Sunday, June 12, 2022

The Rock Upon Which New York is Built - weekly column, 12 June 2022

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Rock Upon Which New York is Built

 

His Honor Eric Adams, Mayor of New York, is into magic rocks and crystals, part of the reiki / chakra / ouija / enneagram / pyramid world of self-obsessed low-prole fantasy that would embarrass a sixth-grader.

 

His bracelet of little stones was noticed when he ran for office, but the assumption was that these were but ornaments – the mayor is a man of fashion. Someone mentioned that one of the stones was from West Africa, and that’s certainly a nice thing, a connection with one’s ancestral homeland.

 

But apparently, according to several sources (hey, they’re on the InterGossip; they must be true, right?), the mayor believes that different rocks and crystals possess special powers. One stone is for healing, another for protection, another for peace, and so on, all rather Harry Potter-ish.

 

And this is surprising in a grown man with a solid (maybe even rock-solid) background: his father was a butcher and, sadly, an alcoholic. His mother cleaned houses. He was something of a street tough and was arrested for criminal mischief, doing a few days in juvy and then probation. A police officer and a minister appealed to his better self, and young Eric finished high school, worked different jobs to pay his way through community college and then a B.A. in criminal justice and a Master’s in Public Administration. He joined the New York Police Department as a street cop, retiring as a captain after twenty years to go into politics.

 

His life and hard work are an inspiration, and suggest a man grounded in reality, and yet the bit about the rocks and crystals and the spiritual influence of the rock strata on which New York is built are disturbing. Eric Adams is mayor of New York City and thus the leader of one of the most powerful leaders in the world. If New York were its own nation its economy would be larger than that of most nations.

 

According to the (Countries With A Bigger GDP Than New York - WorldAtlas), only China, Japan, Germany, Great Britain, France, Italy, Brazil, and Canada have larger economies than New York City.

 

Last autumn the people of New York put their great economy into the hands of Eric Adams, so, yes, the illogic of his belief in rocks and crystals is at least curious if not worrisome.

 

Whatever Eric Adams does is not a local issue; it impacts all of us. Let us hope he does not forget where he came from, his parents’ hard work, the beat cop and the minister who saw something in him others did not, and those long shifts patrolling the subways and the streets in service to the people.

 

The mayor thinks New York gets ‘special energy’ from crystals. Is he right? | Life and style | The Guardian

 

Mayor Eric Adams believes NYC is filled with 'special energy' because of mysterious stones | Daily Mail Online

 

The New Identity Politics of Eric Adams - POLITICO

 

-30-

For the Cranky Old Man Who Complains About Girls Wearing Short Skirts in Church - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

For the Cranky Old Man Who Complains

About Girls Wearing Short Skirts in Church

 

If it were a crime to be young and pretty

The kids could be up for the death penalty

 

If it were a crime to be young and pretty

The case against you would be adjourned sine die

Saturday, June 11, 2022

This is Texas - poem

 

This is Texas

 

This is Texas

 

Where books are banned

And weapons are not

Where we pray for our land

And our children are shot

Friday, June 10, 2022

A Grim Quatrain on Mortality

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Grim Quatrain on Mortality

 

A dog sees birds with its malevolent eyes

And puts the poor feathered creatures to rout

But one day in the field the old dog dies -

The poor birds then will have the dog’s eyes out




(I blame the heat. And fluoride. And George Bush. And public schools. And the mysterious crystals beneath New York City. And the Mormons. And th' Cath'lics. And the Masons. And France. And the Commie spy chips implanted in us with the Covid vaccine. And the hamsterpox. And rock 'n' roll.)

Thursday, June 9, 2022

A Violation of the First Law of Thermodynamics - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Violation of the First Law of Thermodynamics

 

A day so hot that ordinary tasks

Exhaust the body and the soul; to grasp

The handle of a water tap wearies the mind

To grasp a simple thought eludes one’s will

 

The day is in violation of childhood summers

When little bare feet scampered across the grass

Those days have in adulthood have been stolen

The victims lie abandoned in the dust

 

Who will lay these charges, and against whom?

And in what court should this strange case be placed?

Wednesday, June 8, 2022

My Bourgeois Leanings - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

My Bourgeois Leanings

 

One day, at a meeting of the Komsomol…he was accused of bourgeois leanings just because he happened to wear a tie.

 

-Yevtushenko, A Precocious Autobiography, recounting an anecdote by his father

 

I am the only man who wears a tie

With proper coat and trousers (inspection pass)

Properly kitted like a proper guy

To weddings, funerals, dinners, and Sunday Mass

 

I am the only man who does not wear

Sneakers or baseball caps, gas-station shades

Knee pants, tee shirts, jeans with a built-in tear

Or plastic jackets shaped like hand grenades

 

If we are facing civilization’s end -

One’s trousers touch one’s oxfords with a quarter-inch bend

Tuesday, June 7, 2022

A Poem is its Own Studio - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Poem is its Own Studio

 

Words lift themselves from the canvas of life

 

The iambs are open so that the light drifts in

On the artist’s favorite smiling verb

Posing on a dais draped with flowing dreams

Before a canvas of possibilities

 

Words lift themselves from the canvas of life

 

A splash of adverb might go here – or not

Maybe a subtle conjunction instead to join

The thesis and the antithesis

In a loving reconciliation

 

Embraced by silent interjections of love

Words lift themselves from the canvas of life

 

Monday, June 6, 2022

Do Not Forsake Me, Oh, My Dushen'ka - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Do Not Forsake Me, Oh, My Dushen’ka

 

In honor of Dimitri Tiompkin

 

When we learned that a Russian wrote the score for High Noon

And another for John Wayne’s Rio Bravo

It made some of the populist faithful swoon

(Alas that nothing much rhymes with Bravo)

 

Given that Tiompkin was a Russian critter

We’ll just have to cancel John Wayne and Tex Ritter

When the Last Catholic Church is Seized and Sold - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

When the Last Catholic Church is Seized and Sold

 

When at the Last Supper Jesus lifted Himself

Someone at table criticized the servers

For not getting some detail right (“Kids these days…”)

 

When the last Catholic church is seized and sold

When the bailiffs and deputies are given the keys

(The judges and lawyers will be laughing over single-malt at the country club)

When the vessels of the Altar are sold for scrap

When the windows are stacked at a re-sale shop

When the last Mass is ended and the people dispersed

 

When the processional cross is taken from the last altar server

Grumpy old Catholics will fault the poor child

For not holding it right (“Kids these days…”)

Sunday, June 5, 2022

Her Majesty the Queen and Her Good and Faithful Bear - weekly column, 5 June 2022

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Her Majesty the Queen and Her Good and Faithful Bear

 

“There aren't many left like him nowadays, what with education and gasoline the price it is.” – as Evelyn Waugh did not say

 

Okay, in his humorous novel Decline and Fall (nothing to do with that doorstop by Gibbon) Waugh was joking about education and the price of whisky, but let the gasoline stand. And we might have to; we can’t afford much of it just now.

 

Last week I took my few gas cans to the station to fill them up after the first round of summertime mowing. The pump stopped at $100.01. The pump’s computer program is set for $100 for each purchase; I suppose the extra cent was a “so there” at my expense.

 

Another topic of discussion at the pumps was the large dead rat next to Pump #4. Perhaps the critter died when it saw the price of gasoline.

 

But it is curious that topping off some vehicles can cost more than a semi-automatic .556. Although our nation can be said to float on a metaphorical sea of oil, our President is apparently begging Saudi Arabia for more of the stuff.

 

And then there’s the matter of other nations sending us infant formula because that’s another thing not being processed here.

 

Thus, we have lots of guns but not enough oil for our industries or formula for our babies.

 

Until this week I did not know what a platinum anniversary is. I watched only a little of the merriments, the best part being the Queen’s tea with our dear friend Paddington Bear. Paddington is from Peru, but his English is quite good, don’t you think?

 

Among the images there were pictures of H.M. when she was Princess Elizabeth and served in the A.T.S., which was the British equivalent of our WACS.  She was a driver and mechanic, and although one of my sources says “rare historical photos,” they are not rare at all, just as war service was not rare among teenagers; it was mostly by teenagers.  You can drive around the InterGossip and see pictures of HRH as a teenager changing a tire, checking the oil, and adjusting a carburetor.

 

Can your kid do any of that?

 

Elizabeth’s father was against her serving, but teenagers can be persistent and she got her way. Queen Elizabeth’s service means that she is the last Second World War veteran who is a head of state.

 

It is still true that almost all teenagers are good and thoughtful, and serve their communities in so many ways. They aren’t appreciated as much as they should be; it seems the rotten ones get all the attention.  We old people can do better in praising the good kids.

 

 

Photographs of Queen Elizabeth when she was a truck mechanic, 1945 - Rare Historical Photos

 

Queen Elizabeth's Surprising Military Role in World War II - Biography

 

-30-

 

 

 

Saturday, June 4, 2022

My Friend Joined the NRA and Received a Communist Pocketknife - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

My Friend Joined the NRA and Received a Communist Pocketknife

 

To prove your patriotism there’s nothing finer

Than to sport an NRA knife made in China

Friday, June 3, 2022

The Great Replacement Theory - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Great Replacement Theory

 

But of course we will all be replaced

We sit outside at dusk with single-malt and cigars

Low voices remembering the challenges we’ve faced

Our loves and losses, children, careers, and wars

 

Yes, of course we will all be replaced

Others will sit on this lawn and watch the stars

Perhaps in these same chairs, carelessly spaced

And ask each other: Is that Venus? Or Mars?

 

For you and I will return to dust, old man –

As must everyone in God’s great Plan

Thursday, June 2, 2022

Your Hair is Like a Flock of Goats - a wheezy bit of doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Your Hair is Like a Flock of Goats

 

(Y)our hair is like a flock of goats

Frisking down the slopes of Gilead

 

                                                       -Song of Songs, 4:5-6

 

Even in a farming community

That awkward compliment you’d better keep

So ask her this joke (if she grants you immunity):

Do goats have mohair than sheep?

 


 

 

 

(“Do goats have mohair than sheep?” is an old, old, old joke.)

Wednesday, June 1, 2022

The Natural Voice of Poetry - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Natural Voice of Poetry

 

The modern kings will throttle you to greet

The piping voice of artificial birds

 

-Claude McKay, “To a Poet”

 

We love the natural voice of poetry

Sung through parking lots and lonely rooms

In low, soft winds that sigh through empty cans

Discarded on the banks of the River Lethe

 

But we must suffer those artificial birds

Against whom we were cautioned by friend McKay

Who landed in New York and made it Jamaica

There through the natural voice of poetry

 

By him the artificial birds were set to flight

And the songs of exiles given harmony and light

Tuesday, May 31, 2022

The Last Literary Magazine I Will Ever Buy - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Last Literary Magazine I Will Ever Buy

 

A weighty enough tome for fourteen dollars

Guest-edited by a famous visiting poet

For that much money there should be more hollers

But it’s mostly free verse, wouldn’t ya know it

 

Self-pitying free verse (oh, how I have suffered)

First-person pronouns shattered and scattered about

From each other with white space well buffered

Each polemic a sustained, censorious pout

 

The thesis of each yelp in this literary gong?

All that we say and do and think is wrong

Monday, May 30, 2022

The Road, The Tao, The Way - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Road, The Tao, The Way

 

“The road goes ever on and on”

 

-Tolkien

 

There is of course the Road, the Tao, the Way

And traveling it grows difficult with age

Or maybe now it travels more for us

But still the Road, the Tao, the Way leads on

 

When I was young over my shoulder I slung

A canvas bag with a toothbrush and a book

A pen, some poems, and dreams that wrote themselves

And I smoked my pipe and sang as I marched

 

Some have walked with me, and I with others

Most of them have walked ahead, and are gone

I think they are waiting for me among those stars

Who lighten and brighten as the sun sails away

 

At dusk Yeats and I talked about the Road

He said he thought there might be a poem

 

Sunday, May 29, 2022

Donnie and Wayne Celebrate the Massacre of the Holy Innocents - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Donnie and Wayne Celebrate the Massacre of the Holy Innocents

 

While Donny dances for Wayne, dances upon the dead

Celebrating

The latest Massacre of the Holy Innocents

 

We sit and try to write away the pain

And can’t

We try to shape this chaos into words

And can’t

 

We are determined to protect the children

And will

We will repudiate the worship of death

We will

 

While Donny dances for Wayne, dances upon the dead

Celebrating

The latest Massacre of the Holy Innocents

Civilization Begins at the Barn - weekly column, 29 May 2022

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Civilization Begins at the Barn

 

A large truck stopped in front of my country estate here along Beer Can Road and County Dump Extension. The big red tractor was pulling a big long trailer carrying lots of wood and prefabricated roof trusses. I visited with the driver, who was trying to find an address that apparently did not exist. The bill bore little more than the first name of the seller, the items on the truck, and the Neverland address.

 

With my mental acuity that would impress even Detective Monk I suggested that we switch around the physical address and the county road number and plug those into the electrical map on the MePhone, and that did indeed give us an address that exists, a farm only a few fields over. I gave the driver directions and we shook hands, though I don’t know how his adventure ended.

 

But the cargo was interesting: roof trusses, probably for a barn, and a miscellaney of milled wood.

 

Barns are good. In our times of destruction and violence the idea of raising a barn is a vote for civilization.

 

The barn is the heart of a farm, the world headquarters of the business and the art and liturgy of growing crops and animals. The day’s work begins there, almost always before dawn, and ends there, almost always after dark. The good old tractor spends its nights there, along with plows, rakes, mowers, tillers, barbed wire, rope, pulleys, machine tools, gardening tools, carpentry tools, sacks of feed, mineral blocks, hay, feed, animal medicines, a work bench, fertilizer, and lots more impedimenta, all of it expensive, necessary for raising animals, prepping the fields, establishing plantings and pastures, sowing, maintaining, and harvesting.

 

Depending on the animals and seasons, the barn also hosts critters large and small with the various pens and stalls necessary for their shelter and safety.

 

Other life forms, not at all welcome, reside there too: rats, mice, snakes, and maybe a skunk burrowing under the foundations for the winter. Raccoons, ‘possums, and coyotes regard the barn as a midnight diner. Thus, the farmer will establish a resident dog, probably named Hank, and a cat, probably titled Simba, King Cat and Killer of Rats. With fresh water and just enough good animal food they will strike at the unwelcome intruders with fang and claw, and in return expect only an occasional scratch behind the ears.  A barn owl might find a cozy spot among the rafters and from there he too will wing silently to prey upon rats and mice and the occasional careless bunny.

 

If the farm is blessed with children they will work their 4H and FFA projects from the barn: gardens, rabbits, chickens, goats, pigs, and other crops and critters in any combination.

 

The adults and the kids will post calendars with lots of penciled-in information about crops and seasons, and the business cards of veterinarians, farm supply houses, and tractor dealers will grow around it. A feed store thermometer and a barometer on the wall will do their duty for years to come, along with a rain gauge on a fence post, although there are only four categories of farm weather: (1) too darned hot, (2) too darned cold, (3) too darned wet, and (4) too darned dry.

 

Just inside the big door, or perhaps outside if there is some shade, a bench and some old chairs will be positioned for those rare occasions when folks will be able to rest from their labors a while with a meditative chaw or cigar to sit and think and talk, and sometimes just to sit and think, and sometimes, as the old saying goes, just to sit. The setting sun and the sweet scent of a new-mown field are the light and the incense for that evening hour of Vespers.

 

Anyway, that’s where I think that truckload of wood and the friendly driver from Louisiana were going. I hope so. We need more foresters and truck drivers and farmers, and fewer strident men of destiny who wear expensive suits and uniforms while giving their underlings orders to destroy the land and kill foresters and truck drivers and farmers for the greater glory of whatever.

 

-30-

 

 

Saturday, May 28, 2022

Kenneth Branagh Attempts to Murder Agatha Christie - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Kenneth Branagh Attempts to Murder Agatha Christie

 

Mr. Branagh, we’re watching your reputation die

Garishly coloured in the worst CGI

 

In your first Poirot you made a formless mess -

It was the audience who died on the Orient Express

 

And then you continued without any style

And lost the plot on your sad cartoon Nile

 

Do whatever you want; have it your way

But we are sticking with David Suchet

 

For it is obvious to our great sorrow

That you are a flop as Hercule Poirot

Friday, May 27, 2022

President Trump Splits Two Infinitives and Botches a Number of Subject, Verb, and Adjective Constructs While Proposing the Arming of Teachers - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

President Trump Splits Two Infinitives and Botches a Number of Subject, Verb, and Adjective Constructs While Proposing the Arming of Teachers

 

“...it's time to finally allow highly trained teachers to safely and discreetly concealed carry, let them concealed carry.

 

-Former President Donald J. Trump to the National Rifle Ass., 27 May 2022

 

All teachers trample the Constitution

All teachers promote contempt for the Flag

All teachers should be in an institution

All teachers are weird (and that one’s a f*g)

All teachers despise the military

All teachers should be slowly microwaved

All teachers hate meat; they’re vegetary

All teachers hate Jesus; they can’t be saved

All teachers are evil; the children are harmed:

 

And thus, they say, all teachers should be armed

 

Previously published as “Texas’ Proposed Concealed Carry Law” in Dispatches from the Colonial Office, 2018, available from amazon.com.