Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Waiting for the
Surgery ‘Phone Call
Waiting for that call
Like waiting for my draft notice
All those years ago
The former address, "reactionary drivel," was a P. G. Wodehouse gag that few ever understood to be a mildly self-deprecating joke. Drivel, perhaps, but not reactionary. Neither the Red Caps nor the Reds ever got it.
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Waiting for the
Surgery ‘Phone Call
Waiting for that call
Like waiting for my draft notice
All those years ago
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
King Charles Invited
the Wrong People
-Saint Matthew
22:3
In the British monarchy (1,500 years and still in business)
the successor becomes monarch by the Grace of God, not by the gracelessness of
a caucus or a TV network poll, immediately upon the death of his or her
predecessor. The coronation changes nothing, but is instead a religious
occasion reminding the king or queen that he or she is nothing without God. There
are crowns and robes and processions and blessings, but “uneasy lies the head
that wears the crown”(King Henry IV, Part II) because the theme inherent
in the coronation liturgy is “Man, thou art dust, and to dust thou shalt return”
(Genesis 3:19).
A king or a reigning queen is not an oligarch; the job comes
with observable perks but also with twenty-four-hours of usually unseen obligations
to the people for the rest of the monarch’s life. Some nice sets of wheels come
with the gig but as we learn from history (you know, one of those irrelevant
liberal arts), the king might ride in a nice carriage today but in a tumbril
tomorrow.
A constitutional monarchy is not a Disney movie.
After the solemnities of the coronation itself, though,
there are merriments and parties and parades and entertainments throughout the
kingdom. King Charles invited a number of fashionable entertainers for some of
the more fashionable parties, but most of them have refused the invitation. Somehow
the cool kids J.K. Rowlinged them.
And that is probably a good thing. The City traders, three-passport-holders,
cinema stars, three-chord commandos, transient oligarchs, and wealthy exiles
from other nations have no loyalty to anything but their next business deal.
And make no mistake, the musician in ragged jeans wailing comradely counter-cultural
songs is Mr. Big Business indeed.
King Charles might learn from this embarrassment that the
choristers of St. Michael’s Church in Chesterton are loyal to the kingdom and
to the person of the king; a famous chanteuse paid millions to entertain at an
oil sheik’s wedding might be less interested.
The United Kingdom and the Commonwealth nations are rich
with church choirs, Girl Guides, Boy Scouts, amateur theatrical troupes, veterans’
clubs, dance classes, marching bands, soloists, military bands, sea chanties
from Newfoundland, the music and arts of Australia,
the Bahamas, Belize, Canada, Grenada, Jamaica, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea,
St. Kitts and Nevis, St. Lucia, St. Vincent and the Grenadines, the Solomon
Islands, Tuvalu, Antigua and Barbuda, Scots pipers, Irish dancers, Welsh
singers, and whatever it is that Cornishmen do.
These are people from all over the world who get their
hands dirty working proper jobs and on weekends practice and celebrate their
arts because they love what they do. They would be honored to share their gifts
with their king.
The invitations to entertain at the coronations should have
gone first to those who from overseas will host fundraisers for plane tickets
for the local band, and those closer who will have to take a bus or a train to
get to London, wrestling a tuba aboard while the driver fusses: “Get a move on,
Alf; we ain’t got all day!”
Invitations to the nabobs and poncies, brittle and
self-indulgent in their ingratitude, perhaps should never have gone out at all.
“God save the king” is a noble sentiment, but a nobler one
would be for the king to say, from his heart, “God save the British people.”
-30-
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
A Dead Bug in the
Hospital
Recumbent on a gurney, little to do
Except to wait and think and hope and pray
Not sure where I was in the surgical queue
Above me the fluorescents, where a dead bug lay
We were both quiet, he especially so
I would have asked him how he came to rest
On a panel of plastic; I wanted to know -
He had been blinded by the light, I guessed
I thought of this as I lay in my too-short bed
“You’re in recovery now,” a kind voice said
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaask!
Three years ago I strolled
into my fav café
The room grew quiet, and then
a chorus did say:
Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaask!
In guilt and shame I put
the forgotten object on
My sin of omission had
been masked upon:
Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaask!
Two years ago I walked
into that place
My now-remembered mask
upon my face
Sneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!
For politics had changed
within a year
We don’t want no Commie
masks in here
Sneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer!
This year between the
mandates and the bans
Is it still okay if I wash
my hands?
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
The Shape of a Poem, the Shape of a Life
A Consideration of Robert Herrick
Yes, they are awkward,
those poems written in shapes
But if God writes our
lives as poetry
Limned and formed for our
continuation
We ask that He shape us with
clarity and charity
A line of verse is not a
scattering of thoughts
Flung randomly as leaves
upon the ground
But rather a thoughtful,
heartful shaping of meaning
To forward life to its
logical end
Yes, they are awkward,
those poems written in shapes
But we are awkward, if not
shaped with love
Lawrence Hall
Who
Has Been Eating My Chair?
(Which
Goldilocks did not ask)
Lawn chairs are for lawn-sitting quite at our ease
Soft summer evenings with a book and a glass
With birds and squirrels chittering away
Merrily over their supper of chicken scratch
Lawn chairs are presumably not nutritious
But every morning mine has been gnawed away more
Its cotton cover shredded and ripped and torn
The puffy filler scattered all over the lawn
What creatures in the night fight, chew, and riot
To make my comfortable old chair their diet?
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
You Don’t Imagine
Your Sunday School Teacher
You don’t imagine your Sunday school teacher
As a once-upon-a-time young girl
A slender young girl with flowers in her hair
Running barefoot through a summer field
To meet her other self at the edge of the trees
Where the honeysuckle vines cling to each other
You don’t imagine your Sunday school teacher
As a once-upon-a-time young girl
Except sometimes when she pauses and sighs
And her eyes look beyond the Jesus-poster walls
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
The Ninth
Commandment 2.0
It’s on the InterGossip; it must be true
Now let us see what people are saying about you!
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
The Honorable Kevin
McCarthy Recognizes Tucker Carlson
And only Tucker Carlson
The First Amendment defends everyone’s views
And does not surrender the nation to Fox News
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Honorable Liar, Honorable
Liar, Honorable Pants on Fire
If we pay attention over time
We learn about our government this jot:
Lying to Congress is a crime
Lying from Congress is not
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Ozymandias ‘N’
Things
I met a UPS driver from an antique land
Who said – “Down the road two shopping malls
Decay along the road, on either hand
Broken doors lead into empty, echoing halls
The blown-out signs are ghostly anymore
Their electric lights are dead; the letters decay
Around the logo of each long-dead store
And in their emptiness they seem to say:
Look upon my works, ye mighty –
Sears, Radio Shack, Montgomery Ward, Mr. Pickwick,
Circuit City, Bonwit Teller, Gimbel’s, Brooks Brothers, Woolworth’s, Marshall
Field’s, Kresge’s, Blockbuster, Border’s, CompUSA, Sharper Image, Tower
Records, Toys R Us, B. Dalton, Levitz, Waldenbooks, Thom McAn, Linens N Things,
KB toys, Mervyn’s, Lord & Taylor, Joske’s
- and despair”
Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
New York Invaded by
Communist Spy Alligator
On Sunday morning a four-foot alligator was found swimming
in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park Lake.
Reptiles of a sort are not uncommon in New York, but not
alligators. The question being asked all
over America this week is if this was a Communist Chinese spy alligator checking
out the nuclear capability of the paddle boats.
President Xi has neither confirmed nor denied that this was
in fact a Communist Chinese weather alligator.
Park workers pulled the creature out of the water for
something less than $450,000 each and took it to an animal care center for
evaluation: “Well, yeah, that’s an alligator.
A cold alligator.”
Greta Thunberg will burn tons of fuel to fly to New York in
a luxury jet, assemble the park staff, and Miz Grundy at them, “How dare you!
How DARE you!” The park staff will obediently applaud her.
Canadian Prime Minister Trudeau will state that he gave the
order for New York park workers to seize the alligator as part of our NORAD
agreement.
Al Gore will blame global warming.
Meaghan and Harry will blame Queen Camilla.
Congressman George Santos will claim that with one hand tied
behind his back he wrestled that twelve-foot, 1,200-pound alligator into
submission and thus saved New York from Godzilla.
We don’t know what the Vice President said; no one does.
President Biden is expected to address the nation this evening
and stand tall for America against any waterborne incursions by unidentified reptiles.
Fox News may or may not claim that New York was not invaded
by illegal alligators during the Trump presidency.
Somewhere a kindergarten class will be directed to sponsor a
naming contest for the poor little misunderstood alligator. AlligatoryMcAlligatorFace
will win. Bet on it.
North Korea will launch a nuclear-capable alligator toward
Japan.
Since Sunday there have been reported alligator sightings in
Stoner, British Columbia, along the coast of Nunavut, and at a Tim Horton’s at
Niagara Falls. It’s a plot. They’re coming. Watch the skies! Watch the rivers!
Watch the bathroom drains! Watch the Air Force generals give each other more
medals!
-30-
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
The Saturday
Morning Tee-Ball Hero
This one’s for you, tee-ball dads!
A little moppet scampers around the tee
Waving her plastic bat as a warrior’s sword
Or as a fairy-wand to magic the day
Her first-ever tee-ball lesson with Dad
He places the ball upon the tee; she swings –
“Now wait until Daddy takes his hand away…”
WHACK!
He didn’t know the bat was all that hard!
He rubs his hand and adjusts his cap; she laughs –
At her daddy the Saturday tee-ball hero
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
On the Consumption
of Art
An artist writes about the consumption of art
As if a painting, a poem, a video
A statue in the lobby of the medical center
Were a tin of meatballs and spaghetti
But we do not consume a work of art
Sometimes we almost seem to marry it
Joining art in a sacrament of love
Beyond the velvet ropes of ownership
That which can be possessed can be consumed
But neither art nor love is a commodity
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Not Exactly Saint
Mark
“Who do you say that I am?”
‘“Whom,’” replied the local schoolmaster.
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
Attitude Check
Climb down off your white horse
And sit in the shade of the trees
To drink from your canteen
A taste of humility
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
The ‘Way-Cool
Coffee Shop
Down
in the street little eddies of wind were whirling dust and torn paper into
spirals, and though the sun was shining and the sky a harsh blue, there seemed
to be no colour in anything…
-George Orwell, 1984
Dirty windows glare out onto the parking lot
Where debris is blown by the sour winter wind
While worn-out Mardi Gras decorations
Slap against old awnings and creaking poles
The get-it-yourself coffee is cold
Every pump: the purported French Roast
Vienna Nights, Istanbul Breakfast Blend
Jamaican Mountain Select, American Road
They go well with the rubbery croissant
Lawrence Hall, HSG
The Great Canadian-American
Balloon Shoot
Last week Prime Minister Pierre Trudeau stated that he
had ordered an American fighter aircraft to shoot down an unidentified flying
object over northern Canada.
The Canadian prime minister can give orders to the American
military?
One’s initial response might be to quote a character in
John Wayne’s flawed but visually interesting film The Alamo who asks the
rhetorical question, “Who do he think he am? Andy by-God Jackson?”
But in fact, yes, under NORAD agreements and duties
shared by The Dominion of Canada and the United States of America there are
occasions when Canada has strictly delineated and limited authority over U.S.
military forces just as there are occasions when the U.S. has strictly delineated
and limited authority over Canadian military forces.
Tilting the point-of-view of a globe (a flat map won’t
do) from the north shows that the quickest routes for hostile attacks on Canada
or the U.S.A. from some nations is over the polar ice. NORAD is a sine qua non
for North America’s safety.
It's just that one does not imagine Mr. Trudeau ordering
anything more militant than a vegan takeout.
But then, much the same obtains for our national
leadership, which seems to have taken its methods of debate not from Major Roberts
but from Cruella deVille.
As of this writing, the United States has shot down (maybe)
off the coast of South Carolina a balloon following its leisurely tour of North
America, a “cylindrical object” (maybe) over Deadhorse, Alaska (which may
explain why the poor horse is dead), and, per the orders of Prime Minister
Trudeau, another cylindrical object (maybe) over the Yukon. Sergeant Preston
has not yet found the downed object.
On Sunday afternoon Mr. Trudeau said that Canada will recover the object. Canada. Leave Canada’s stuff alone [Justin Trudeau (@JustinTrudeau) / Twitter]. Mr. Trudeau ordered the United States to shoot down the UFO (that may or may not exist) and then Mr. Trudeau ordered the United States not to recover it. Yes, sir, Mr. Trudeau, sir.
The United States claims to have found parts of the
balloon, but the cylindrical objects, like North Vietnamese patrol boats in the
Gulf of Tonkin long ago, seem to be unsolved mysteries.
A fourth “radar anomaly” was seen or not seen over
Montana on Saturday night [Montana congressman says mystery object detected above Havre
remains above US | Daily Mail Online]. Mr. Trudeau has not ordered
the United States either to shoot it or to stay away from it.
And, as your ‘umble scrivener ends this on Sunday
evening, the news reports another mysterious something shot down over Lake
Huron. Maybe.
We should all ask Representative George Santos of the 3rd
Congressional District of New York for the truth of the matter.
-30-
Lawrence Hall, HSG
mhall46184@qol.com
Super-Servile Sunday
O sink
not down to that corrosive couch,
Docile
before the Orwellian screen
That regulates the lives of the servile,
Dictating dress and drink, demeanor, dreams;
Declare your independence from the sludge
Of vague obedientiaries who drowse
Away their empty lives in submission
To harsh, diagonal inches of rule,
Poor weaklings chanting tainted tribal songs
In chorus hamsterable, huddled, heaped,
While costumed in their masters’ liveries,
And feeling little while thinking even less,
The very model of the State’s non-men,
Predictable and dull, submissive ghosts
Crowded, herded in cosmic cattle chutes,
Reflected in dim, noisy nothingness.
But you,
O you, be not of them, but be
A
wanderer in the moonlight, one known
To God, there in His holy solitude.
from Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, 2014, available on amazon.com
Lawrence Hall
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.com
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com
The Pastor Who
Pinched my Walkman
He was on television receiving an award
Community service to marginalized youth
And chairman of a committee of community pastors
For the promotion of community somethings
I remembered him from the fifth period
He was a funny kid when term began
By May his eyes had narrowed and his smile was gone
So was my Walkman, but I wished him well
When after a few more years he was sentenced to prison
It wasn’t for pinching somebody’s Walkman