Saturday, October 8, 2022

People of The Book and of Books

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

People of The Book and of Books

 

The Thought became Incarnate in Judaea

And thoughts become incarnate in the books we read

For thoughts are tabernacles of our hopes

Tents in the deserts of our wanderings

 

Our dreams worked out in careful lines of ink

Tippy-tap-typed on a computer screen

Or copied from those tablets in the Sinai

Then bound by an artist’s hands, and placed in ours

 

The Thought became Incarnate in Judaea

Our thoughts become incarnate in the books we write

Friday, October 7, 2022

An Airship in the Night - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

An Airship in the Night

 

Once upon a time they were ships of the air

And rarely seen in our rural skies

But I saw them in the picture books

In a three-color process, ships of dreams

 

And then I went to the Palace Theatre

Where from the middle seat in the very front row

I sailed over London in Captain Hook’s ship

Navigating past Big Ben and Saint Paul’s

 

Last night I saw a ship on the Houston approach

Its navigation lights signaling to dreamers

Thursday, October 6, 2022

Revenge is a Dish Best Served... -Senryu

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Revenge is a Dish Best Served…

 

Revenge is a dish

Best served warm from the oven

With mercy all ‘round

Wednesday, October 5, 2022

The Times They are not A-Changing - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Times They are not A-changing

 

Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in

 

-Thoreau

 

If the times they really are a-changing

Then they were never relevant, nor can they be

Love is not measured with a fine Martian watch

Nor do Sinai or Olympus count the minutes

 

The dances of the planets need no batteries

Galaxies do not bother with the news

The Torah can never be outdated

(Nor can Bob, but that’s for another not-time)

 

If the times they really are a-changing

Then this moment with you can have no meaning

Tuesday, October 4, 2022

No Bombers Over Our Lady Help of Christians Catholic School in 1958 - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

No Bombers Over Our Lady Help of Christians Catholic School in 1958:

A Brief Discussion of a Successful Cold War Tactic

 

from an idea suggested by Kirk Briggs

 

Some have scoffed about hiding under our tables

As protection from the Soviets’ nuclear strikes

But scorn not this truth of those factual fables:

It worked! No bombers! Post that as one of our “likes!”

Breakfast in Constantinople and Other Poems

 Breakfast in Constantinople – LogoSophia Magazine


Another selection from LogoSophia, whose kind and thoughtful editor makes even my poor work look good!

Monday, October 3, 2022

Ridin' it Out - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Ridin’ it Out

 

You see him on tv: “I’m ridin’ it out”

He sneers, “I been through lotsa hurricanes

Ain’t never needed to leave, not gonna now

I’m protectin’ my own; I know what I’m doin’”

 

Ridin’ it out

 

You see the turtles eating the man’s eyes first

They’re soft and delicious, a scavenger’s treat

They’ve already eaten his children’s eyes

Except for the little girl, taken down by a ‘gator

 

Ridin’ it out

Sunday, October 2, 2022

A Court Order from the County Judge? - weekly column, 2 October 2022

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Court Order from the County Judge?

 

Some years ago, after one of our many hurricanes, a young woman complained to a local television reporter that she did not have any food or water in the house, or any milk for her baby. She concluded, in a burst of outrage, “They should have been better prepared!”

 

Whoever the “they” might have been, it hadn’t occurred to this adult that she bore any responsibility for the health and safety of her child and herself.

 

Similarly, after last week’s Hurricane Ian, some few residents of Florida are complaining that the “they” had not ordered an evacuation in a timely fashion.

 

One supposes that a rough equivalent would be residents of Montana sobbing to PBS that the state government hadn’t warned anyone that Montana gets lots of snow.

 

For weeks the weather services watched this storm, quite accurately predicted its landing in Florida, and warned and warned and warned. Among the many warnings was the well-known reality that hurricanes can shift positions and thus pin-pointing a landing before it happens is impossible. We must always remember the cone of uncertainty.

 

I’m not going Darwinian here when I say that we adults are responsible for our own behavior, and with the big-boy / big-girl pants come big-boy / big-girl responsibilities.  Public safety is a significant part of the duties of government, but it is not the sheriff’s job to come around each evening and remind me to lock my doors. The governor is not mandated to remind me to see my excellent nurse practitioner every six months. The several fire departments should not need to tell me not to burn litter with this autumn drought desiccating all the grass, weeds, and brush. The Department of Public Safety should not have to ticket anyone for not safety-seating the rug-rat.

 

This past Sunday evening the weather dude on the telescreen advised the audience of a “disturbance” out in the middle of the Atlantic that might develop through the levels of danger and which might enter the Gulf of Mexico in two weeks. As of the publication of this fine newspaper, that’ll be ten days.

 

That “might” and our adult experience with rough weather constitute the warning. Yes, we have been warned. Two Sunday evenings from now we will probably be sitting in the front yard enjoying the cool autumn air, but we might – might – be suffering the stings and buffetings of a hurricane.

 

We know these things, and so as we go about our daily endeavors this week we add to our pantries and shelves another case of bottled water, another few cans of stew or Spam, some more crackers, some condensed milk and other necessaries for the babies, and so on. We top off the gas tanks in the cars and add a few jerricans for the generator if we have one. We make some plans, we mark a map, we ask someone without resources if he or she will need a lift out, we talk to people, and we’re ready to go when we make that decision for ourselves.

 

Remember – no one needs a court order from the county judge to come in out of the rain.

 

-30-

A Poetry Took Kit and a Small Sack of Concrete Verbs

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Poetry Tool Kit and a Small Sack of Concrete Verbs

 

The sorting trays hold syllables and rhymes

While heavy-duty meter is stowed below

With a chisel and file for shaping rough lines

And wire cutters for merciless editing

 

Iambs are tightened with the box-end wrench

The ball-peen hammer is a strong accent

A few loose screws might constitute free verse

If they will bother to sort themselves out

 

At the end of his shift a worthy artisan

Picks up the excess adjectives and adverbs

 

And burns them

Saturday, October 1, 2022

Something Slithers Across the Dripping-Damp Walls - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Something Slithers Across the Dripping-Damp Walls

 

It – that vague, nebulous, amorphous “It” -

Often feels like a prison or a trap

Or a trap that seems like a prison wrapped

All around in Milton’s darkness visible

 

As walls and bars of adamantine lies

And gates all frozen to the floor and the soul

Secured with locks of one’s own careless decisions

Engraved by others into immutable laws

 

It – that vague, nebulous, amorphous “It” -

To Hell with It

Lawrence Durrell's ALEXANDRIA QUARTET - a very brief non-review

Lawrence Hall

mhall46184@aol.com



Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet. What a ride! Love affairs, riots, murders, corruption, conspiracies, Copts, Muslims, Christians, Jews, British colonials, French Colonials, Arabs, Egyptians, revolutionaries, Zionists, existentialist angst, and family intrigues, written in the late 1950s and set in Alexandria in the 1930s and during the Second World War. This would make a great mini-series. There was a movie made in 1969 of the first book, Justine, and while the casting is good the film is poorly reviewed. I'll look it up on the Orwellian telescreen.

Friday, September 30, 2022

In a Second-Hand Copy of Durrell's CLEA: A School Photograph of a Little Girl - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

In a Second-Hand Copy of Durrell’s Clea:

A School Photograph of a Little Girl

 

She has obviously been commanded to smile

And so she projects a dutiful grin

But she seems to be a happy child anyway

Proud of her new red shirt with polka-dots

 

We send our children to school to learn to read

To add, subtract, multiply, and divide into groups

For P.E. class, to line up nicely for lunch

To pass notes, giggle, and plant seeds in eggshells

 

We don’t know how this child’s image found its way

To an Alexandria that never really was

Thursday, September 29, 2022

The New Moon - a senryu

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The New Moon

 

The new moon hovering

Over the trees is a surprise

And a happy one

Wednesday, September 28, 2022

You are not Bi-Polar - senryu

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

You are not Bi-Polar

 

You are not bi-polar

‘Tis the planet that’s bi-polar

You are doing fine

Tuesday, September 27, 2022

An Active School Meeting in Progress - another selection from LogoSophia

 An Active School Meeting in Progress – LogoSophia Magazine

The Hunting Camp - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Hunting Camp

 

He yaf nat of that text a pulled hen,

That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men

 

-Chaucer, Prologue, 177-178

 

Friday evening

 

The merry fellowship of the hunting camp

In the golden time is one of autumn’s joys

Unpacking by the light of a kerosene lamp

Where men for a weekend are once again boys

 

Saturday morning, I

 

Up before dawn, already the coffee’s made

The ground seems harder than it did last year

Is that poison ivy where my head was laid?

Pour me a cuppa that caffeinated cheer!

 

Saturday morning, II

 

With my ancient Enfield I walk the trails

I really don’t want to see Bambi today

Along the creek as the mist unveils

Folk memories and idylls are my only prey

 

Saturday afternoon

 

I rest in the shade of the forest eaves

Quite at peace, here where I want to be

The smoke from my pipe drifts through the leaves

I hope the First Peoples’ spirits will sit with me

 

Saturday night

 

No one got a deer today – that’s good hearing

I think we were all okay with that

Cards and jokes and talk in our little clearing

The occasional flythrough by a Mexican bat

 

Sunday morning

 

As it was in the beginning of boyhood

As it is now that we are old men

Our world must end, but for others great good

In the sacred woods of the Lord - amen




Note:


My concept of hunting is a stroll through the woods with my 1905 Lee-Enfield.

I have never shot a deer.

I have never shot at a deer.

I will never shoot at a deer.

If God had meant me to eat a deer He wouldn't have invented Denny's.

Feral hogs are a different matter. 

Camping with the guys and sitting around the fire with pipes and cigars and tin cups of Jack Daniel's (AFTER EVERY FIREARM HAS BEEN CLEANED AND STOWED AWAY) and swapping old stories and bad jokes - that's one of the best things in life.


Sunday, September 25, 2022

On the Topic of Russia - weekly column, 25 September 2022

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

On the Topic of Russia

 

“I have seen the future, and it works.”

 

-Lincoln Steffens

 

Letter to Marie Howe, 3 Apr. 1919, quoted in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations

 

The problem is that Mr. Steffens saw only what the Soviets wanted him to see, not the reality of censorship, oppression, forced labor, and millions of Russians, not to mention their victims, dead through genocide – the Holodomor in Ukraine comes to mind – wars of conquest, mass starvation, mass imprisonment, disease, and 70 years of economic collapse.

 

And let us hear everything about Stalin’s pact with his student Hitler, how the Soviets fed, armed, and supported Hitler’s armies and Hitler’s ambitions for years until Hitler, like Capone, decided his buddy was disposable.

 

Yes, millions of Russians died in Hitler’s invasion of the Soviet Union, but that invasion was possibly only because of Stalin’s economic and technological support and through his collusion with Hitler in the conquest and division of Poland and Czechoslovakia.  The Nazis committed genocide in the nations they conquered, and the Communists committed genocide in all of those lands and within Russia.

 

The Soviet Union lasted seventy years by floating on a sea of its own people’s blood.  The last Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, is wrongly remembered as a liberalizer, but he granted limited freedoms only in order to maintain the Soviet Union, not to free the Russian people. President Reagan, Prime Minister Thatcher, St. John Paul II, a number of uppity Polish shipyard workers, and a few young Germans young gave the several pushes that brought down the rotten construct.

 

From 1905 until 1918 Russia was a constitutional monarchy and then for a few months a democracy before the Bolsheviks infected everything. After seven decades of horror Russia was in 1989 positioned to form a functional representative government and rejoin civilization. Russian families, business people, workers, scientists, artists, engineers, musicians, writers, manufacturers, dancers, film-makers, and the Russian Orthodox faithful would be free to determine their own lives and the life of Russia.

 

But after some sputtering attempts at self-government Russia is again ruled by a degenerate madman whose concept of parliamentary procedure is having people who even appear to disagree with him murdered. Lots of people.

 

The 21st century could have been the Russian Century, for Russia, even with the loss of its subject states, is still a huge land with great wealth in precious metals, oil, gas, coal, agricultural land, a rich cultural heritage which remains a witness to the world, and a diverse and industrious population which could out-work and out-produce any other people in the world if only they were free to do so, free to keep the profits from their own labors, and free of corrupt central and local administrations, false judges, and grasping oligarchs.

 

But thousands of the best young Russian men and women have been killed in insane colonial wars, thousands are in the new gulags for presuming to think for themselves, and yet more thousands have fled, taking their talents and their youthful energy with them to enrich their host nations.

 

Yes, this could have been the Russian century, but neither Mr. P nor his oligarchs nor his jingling generalissimos appear ever to have read Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov with fictional Fr. Zosima’s most famous words: “Don’t lie. Above all, don’t lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him…”

 

-30-

 

 

Port aux Basques in September - poem

 

I have visited Newfoundland only once, crossing from Nova Scotia to Port aux Basques in June 2005 on the elegant but now-scrapped MV Caribou. Such beauty!

 

The 18th century archaism of “New-Found Land” is deliberate.

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Port aux Basques in September

 

“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”

 

- a weather guy south of the 49th

 

To our weather guy there is nothing north of Maine

He has never seen Port aux Basques

With summer snow still bright along the hills

Above pot-holey Canada 1 (mind the moose)

 

(“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”)

 

He has never heard of Cape Ray or the Newfie Bullet

Or seen the little fishing boats tacking in at dawn

Or the astrolabe that says to the voyager

“Now here at last is your dear New-Found Land”

 

(“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”)

 

He will never mourn the wreckage and loss

Because for him there is nothing north of Maine

 

(“Only a fish storm, no threat to anyone…”)

 

Town of Channel-Port aux Basques | Canada's Ferry Gateway to Newfoundland