That Final Trip – LogoSophia Magazine
Tuesday, November 1, 2022
My Wordle Stats - rhyming couplet
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
My
Wordle Stats
If I turn the distribution bars on their
side
They seem to make…a gesture
(I’m
mortified!)
Monday, October 31, 2022
A Tiny Tinsel Star - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Tiny Tinsel
Star
For Sarah
While
cleaning house I found a tinsel star
A
tiny tinsel star from long ago
When
once upon a time it shone so far
Above
a Christmas scene in cotton snow
Or
maybe for a little child’s birthday
Among
the paper napkins and candled cake:
“And
now you Poof! each wishing-flame away
But
keep it a secret, that wish you make!”
And
in this star her little friends’ sweet cheers
Still
sound throughout the house after all these years
Sunday, October 30, 2022
The Governor Wasn't Popping Wheelies in the Parking Lot - weekly column 30 October 2022
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
The Governor Wasn’t
Popping Wheelies in the Parking Lot
Could one start a
Stagnation Party - which at General Elections would boast that during its time
in office no event of the least importance had taken place...?
-C. S. Lewis in a letter to
his brother, 23 March 1940
Last week I fulfilled my duty as a citizen of the Republic /
Democracy (Is
the United States a Republic or a Democracy? - WorldAtlas) by voting in a
free, fair, open, honest, and well-observed election at the courthouse annex in
Jasper.
The folks working the polls were professional and friendly,
and a nice lady gave me an “I VOTED” sticker. Another man and I asked if we
could have lollipops instead but the nice lady smiled and said she didn’t have
any. I wonder how often she gets asked that
by would-be comedians, and I marvel at her patience.
There were no mysterious suitcases, no mules or jack-*sses, no
loose boxes of ballots being smuggled in by Boris and Natasha, no cyber attacks
(ya can’t hotwire a paper ballot), no loose bricks, no Jewish space lasers, no
campaign posters near the polls, no mind-control electronic waves, no bonfires,
no one denied me entry, no one looked over my shoulder, no observer was
anywhere near me, and my ballot was not already filled out. I don’t think my ballot was made in China from
bamboo containing microchips, but then I don’t take orders from random consonants.
Or from vowels, some of whom are silent.
But now Euclid and his Five Postulates, yeah, be careful
about having anything to do with them, all those rays (and a guy named Ray?),
parallel lines, segments, radii, right angles, and equiangle polygons. They’re
not in the Bible, you know. I say we need to keep geometry away from our
elections.
I admit that I did not look in the dumpsters for discarded
ballots; I don’t even know where the dumpsters are. Maybe the albino tri-lateral commission monks
are hiding them in their subterranean lair on Oak Island. Where are the
dumpsters!? We demand transparent dumpsters!
No one followed me through the parking lot, there were no
armed wannabe G.I. Joe Secret Squirrel Commandos lurking about, Beto O’Rourke
did not dance on any cars, Greg Abbot did not pop wheelies, Ken Paxton didn’t
flee any process servers, no one took my picture, and no one wrote down my
license plate number. And, really, I can’t imagine that even the looniest Qonspiracy
goof snuggle-cuddling his testosterone compensation it’s-not-an-assault-rifle would
associate a clapped-out, twenty-year-old heapster as part of a fast-moving unmarked
UN globalist conspiracy to infiltrate microchipped bamboo ballots into the
system in order to steal America’s precious bodily fluids.
Thanks to all the poll workers and poll watchers in Jasper
County and everywhere, the worker bees who serve all of us and who are so
essential to the peace, freedom, and good order of our democracy / republic /
constitutional democracy / representative democracy / democratic republic.
We read about goofy election stuff happening in other states,
but through loyalty and good stewardship it’s not happening here. More
Americans should act like us.
-30-
Offering it Up at 0200 - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Offering it Up at 0200
Offering up the surging
pain - but to whom?
There doesn’t seem to
be Anyone there
The hissing CPAP doesn’t
want to talk
Outside the window there
is no good-night moon
One could allude to
the clock ticking in the night-time
But there is no clock ticking
in the night-time
Because there are no clocks
to tick anymore
Only computers
manacled to our wrists
Two-o’clock-in-the-morning
courage?
Just now there seems
to be no Purpose in it
(I pinched a few allusions from Margaret Wise Brown and Arthur Conan Doyle.)
Saturday, October 29, 2022
The Crescent Moon over Marseille - doggerel
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Crescent Moon over Marseille
Let us now employ
those cliched old rhymes:
Moon
Spoon
June
To ask if over Marseille
there ever sails
A waxing or waning croissant
moon!
A historical footnote of little significance: In late 1945 my father, Sergeant Hebo Ogden Hall of the 602nd Tank Destroyer Battalion, was posted along with other American soldiers to assist the city police in patrolling Marseille. His armored car was the "Razzle Dazzle" and had a picture of a naked lady painted on the side until an officer ordered her covered up. His war included Fort Leonard Wood, harvesting wheat in North Dakota, New Jersey, to Scotland on the British ship GOUCHER VICTORY, London, Normandy (the second day), France, Belgium (Battle of the Bulge), one of the first Americans into Ohrdruf, a sub-camp of Dachau, Munich, Zwickau, and a circuitous route home. There he was pretty much forgotten by a thoughtless nation.
Friday, October 28, 2022
The Ballot Lay Before Me Like a Snake - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The Ballot Lay Before Me Like a Snake
The ballot lay before
me like a snake
Or like a Klansman predatory
in white
Slithering across the official
page
That same old roster
of the same old
Democrats
Republicans
Greens
Libertarians
That same old Unwanted
List of ideologues
Of plotters, scroungers,
graspers, creepers, oafs
Aliases, scofflaws,
incompetents
Poltroons
(I’m not sure what a
poltroon is, but they are poltroons anyway, so there)
Ignoramuses, bigots,
and bubbas in bad wigs
Best fitted for those
old post office walls
Incapable of
self-government, not to be trusted
With firearms, sharp
objects, pointy scissors, or glue
(But those topics were
not on the ballot)
The ballot lay before
me like a snake
Or like a Klansman
predatory in white
Slithering across the
official page –
I gave it back as
blank as the candidates
Thursday, October 27, 2022
Wednesday, October 26, 2022
Flying to London on Nitrous Oxide - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Flying
to London on Nitrous Oxide
For Dr. Armstrong
Doctor A. has dropped a black cloth
over my eyes
As if I were facing a firing squad in a
vinyl chair
An uncomfortable vinyl chair
The firing squad is not in the chair; I
am
How silly to think of a firing squad in
a vinyl chair I mean how would they all fit, eh
I give the finger to an oxygen thingie
And air is piped into my itchy nose
scratch scratch
“I’m turning the nitrous on now, just
let me know…”
What shall I think about during
dentistry…?
A holiday in London long ago
I’m walking along crowded Oxford Street
A motor-scooter cop is writing a ticket
For a tiny little car that’s
double-parked
Across the street is a used-book shop
I want to browse the old Oxford
editions
(OUCH!)
But first I’ll find breakfast
I’ll find breakfast
I’ll find breakfast
(oh that one’s only a little ouch)
And what a happy breakfast!
In this little café with windows all
steamed
And I find a seat among the shoppers
and workers and shoppers and workers and the nice English waitress is from
Viet-Nam and I was in Viet-Nam and she is still from Viet-Nam I was only in
Viet-Nam and she is very English and writes on a pad eggs and sausages and
toast and eggs and sausages and toast and after breakfast I’ll walk across
Oxford Street for Oxford Books I can see in the dusty window and the nice
English waitress takes my order for eggs and sausages and toast and somehow I
never get across Oxford Street to browse the Oxford books because “I’m
switching you back to Oxford oxygen now and you’re all done just sit there for
a few minutes” and she wipes the drool off my chin and the ordinary air hisses
through the nasal cannula and I feel a little fuzzy and I’m not in London and
there are no eggs and sausages and toast but yes I can stand now and yes just
go see Erin at the front for the paperwork and then I’ll ride in the passenger
seat to Jack in the Box for some sort of golly-gee-whiz breakfast swaddled in
paper and coffee in a paper cup which I will have to chew and swallow on the
right because my left is all numb and I’ll dribble on myself and I wish I were
in London but I’m not but coffee from Jack in the Box after being NPO after
midnight is okay too…
Monday, October 24, 2022
General Flynn and His Reichskirche - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
General Flynn and His Reichskirche
The Putsch Began at the Spooky Nook Sports
Complex
Saint General Flynn
demands ein Reichskirche
President Trump
fantasizes about prison rape
Marjorie Taylor Green toys
with her Jewish space laser
And the Party obsesses
on dirty books
Thirty-round magazines
and stock-tank baptisms
Rams’ horns, made-in-China
Wal-Mart camouflage
Squeezed around fat
proud boy oaf-keepers
An unorganized militia
of lemmings
Red-capped lemmings
channeling QAnon
While waving Bibles
and semi-automatics
20,000 jackasses marching
out of step
Well-armed against sin
at the voting booth
Trump!
Trump!
Trump!
Trump!
Edna St. Vincent Millay and Her Pickup Truck - poem
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Edna St. Vincent
Millay and Her Pickup Truck
Teaching Poetry to High School Boys
The fragility of teenaged boys is well known
Despite their tough hands stained with oil and grease
And their slouch and their ‘tude, wanting to be grown
Their loud voices disturbing the classroom’s peace
(Ooooh-RAH!)
And true enough they are rough-and-tumble souls
Who are seldom frightened away from any fray
But nothing blasts manly roles so full of holes
As a name like Edna St. Vincent Millay
(Shiver!)
In teaching boys poetry you’re just out of luck
Unless there’s a dog or a pickup truck
(Hey, Old Dude, is “deer stand” an iamb or a trochee?)
Sunday, October 23, 2022
A Licensed General Contractor Who Loves Jesus - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
A Licensed General Contractor Who Loves Jesus
Oh, man, hey, I’m
sorry I missed your call
I was busy personal
problems next week
For sure “the mailbox
is full” I have to go to Houston
To pick up those flooring
samples I just love Jesus
Was that last week I’m
sorry I had to make sure this other job
Was going okay you
didn’t get my call
I’m sure I’m called I’m
sorry about that hey
I gotta take this
other call just hang on a moment
Hey man I haven’t
forgot about you yeah
I’ll be there first
thing tomorrow you can bet on it
Saturday, October 22, 2022
King by the Grace of God - doggerel
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
The King is the
King by the Grace of God
The King is the King by the Grace of God
Prime ministers are chosen by party caucus
The King reigns in dignity with sceptre and rod
And Parliament is useless and greedy and and raucous
Friday, October 21, 2022
Van Gogh or Your Lives, Comrades - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Van
Gogh or Your Lives, Comrades
Sunflowers look to the sun
Protestors blink in the dark
Swivelling their angry eyes
From their pale Gadarene flesh
They shriek false dichotomies
And vandalize the sunflowers of
Van Gogh
Sunflowers look to the sun
Protestors lurk in the dark
Thursday, October 20, 2022
Crazy Old Men with Rockets 'n' Bombs - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Crazy Old Men with
Rockets ‘n’ Bombs
When you read to your brother or sister
A go-to-sleep book about bunnies and stars
You are healing a wound in
Creation
Made by some
malevolent old man
When you sing along with the washing machine
And help your MeeMaw up those tricky stairs
You are healing a wound in Creation
Made by some malevolent old man
When you sit on the steps late at night
And watch a pirate ship sail close by the moon
You are healing a wound in Creation
Made by some malevolent old man
When you pray for the bombed-out refugees
And put a little extra in the collection plate
You are healing a wound in Creation
Made by some malevolent old man
When you sing a song to the universe
It remains in the heavens forever
Because
You helped heal a wound in Creation
Wednesday, October 19, 2022
Upon Reading - a small collection as published in LogoSophia Magazine
Upon Reading – LogoSophia Magazine
A small collection of recent poems published in LogoSophia (the editor makes even my poor work look good!).
Gender Selection is not Addressed in THE OXFORD BOOK OF ENGLISH VERSE ("Q" - not that "Q" - 1940 printing) - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Gender
Selection is not Addressed in The Oxford Book of English Verse
That was the time when the custom of political
re-education
of teachers by students had
come in.
-Doctor Zhivago, epilogue
Once upon a time a likeable
student said
“You know, Mr. Hall, you can
choose your gender now”
I paused, then replied, “And you
know that’s impossible”
He was silent, folding his arms
in contempt
I had been investigated before
And expected a summons from the
Colonial Office
With a list of sensitive points to
be addressed
But I hadn’t been reported this
time
Someday, when this old world is
set aright
Some will say such things could
not have happened
In America
Monday, October 17, 2022
Lest Our Old Shoes Sit Easier Than Our New - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Lest
Our Old Shoes Sit Easier Than Our New
-as Macduff does not say in Macbeth
When we were children we were
proud of our new shoes
Our once-a-year shoes in
situational poverty
Although we went barefootin’
most of the time
As long as the weather and parents
allowed
But we had to wear them to Sunday
church
And finally to school after the
first chill
But it was something to own a
new pair of shoes
To stand upon the earth in
feigned prosperity
And even now, with lots of pairs
to choose
We want to ask folks if they
like our new shoes
Sunday, October 16, 2022
Taking Time to Stomp the Flowers - weekly column, 16 October 2022
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Taking Time to
Stomp the Flowers
At London’s National Gallery last week two unhappy young
persons, one styling herself “Ziggy Stardyke,” vandalized one of Van Gogh’s
sunflower paintings by sloshing it with tomato soup. Both were costumed in tee-shirts proclaiming,
“JUST STOP OIL.” The purple-haired Miss Ziggy then yelled, “What is worth more,
art or life? Is it worth more than food?”
The art was on the wall, and then the food was too; Miss
Ziggy and her sullen comrade are the ones lacking a life.
Another reality is that the possibility of you or I having
an intelligent, source-based give-and-take exchange of ideas with someone
styling herself Ziggy Stardyke is remote.
Two topics obtain in the recent adventures of Ziggy
Stardyke and her sour-faced little Renfield. The first one is the matter of
fossil fuels, including oil, coal, and natural gas. Without these sources of energy we would all
be dead. There is not enough wood on the planet to replace them, and solar and
wind are still laboratory projects. Nuclear, which would also work, is mostly
forbidden because some lazybones at Three Mile Island chose to ignore the layers
of warnings and then the safety protocols.
The other topic is civilization. To paraphrase a character in an episode of Northern
Exposure, we are not monkeys with car keys. We are humans, sons and
daughters of Adam and Eve, as C. S. Lewis reminds us. We think. We build. We
speak. We write. We draw. We paint. We sculpt. We identify and solve problems. We
recognize Creation and our part in it. We deal with the complexities of
creation through science, math, art, and poetry. As the Greek philosophers
teach us, life is about questing for the good, the true, and the beautiful.
Any utilitarian structure confirms this: a bridge over,
say, the Houston Ship Channel is good because it provides enhanced freedom of
movement and the exchange of goods and services for people going about the
business of life. A bridge is also true because its engineering and
construction work together in physical harmony through the applications of
engineering, geometry, metallurgy, hydrology, and the other sciences. Finally,
a bridge is beautiful because its functions and proportions personify the human
spirit. The suspension cables, the towers of steel, and all of the works of
human minds and hands that make a bridge a bridge are aesthetically pleasing.
Ziggy Stardyke and her Renfield have looked upon the
good, the true, and the beautiful, upon at least 10,000 years of civilization,
and have found them wanting. Therefore, exactly like Nazis, Communists, Talibannies,
and some of their own English ancestors [Puritan Iconoclasm in the
English Civil War | Reviews in History], they censor them. They who have
life only because of the wise use of fossil fuels condemn the use of fossil
fuels, and express their condemnation by censorship, by attempting to destroy a
work of art, one of Van Gogh’s sunflower paintings, which has no connection
with fossil fuels except that we would need to take a London Transport bus to go
see it.
These two childish individuals are purportedly educated
women, but so far have demonstrated no knowledge of either the sciences or the fuzzy
studies, and in their invincible puerile ignorance angrily destroy things of
beauty while shrieking illogical demands at the rest us.
In the autumn of 1945 the Western world surely did not
imagine that civilization would fall again into book banning, book burning, the
censorship of movies, newspapers, and broadcasts, the destruction of art, and
mobs chanting slogans of hate in the streets, but here we are.
A sunflower is heliocentric – it turns to the light. Poor
Ziggy Stardyke and her Grima Wormtongue turn to the darkness.
-30-
Like an Autopsy on a Dear Friend - poem
Lawrence Hall
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Like
an Autopsy on a Dear Friend
I’m amputating limbs in late
October heat
Grateful to this friend who gave
me so much:
Those first green leaves and
blossoms in the spring
Deeper greens through summer,
and apples in season
Something went wrong in the
winter, and she didn’t awaken
The summer passed with its more
pressing chores
And only now can I cut my friend
apart
Into sweet billets for the
winter fires
She will be with me this
Christmas in comforting flame
And then return to Creation,
from whence she came
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