calculator, compass, and lots of things I’ve yet to figure out.

 

One of the coolest is an EKG.  I can’t read an EKG, but I can see it on the screen and on the MePhone. All those squiggly lines probably mean something. Maybe it’s a coded message from R (or P – some consonant, anyway).

 

Karen-the-Watch tracks the number of steps I take and the distance I make. I’m shooting for 6,000 steps and three miles every 24 hours and usually accomplish them. There are little bars for each hour which light up in sequence when you stand up and do something. Sitting at a desk or in front of a legacy (old) television set doesn’t count. If you are sedentary for too long Karen-the-Watch sends you a message suggesting (sort of like a drill sergeant’s suggestions) that you should get up and move about for a minute or so.

 

My Karen-the-Watch came with an ugly and uncomfortable rubber strap (what was someone not thinking?) which I quickly replaced with several inexpensive after-market cloth and leather straps from Volga.com (or is it Danube.com – some river, anyway). To change a strap doesn’t require fiddling with spring-loaded pins; you just slide-and-click the straps out and in as necessary.

 

Karen-the-Watch synchronizes with the MePhone for most purposes, but when they are far away from each other Karen shows the time and tracks fitness but won’t send or receive messages.

 

The only complaint (first-world problems, right?) is that Karen-the-Phone holds its charge for only about 24 hours. If you’re going on a trip you’ll have to bring along her special little magnetic charger.

 

Beyond that…but wait…Karen-the-Watch speaks:

 

“You need to get to the treadmill now. The nice people have better things to do than listen to you babble.”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

-30-

 

A Meditation on Caspar David Friedrich’s “Wanderer above the Mist” - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Meditation on Caspar David Friedrich’s

“Wanderer above the Mist”

 

For victory alone he chooses to exist

He takes a triumphant and well-earned breath

But what if that wanderer above the mist

Slips on a banana peel to his death!

Saturday, September 4, 2021

No Surrender to Viruses or Fools - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

No Surrender to Viruses or Fools

 

My head is bloody, but unbowed

 

-Henley, “Invictus”

 

We planned to build in peace a better world

With hands and tools and minds and arts and sweat

A home and bed for every little child

With love and peace around each family’s hearth

 

But now we daily read the deaths of friends

 

Futility is wormed into our hopes

By fatal vapors coursing through the air

Adrift on breathy particles, scornful

Of everything we’ve worked for all out lives

 

For still we daily read the deaths of friends

 

Some of us blame each other, or just give up

And wallow in despair, but not you and I

                                                         

Let’s help each other - we’ve got a world to build

 

 

 


 

("Invictus" is something of a cliche' now, and flawed in some ways, but its attitude of defiance and stoicism is still admirable.)

Friday, September 3, 2021

The© Happy™ Home© Akku-Rite™ OTC Covid-1 Test© - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The© Happy™ Home© Akku-Rite™ OTC Covid-1 Test©

 

The picture on the box features a couple

Cuddling cutely in domestic bliss

As they poke the swabs way up each other’s nose

(Oh, don’t be scandalized; they’re married, of course!)

 

These and other fine products are distributed by

Consolidated HelthKare Medical, Inc.

Makers of the Kut-Kut© Home Vasectomy Kit

And

Ol’ Doc Zeke’s™ Happy Mule© Diarrhea Remedy

 

Ol’ Doc Zeke’s™ Happy Mule© Diarrhea Remedy™

Is not approved for use in humans (wink, wink)

Thursday, September 2, 2021

Liberation Begins with our Minds - Poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Liberation Begins with our Minds

 

At lunch today, or during a coffee break

We could switch the break room radio on

To the voices of someone else’s America

Demagogues yelling at us what to think

 

Or we could open that ancient paperback

Held together with tape and rubber bands

And continue Saint Augustine’s Confessions

Which we began in our younger, happier days

 

Eternal words, and not some Leader’s noise

Because you and I are not trapped in time

Wednesday, September 1, 2021

Communities - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Communities

 

We often read about communities:

 

The intelligence community

The black community

The LGBT community

The arts community

 

Communities

 

The Hispanic community

The white community

The evangelical community

The educational community

 

Communities

 

One imagines a community:

Volunteer fire department, VFW

Parks, shops, a Methodist church across the street

From Our Lady of Guadalupe

 

Communities

 

But communities seem mostly to be

Lonely people stereotyping others

On the InterGossip with big ol’ words

Tuesday, August 31, 2021

"I Guess You Saw a Lot of Action, Huh?" - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“I Guess You Saw a Lot of Action, Huh?”

 

Don’t

 

You and I weren’t there; it’s none of our business

They will talk about it among themselves

Politely excluding us, as they should

Mostly each will grapple with it in the dark

 

Alone

 

You and I weren’t there; it’s none of our business

They might become more open when they are old

When God speaks to them from the desert and plain

But the decision is theirs; it is their pain

 

Theirs

 

You and I weren’t there; it’s none of our business

Don’t ask

Don’t even speak

Just leave it alone

Monday, August 30, 2021

A Remembrance - weekly column 29 August 2021

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Remembrance

 

Last week more of this nation’s finest young men and women were killed by a depraved suicide bomber.

 

Along with our young Marines, a Navy Hospital Corpsman (“Doc”), and a Soldier, hundreds of civilian men, women, and children were blown apart because they wanted to be free.

 

Our young American men and women were serving our nation and helping refugees because they were always encouraged to be the best.

 

Other young men and women are sometimes commanded by their perverse elders to be the worst.

 

There is a difference.

 

We have all seen our young men and women tend to the babies, the sick, and the elderly, giving them water and food and comfort. These are not propaganda images; every soldier, sailor, airman, and Marine who has seen the elephant can tell you of the generosity and kindness of American grunts toward displaced civilians. The notorious exceptions are just that, exceptions, a failure to meet the standards expected of every G.I.

 

Our wonderful young men and women, hardly out of their teens, died on their feet doing good, bravely and in the open.

 

Their murderer was a skulking wretch who could only cling to his hatred and his bomb.

 

There is a difference.

 

The young men and women who were murdered last week did not go to The Right Schools, did not wear custom-made uniforms with lots of shiny stars and gew-gaws, and did not sip single-malt in oak-paneled rooms with wealthy arms dealers I mean government contractors.  They carried rifles and aid-bags and the burden of duty, not briefcases, and they busted a sweat in the field, not on the golf course. The concept of summering in the Hamptons was unknown to them; they summered on the rifle range and in technical school

 

There is a difference.

 

They probably didn’t execute a salute as precisely and as prettily as some of our political leaders who never made the first day of recruit training, but their salutes meant something.

 

There is a difference.

 

These young men and women found a purpose.

 

They made a righteous difference.

 

They did good.

 

 

 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

 

-Laurence Binyon, “For the Fallen”

 

-30-

 

By God, The President Can Execute a Snappy Salute - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Man Can Execute a Snappy Salute

 

By God, the man can execute a snappy salute

Though he never made the first day of boot camp

Maybe he learned to salute from watching Patton

Or John Wayne movies, over and over

 

By God, the man can execute a snappy salute

Even while propped up by his briefcase boys

Showing off his practiced thousand-yard stare

While thirteen flag-covered coffins are carried by

 

By God, the man can execute a snappy salute -

And the brave young people who trusted him

 

Sunday, August 29, 2021

Why Does Saint Augustine Have Two Feast Days? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Why Does Saint Augustine Have Two Feast Days?

 

“Take it and read, take it and read.”

 

-Saint Augustine, Confessions

 

Trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin, Penguin Classics

 

Why does Saint Augustine have two feast days?

Because he speaks to both the East and West

A little child still says it to us twice

“Take it and read, take it and read.”

                                                         We should listen

Saturday, August 28, 2021

We All Dream of Our Own Library Someday - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

We All Dream of Our Own Library Someday

 

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

 

-attributed to Marcus Tullius Cicero

Ad Familiares, Letter IV to Varro

 

 

We all dream of our own library someday

Shelf after shelf of finely bound editions

An oak-paneled room with a stone fireplace

And French windows that open to the sea

 

We all dream of our own library someday

A handsome wooden table instead of a desk

Lamplight and candlelight that fall upon

The open pages of a Russian poet

 

We all dream of our own library someday -

For now, a back-pack paperback must do



(My dream library is in a wood or a wooded park, but “sea” set itself into place and refused to move. Perhaps I saw your dream library for a moment.)


Friday, August 27, 2021

An Old Man Clinging to a Microphone - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

 

An Old Man Clinging to a Microphone

 

Those he commands move only in command,

Nothing in love…

 

-Macbeth V.ii.19-20

 

An old man bowed his head, maybe in prayer

Asking forgiveness for the massacre of innocents

Or maybe he was sorry only for himself

Because no one liked him anymore

 

His speech was as fragmented as the dead

He gobbled out words, poor scripted cliches’

Those in attendance felt little for him -

Pity, yes, and surely something of fear

 

For no one dared ask him, as he shuffled away,

“Mr. President, will you please resign today?”

Thursday, August 26, 2021

Gifted - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“Gifted” is not a Verb

 

“Stop it. Just stop it.”

 

-Bob Newhart

 

A gift is given, not gifted

“Give” is the given action verb

Let not your strong usage be shifted -

Just dump the fashions at the curb

Wednesday, August 25, 2021

Noah Sends out Another Dove Today - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Noah Sends out Another Dove Today

 

Some other land, some other sea

 

-Cavafy, “The City”

 

If Noah were to release that dove today

It would fall along with the olive branch

Along with all hope, blasted out of the sky

Its bloody feathers fluttering to earth

 

Among refugees who haven’t the right papers

Tuesday, August 24, 2021

Boxes are for FedEx - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Boxes are for FedEx

 

You don’t want to hear about my boxes

I don’t much care much about your boxes

Boxes are for FedEx. And birthday gifts

Good Comrades check boxes;

                                                poets create

Beauty among the chaos