Sunday, January 14, 2024

A Government Church?

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Government Church?

 

We establish no religion in this country. We command no worship. We mandate no belief, nor will we ever. Church and state are and must remain separate.

 

- President Ronald Reagan, Speech in Temple Hillel, Valley Stream, New York,

26 October 1984

 

Each American may his own conscience search

For by the Grace of God we have no national church

 

Cf. The Constitution, Article VI and Amendment I

Saturday, January 13, 2024

To Accept Israel - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

To Accept Israel

 

“Israel was not created in order to disappear - Israel will endure and flourish. It is the child of hope and the home of the brave. It carries the shield of democracy and it honors the sword of freedom.”

 

– President John F. Kennedy)

 

To deny Israel is to curse ourselves

For we are inheritors of the Covenant

That He should be our God, and we His people

He creates us, He calls us – this is so

 

He has given us prophecy and law

Cattle in the fields, fish in all the seas

And lovers, flowers, sunsets, songs, salvation

The Great Dance of Creation - and Himself

 

Let not the sinister whisperer divide us!

To accept Israel is to accept - everyone




An English Major Screaming at a Wall Clock - poem (and a mostly-true story)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

An English Major Screaming at a Wall Clock

 

(A French officer would be too well-mannered to do that)

 

Passing from one office to another in quest

Of some elusive official signature

I saw a woman screaming at a clock

And heard her, too, because screams are like that

 

“She’s an English major,” someone said in explanation

“She and her boy Wordsworth are at it again

And meddlesome Coleridge keeps putting his oar in”

I nodded in understanding; Milton had mentioned it

 

A scholar should never scream at institutional clocks;

He should discreetly disapprove of them




Friday, January 12, 2024

Garage-Sale Rolodex for Seventy-Five Cents - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Garage-Sale Rolodex® for Seventy-Five Cents

 

I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed,

debriefed, or numbered. My life is my own.

 

-Patrick McGoohan as Number Six in The Prisoner

 

The Rolodex was once a symbol of power

Of knowledge marshalled into sequences

Orderly sequences alphabetized by names

By names and cross indices of subjects and dates

 

Of enemies or allies or contacts, rarely friends

Condensed in ink on smoothly finished cards

Restrained in place by colored plastic tabs

Awaiting the stroke of an office tyrant’s hand

 

The Rolodex was subsumed within The ‘Phone

Thus still your life cannot be called your own




A Third Couplet for the Coup

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Third Couplet for the Coup

 

The president’s son humiliated our representatives -

They’re as useless as gas-station pregnancy preventatives

Another Couplet for the Coup

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Another Couplet for the Coup

 

Presidents and their bangers bully judges, you see

So the laws apply only to you and me

Wednesday, January 10, 2024

He Won't Even Notice - a Bitter Couplet for the Coup

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

He Won’t Even Notice - a Bitter Couplet for the Coup

 

They cry that he is anointed of Jesus, that he saves

(His limousine will rumble over their poor graves)

Upon the Return of Artifacts to Wounded Knee - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Upon the Return of Artifacts to Wounded Knee

 

“We hope the spirits are on their way now.”

 

-Richard Broken Nose

 

A knife, a needle, an arrow, a pair of shoes

Some beads, a shirt, a drum, a tobacco pouch

A little girl’s doll, fragments of a pot

And tools for completing one’s daily chores

 

They are not artifacts; they are not displays

They are the ordinary necessities of life

Stolen from the dead hands of innocents

To be numbered, indexed, filed, boxed, and mocked

 

These things are sacred now, part of the Great Dance of Creation

We pray the spirits will come and take them home

 

As plundered items return to Wounded Knee, decisions await (artdaily.com)

Tuesday, January 9, 2024

Endsville - didacticism not at its best

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Endsville

 

All in all, at the end of the day, and in conclusion, when the curvy lady sings, when the truth be told, when all is said and done, when the chickens come home to roost, when all the evidence is in, in sum, in short, in brief, the bottom line is, we can only conclude, to conclude, in the end, so as I said before, to sum up, and as Churchill / Gandhi / Harry Potter / a wise man once said, therefore, all things considered, most importantly, taking the facts into account, to wrap things up, on the whole, and most importantly, and finally…

 

(I was going somewhere with this…)

Polysyllabic Aspirational Bourgeois Vanity (and, like, stuff) - poem (of a sort)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Polysyllabic Aspirational Bourgeois Vanity

(and, like, stuff)

 

Surrealism

 

A melting clock is not aesthetically pleasing

Nor is it of any utility

It celebrates chaos instead of life

And bullies us with a manifesto

 

Surrealism

 

Gives pale aesthetes topics for their idle hours

Surrendering imagination to cliches’

The endlessly self-referential I, I, me, me

(Another double-latte, if you please)

 

Surrealism

 

The republican’s derivative art is but

The emperor’s new clothes turned inside out

 

 

(And have you seen my serial takes on Greek ikons re-imagined and re-envisioned as diatomic forms through vegan egg-tempera on recycled barn wood as a repudiation of hidebound colonialist oppressivist occupationist Orthodoxy by sequencing monks on Mount Athos as agnostic Jewish fast-food workers influenced by the works of Dali and the Rapallo poets through a motif of running wedges in asymmetric lines from a cosmopolitan image of Heaven to a day-glow Wal-Mart beside a sea of transcendental bubbles which symbolize my feelings when my latest grant was canceled? Hmmmmmmm? Of course the straights don’t get it; their lack of imagination is why they stopped The People’s funding I deserve so that I can make great art chiding them for being dullard capitalist mechanicals. I do take all major credit cards for my works.)

Monday, January 8, 2024

End. Stops. Employed. As. Arguments. - poem (of a sort)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

End. Stops. Employed. As. Arguments.

 

Learn. To. Code. You. Had. One. Job. End. Of. Fact.

Decolonize. This. Place. Best. Job. Ever.

Burn. It. Down. Get. A. Job. Not. In. Our. Name.

Not. My. King. Not. My President. Spot. On.

 

Worst. Day. Ever. Votes. Have. Consequences.

What. Could. Go. Wrong. It. Begins. Heads. Will. Roll.

O. M. G. Let. It. Go. This. Isn’t. Over.

Come. And. Take. It. Not. Just. Shut. Up. Just. No.

 

 

Shut. It. Down. Let. It. Go. I. Have. No. Words.

This. Ends. Now. End. Of. Story. Grow. Up. Full. Stop.

 

Sunday, January 7, 2024

The Elections of 2024 - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Elections of 2024

 

How sharply our children will be ashamed…

remembering how in so strange a time

common integrity could look like courage

 

-Yevtushenko, “Talk”

 

1. Thesis (of a sort)

 

The nation shamble-shuffles erratically

Erratically to a lectern and microphone

A microphone on a Potemkin stage

While a bewildered audience feebly applauds

 

2. Antithesis (of a sort)

 

The nation lemming-marches along the streets

Lemming-marches along with bullhorns and flags

Bullhorns bellowing in 5.56

The Gospel according to Saint QAnon

 

3. Recusancy instead of synthesis

 

But I am an American, not a D, an R, a Q

My faith is in the Constitution, and maybe

                                                       In you

I Demanded to be Heard - short poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

I Demanded to be Heard

 

When I was young I demanded to be heard

And I was not heard, which turned out for the best

Because I had almost nothing to say

And that almost-nothing was sodden with cliché

You Have Never Voted for a President - weekly column

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

You Have Never Voted for a President

 

You have never voted for a president, and neither have I.

 

Certain plaintiffs in certain states have recently petitioned their state courts to bar a certain candidate from standing for the presidency based on Section 3 of the XIVth Amendment. This states that no one can be a senator, representative, or presidential or vice-presidential elector, or hold any public office, civil or military, federal or state, if he (the pronoun is gender-neutral), as a member of congress, an officer in the United States, a member of any state legislature, or an executive or judicial officer in any state if he, having sworn loyalty to the Constitution, “shall have engaged in insurrection against the same (the Constitution).”

 

The XIVth Amendment was enacted following the Civil War and in response to it, but an amendment is not limited in time and place. It is active law, not a museum curiosity.

 

But how can a state presume to bar a candidate from a presidential ballot in that state?

 

That leads us back to Article II, which states clearly that presidents are elected by electors from each state, not by a popular vote. Further, these electors from each state are appointed by the legislature of each state, “…in such Manner as the Legislature may direct…”

 

The fifty states and the too-much-indulged District of Columbia can, as a matter of states’ rights, choose their electors in any manner they chose. Hey, it’s in the Constitution. And do we follow our Constitution or not? As practiced the popular vote in each state is for electors, not for candidates, and the electors then vote for the president. Some states do not allow their electors to vote against the will of the electorate, but some do.

 

Our clumsy system of voting sounds illogical, but its function is to ensure that sparsely-populated states and districts are not subjected to the votes of heavily-populated cities. Without our electoral college (they don’t have a football team, though) our presidential elections would always be decided by the west coast axis and the east coast axis.

 

This protection is similar to the constitutional requirement that while the states send a number or representatives to the House based on population, they each send two senators to the Senate regardless of population.

 

All this is a little awkward, but it means that the great population centers cannot use the rest of us – “flyover country,” “deplorables,” and so on – as simply a source of raw materials for their industries and recruits for their many undeclared wars, and dumping grounds for their garbage.

 

Under the Constitution the citizens of a state may indeed appeal to their state legislature for barring a candidate from the ballot in that state only based on the XIVth Amendment in that same federal Constitution. It is a matter of states’ rights not only in the XIVth amendment but in the Xth.

 

The argument that the President is not mentioned as an officer in the amendment is specious, even a little desperate. No one in over two hundred years has ever denied that the office of the presidency is in fact and function the office of the presidency. The President is not in a position of employment or contract; he is an officer.

 

The argument that the amendment does not apply if the candidate has not been convicted might carry some weight except for the fact that the authority for granting eligibility rests with a ¾ vote of the House of Representatives.

 

Where the petitioners may have gone off those metaphorical rails is presenting their petition to their state courts instead of to their state legislatures. The state courts under the Constitution should bounce this to their legislatures.

 

So why isn’t this taught in school? Well, it is; it’s just that no 16-year-old is in the least interested in civics class. Nor does he (the pronoun is gender-neutral) give a rat’s rear end for Shakespeare, sentence structure, molecular theory, physics, algebra, or the food pyramid.

 

Geometry is kinda fun, though.

 

But they’re kids. They’re learning. We adults have no excuses, and the language of the Constitution is clear enough. We have a duty to perceive issues rationally as adults, come to conclusions based in law, and participate in civilization as citizens of a great republic.

 

There are many elementals in civilized behavior – one is that when we vote we often don’t get our way. That’s the deal. That’s our Constitution.

 

-30-

 

 

Saturday, January 6, 2024

A Russian Christmas Card - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Russian Christmas Card

 

For Tod and Max

 

I allowed the time, the year, the day to slip

And so I can only imagine a card for you

A Russian Christmas card in paper and paints

Of Christmas scenes from a happy golden time:

 

And let there be small children in furry boots

Dragging a little fir tree over the snow

Among artistically disposed squirrels and deer

To the delight of Father Christmas and the sweet Snow Queen

 

And let there be Saint Michael’s at the end of the lane

Its ancient bell ringing the ancient joys

While ancient stars and humble cottage windows

Give light to the faithful on their way to Mass

 

And let us be among them, as God will allow

Before the Theotokos and Child, kneeling now

 

Happy Orthodox Christmas, dear friends!

All the President's Mob - a re-post from 2021

(a re-post from 2021)

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

All the President’s Mob

 

Sedition batters past the capitol police -

As Congress, sweet harmless Merovingians,

Arming from a thesaurus of pomposity

Meet the attempted coup with lofty words

 

While hidden far away, lurking unseen

Our Leader screams into his telescreen

Moving his dementia along the Potomac:

Glorifying himself in the highest

 

Our government, cowering on the floor

Maintains that it will not be intimidated

Wednesday, January 3, 2024

No Threat to the Community - very short poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

“No Threat to the Community”


“…an isolated Incident “ 

-Orange (Texas) Police Department

The neighbors are in shock; news cameras peek and see -

But let the children play outside; oh, don’t be shy

Because there is “no threat to the community”

(Four dead in a house, and no one knows why)

 

 

[Police in Orange investigating deaths of four people in home | KFDM]

Tuesday, January 2, 2024

Each Birthday is a Step in the Right Direction - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Each Birthday is a Step in the Right Direction

 

The Road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began

 

-Tolkien

 

A birthday is not the beginning of something new

But rather part of a continuing story

From its Prologue and its Chapter One

Through the dark leaves of Mirkwood and beyond

 

Yes, there be dragons, more than ever, it seems

But sometimes still we glimpse magic by moonlight

Or take an ale or two at a wayside inn

Then sticks and packs again, our faces set West

 

If this were my last hour, I still could say

With Tollers and Jack: the Road goes ever on

 

Monday, January 1, 2024

Colin Cloute on the First of January - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

Colin Cloute on the First of January

 

And now is come thy wynters stormy state,

Thy mantle mard, wherein thou maskedst late

 

-Spenser, The Shepheardes Calender, “Januarye,” 23-25

 

The calendar year is advertised as new

But the slanting, yellowing sun is old

Almost weepy-eyed, exhausted, and weak

Beyond the icy cirrhus clouds of dusk

 

In a few weeks I will turn over the garden soil

A mediaeval ploughman with his electric tiller

Following the ancient seasons of the English year

Anticipating Lent and Eastertide

 

For now, the fireside and a comforting page

And a cuppa for warming the bones of age

On the Day Papa Benedict Died - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

On the Day Papa Benedict Died

 

This day a year ago Papa Benedict died

I heard it in a post-anaesthetic mist

Was there a TV in ICU? A radio?

Did someone say it? I don’t remember now

 

I knew only that Papa Benedict had died

That I was alive, and didn’t know why

Little toy cowboys rode across my mind

But in my lungs the air was sweet and cold

 

Papa Benedict had something to do with it

And Saint Elizabeth of Thuringen

 

And I am thankful