Sunday, July 19, 2015
Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlett, and Donald Trump
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Politics According to Clue™
Even more than Wheel of 60 Minutes Fortune and Flip the Dancing Stars off this Island, the USA’s most popular and longest-running unreality show is politics. Back-to-school shopping begins in June, and football in August, but electioneering never ends. A presidential election is in itself little more than a brief pause between presidential election campaigns.
Baseball? Hot dogs? Apple strudel? Nope. What defines The Ye Olde Folksy New England Republic is a catalogue of people asking other people for money so that the first set of people can make more video ads.
This season is unusually loopy, lending itself to a new board game to help the players sort out politics, policy, and politics foreign and domestic. As a service to America, the auctor presents to a confused electorate (not that many of them ever vote anyway) a new board game, Campaign Clue™. Each game set contains:
10 character cards
President Obama
Donald Trump
Senator McCain
El Chapo
Vladimir Putin
Bernie Sanders
Senator Clinton
Edward Snowden
Hillary Clinton
Kim Jong Un
10 location cards
The White House Rose Garden
The Spratly Islands
St. Petersburg (Russia or Florida)
A Bridge in New Jersey
A Blue Bell factory
The dumpsters behind the Kremlin
The secret Jade Helm dungeons of doom beneath an abandoned Wal-Mart
A truck stopped for a traffic light in Calais
The Socorro Desert
A dimly lit Tim Horton’s down the street from the Toronto city hall
10 plastic weapons tokens
A pinata
Silly String
A stern editorial in The New York Times
A Confederate flag
A supercilious sneer
An indictment
Gender reassignment surgery
A Greek promissory note
A New Jersey Department of Transportation Traffic Cone
The Cosmic Hairpiece of Clinging Death
Each player takes a divvy of character cards, location cards, and plastic weapons tokens, dumps them into a foam cup from Captain Queeg’s, shakes them up, and pours them out in a meaningless pile. The players then talk about how much they miss Colonel Mustard, Miss Scarlett, the Professor, Ginger, Mary Ann, and the rest of the old gang.
-30-
Saturday, July 18, 2015
The Joyful Mysteries - Meditations for a Young Man
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Joyful Mysteries -
Meditations for a Young Man
I. The Annunciation
When Romans ruled, tetrarchs obeyed, the nights
Were given over to wonderings and dreams
An angel whispered to a girl “Fear not”
She made her choice, and history turned away
From failing, flailing, falling into mists
And looked again upon the morning sun
Beneath whose light the Jordan flowed, and days
Were given over to waiting and to work
For carpenters and fishermen who knew
Little of Rome, but much of suffering
II. The Visitation
In loving service to humanity
A girl, a woman now, another choice -
To leave her home to help, to love, to work
Her sweet Magnificat a hymn to us
A song of sweeping floors and making beds
And bringing in the goats for milking time
And laughter to the home of Elizabeth
A leap for joy expressed through busy hands
For maidens and mothers (and even men!) who knew
Little of Rome, but much of work and love
III. The Nativity
Now in reluctant service to the state
To render unto Caesar obedience
A little family once again leaves home
Following orders, not a star, and yet
There is a star. What is it telling them?
Suddenly – no thoughts for Caesars or stars
But only for a Child in exile born
Among the poor and humble of the earth
There to a weary young mother who knew
Too much of Rome, too much of doing without
IV. The Presentation
Now happily, in service to the Law
A going up, up to Jerusalem
A joyful journey to present the Child
Unto the Lord, and there two prophets spoke:
In holy Anna’s fasting, prayers, and words
And Simeon’s rejoicing “Nunc dimittis”
Of risings, fallings, swords, deliverance
The former world passing into the new
And for His Mother at the temple gate
No thought of Rome – but only of Her Son
V. Finding the Lord in the Temple
When Romans ruled, tetrarchs obeyed; the young
In faith and hope gave all their dreams to God
And listened for angelic whisperings
Not only in the night, but in their hearts
And Jesus grew to hear, to know, to teach
To search the hearts of young and old and find
Within them there the heartbeat of Himself
Our Lady kept these things within Her heart -
And, finally, even Romans kept them too
And so it was
And so it is
For you
mhall46184@aol.com
The Joyful Mysteries -
Meditations for a Young Man
I. The Annunciation
When Romans ruled, tetrarchs obeyed, the nights
Were given over to wonderings and dreams
An angel whispered to a girl “Fear not”
She made her choice, and history turned away
From failing, flailing, falling into mists
And looked again upon the morning sun
Beneath whose light the Jordan flowed, and days
Were given over to waiting and to work
For carpenters and fishermen who knew
Little of Rome, but much of suffering
II. The Visitation
In loving service to humanity
A girl, a woman now, another choice -
To leave her home to help, to love, to work
Her sweet Magnificat a hymn to us
A song of sweeping floors and making beds
And bringing in the goats for milking time
And laughter to the home of Elizabeth
A leap for joy expressed through busy hands
For maidens and mothers (and even men!) who knew
Little of Rome, but much of work and love
III. The Nativity
Now in reluctant service to the state
To render unto Caesar obedience
A little family once again leaves home
Following orders, not a star, and yet
There is a star. What is it telling them?
Suddenly – no thoughts for Caesars or stars
But only for a Child in exile born
Among the poor and humble of the earth
There to a weary young mother who knew
Too much of Rome, too much of doing without
IV. The Presentation
Now happily, in service to the Law
A going up, up to Jerusalem
A joyful journey to present the Child
Unto the Lord, and there two prophets spoke:
In holy Anna’s fasting, prayers, and words
And Simeon’s rejoicing “Nunc dimittis”
Of risings, fallings, swords, deliverance
The former world passing into the new
And for His Mother at the temple gate
No thought of Rome – but only of Her Son
V. Finding the Lord in the Temple
When Romans ruled, tetrarchs obeyed; the young
In faith and hope gave all their dreams to God
And listened for angelic whisperings
Not only in the night, but in their hearts
And Jesus grew to hear, to know, to teach
To search the hearts of young and old and find
Within them there the heartbeat of Himself
Our Lady kept these things within Her heart -
And, finally, even Romans kept them too
And so it was
And so it is
For you
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Cigar Boxes
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
History Lessons on a Cigar Box
Mark Antony preens in his Class-A best
Cleopatra is somewhat underdressed
The servant girl is not at all impressed
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Child’s First Safety-Deposit Box
A dime-store pocket watch that doesn’t run
A tiny magnifier for aiming the sun
A bit of chalk, glass marbles, crayon stubs
A pencil or two worn down to the nubs
A pair of dice gained in a school-yard trade
A cheap pocket knife with a broken blade
A pocket calendar from just last year
A bottle-opener that says “JAX BEER”
A shotgun hull, and little toy cars -
A box is for treasures, not Dad’s cigars!
Mhall46184@aol.com
History Lessons on a Cigar Box
Mark Antony preens in his Class-A best
Cleopatra is somewhat underdressed
The servant girl is not at all impressed
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Child’s First Safety-Deposit Box
A dime-store pocket watch that doesn’t run
A tiny magnifier for aiming the sun
A bit of chalk, glass marbles, crayon stubs
A pencil or two worn down to the nubs
A pair of dice gained in a school-yard trade
A cheap pocket knife with a broken blade
A pocket calendar from just last year
A bottle-opener that says “JAX BEER”
A shotgun hull, and little toy cars -
A box is for treasures, not Dad’s cigars!
Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater
Field Medical Service School
Shivering in the rain, up in the hills
Of Sunny Southern California
Kerosene cookers and their gust-blown smoke
Squid-wet Corpsmen in flying wet slickers
Mess kits held out to sullen, cursing cooks
Slam-glopping glops of sausages and eggs
Cold coffee in aluminum canteen cups
No cover, no shelter for floating food
Or for sergeants bellowing in the dark –
And laughing through it all, for we were young
Mhall46184@aol.com
Scrambled Eggs in Rainwater
Field Medical Service School
Shivering in the rain, up in the hills
Of Sunny Southern California
Kerosene cookers and their gust-blown smoke
Squid-wet Corpsmen in flying wet slickers
Mess kits held out to sullen, cursing cooks
Slam-glopping glops of sausages and eggs
Cold coffee in aluminum canteen cups
No cover, no shelter for floating food
Or for sergeants bellowing in the dark –
And laughing through it all, for we were young
Mad Dogs and Mourning Doves
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Mad Dogs and Mourning Doves
go out in the Midday Sun
When nearly noon the old lawnmower is stilled
The unexpected silence is a pause
While an unseen conductor turns a page:
Morning cicadas yield the program to
The responsorial midday mourning doves
Who descant songs across the lonely fields
Whence midday heat has driven all but them
Exchanging love-notes through the drowsy hours
All unaware that when October comes
They’ll have to pack away their amphibrachs
Mhall46184@aol.com
Mad Dogs and Mourning Doves
go out in the Midday Sun
When nearly noon the old lawnmower is stilled
The unexpected silence is a pause
While an unseen conductor turns a page:
Morning cicadas yield the program to
The responsorial midday mourning doves
Who descant songs across the lonely fields
Whence midday heat has driven all but them
Exchanging love-notes through the drowsy hours
All unaware that when October comes
They’ll have to pack away their amphibrachs
A Course of Study
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Course of Study
Life is itself our university:
A table for study at a window
A book whose pages are bright autumn leaves
A laboratory of unexpectations
A hymn sung while stacking ammunition
A smile remembered while the coffee brews
A Christmas pocket knife lost long ago
A remembrance, a pain, a thought, a fear
And in the end a graduation hymn -
Life is itself is our university
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Course of Study
Life is itself our university:
A table for study at a window
A book whose pages are bright autumn leaves
A laboratory of unexpectations
A hymn sung while stacking ammunition
A smile remembered while the coffee brews
A Christmas pocket knife lost long ago
A remembrance, a pain, a thought, a fear
And in the end a graduation hymn -
Life is itself is our university
A Working Knowledge of Bed Frames
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Working Knowledge of Bed Frames
For assembling bed frames a craftsman needs
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Bad you-go-rinse-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
For disassembling bed frames, well, the same:
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Badder rinsing-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
Because cosmic conflict against metal frames
Requires a catalogue of soap-choking names!
Mhall46184@aol.com
A Working Knowledge of Bed Frames
For assembling bed frames a craftsman needs
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Bad you-go-rinse-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
For disassembling bed frames, well, the same:
A hammer (because a mallet won’t do)
And a vocabulary of bad words
Badder rinsing-your-mouth-out-with-soap words
Because cosmic conflict against metal frames
Requires a catalogue of soap-choking names!
Life Begins at 111
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Life Begins at 111
Open a page, and dream into that world
Songs and merriment from the inn at Bree
The scent of flowers from far Lothlorien
And smoke rising from The Last Lonely House
A pack, a walking stick, a friend or two
Then step into the night, into the road
That does indeed go on and on
Mhall46184@aol.com
Life Begins at 111
Open a page, and dream into that world
Songs and merriment from the inn at Bree
The scent of flowers from far Lothlorien
And smoke rising from The Last Lonely House
A pack, a walking stick, a friend or two
Then step into the night, into the road
That does indeed go on and on
THE Calculus
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
THE Calculus
Why is there a math called THE calculus
Could there be a second one? Dubious
And there are so many maths to cuss
Algebra, for instance – what is the fuss?
To solve for X does not serve any purpuss
And one arithmetic, minus or plus
Geometry – useful but tedious
Each math is one, so nothing to discuss
So
Why is there a math call THE calculus?
mhall46184@aol.com
THE Calculus
Why is there a math called THE calculus
Could there be a second one? Dubious
And there are so many maths to cuss
Algebra, for instance – what is the fuss?
To solve for X does not serve any purpuss
And one arithmetic, minus or plus
Geometry – useful but tedious
Each math is one, so nothing to discuss
So
Why is there a math call THE calculus?
Canada Day? Just One?
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Canada Day? Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
But Canada goes on; these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Mhall46184@aol.com
Canada Day? Just One?
With love from an ‘umble Yank
But every day is Canada Day!
The afternoon plane lands in Halifax
When the hatch is popped, cool air rushes in
Even the fog is happy in Canada
The Muskogee never made landfall here
And so we pilgrimage for her, complete
Her voyage from ’42 to Canada
Wolfville, Grand Pre’, Le Grande Derangement
The Deportation Cross and beer cans
Well, God forgive the Redcoats anyway
Newfoundland
Is a bold
Anapest
The church spires in a line, the light is green
The bold young captain shoots the narrows wild
Can you find your way to your painted house?
To walk again the cobbles of Ferryland
And smell the very blue of the Atlantic
The sea-blown wind is cold in Canada
Blue Puttees and a mourning Caribou
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord
Good children sing “We love thee, Newfoundland”
Quebec – royal city of New France
May Le Bon Dieu bless the Plains of Abraham,
And may God bless
The signs an English driver cannot read
The Coca-Cola streets of Niagara Falls
Yanks laugh at made-in-China Mountie mugs
And buy them, happy to be in Canada
A cup of Toujours Frais from – well, that place
But to us in your southern provinces
Below Niagara, Tim too is Canada
But Canada goes on; these scribbles must not -
Your grateful guest wishes only to say
That every happy day is Canada Day!
Dialogue Not Heard in Casablanca
Mack Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dialogue Not Heard in Casablanca
“Of all the boutique coffee bars in all the gated communities in all the world…”
“Bluebirds, bluebirds! Bluebirds everywhere!”
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll be on the plane – it’ll take us that long to get through security.”
“Play it, Sam. Play ‘The Pilgrims’ Chorus’ from Tannhauser.”
“I don’t think I remember it, Miss Ilsa. Mostly because you never leave anything in the tip jar, you cheapskate.”
“I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. Meh.”
“Oh, Rick – I’ll have to do the thinking for both us.”
“Round up some unusual suspects.”
“I’m making out the report now. We’re not sure if he committed suicide or was vaporized by Jade Helm ninja vampires in secret tunnels beneath an abandoned Circuit City in New Ulm.”
“I’m shocked! Shocked! To learn that Bible study is going on in here!”
“Aw, come on, you guys – doesn’t anyone in here know the words to the Marseillaise!?”
“I remember every detail – the North Vietnamese wore green; you wore a blue Che Guano tee-shirt.”
“Yes, I put that tee-shirt, knee-pants, and flip-flops away. When the North Vietnamese march out I’ll wear them again.”
“What makes baristas so snobbish?”
“Are you one of those people who cannot imagine English soccer fans in your beloved Newark?”
“Oh, no, Emile, please. A bottle of your best designer water, and put it on my bill.”
“Just a moment. I heard a rumor those two German couriers were carrying the latest Apple watches.”
“I don’t mind a parasite. I object to one who isn’t accredited by the BBB.”
“Ricky, I’m going to miss you. Apparently you’re the only one with less scruples than the Supreme Court.”
“Paula Deen and Bill Cosby walk into a bar…”
“And remember – this gun is pointed right at your pancreas.”
“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but when you can’t get a refund on those tickets to Lisbon…”
“We’ll always have Caney Head.”
“I have already given him the best table, knowing that he is with the Clinton campaign and would take it anyway.”
“C’mon, Mr. Rick. We’ll get the car. We’ll drive all night. We’ll go fishing. We’ll wear togas! Partee! Partee!”
“Major Strasser has been tasered!”
“Here’s looking at you, kid. You know, that’s a really patronizing, sexist expression.”
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful limited-liability partnership.”
“I came to Casablanca for the Blue Bell ice cream…I was misinformed.”
-30-
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dialogue Not Heard in Casablanca
“Of all the boutique coffee bars in all the gated communities in all the world…”
“Bluebirds, bluebirds! Bluebirds everywhere!”
“Maybe tomorrow we’ll be on the plane – it’ll take us that long to get through security.”
“Play it, Sam. Play ‘The Pilgrims’ Chorus’ from Tannhauser.”
“I don’t think I remember it, Miss Ilsa. Mostly because you never leave anything in the tip jar, you cheapskate.”
“I was informed that you were the most beautiful woman ever to visit Casablanca. Meh.”
“Oh, Rick – I’ll have to do the thinking for both us.”
“Round up some unusual suspects.”
“I’m making out the report now. We’re not sure if he committed suicide or was vaporized by Jade Helm ninja vampires in secret tunnels beneath an abandoned Circuit City in New Ulm.”
“I’m shocked! Shocked! To learn that Bible study is going on in here!”
“Aw, come on, you guys – doesn’t anyone in here know the words to the Marseillaise!?”
“I remember every detail – the North Vietnamese wore green; you wore a blue Che Guano tee-shirt.”
“Yes, I put that tee-shirt, knee-pants, and flip-flops away. When the North Vietnamese march out I’ll wear them again.”
“What makes baristas so snobbish?”
“Are you one of those people who cannot imagine English soccer fans in your beloved Newark?”
“Oh, no, Emile, please. A bottle of your best designer water, and put it on my bill.”
“Just a moment. I heard a rumor those two German couriers were carrying the latest Apple watches.”
“I don’t mind a parasite. I object to one who isn’t accredited by the BBB.”
“Ricky, I’m going to miss you. Apparently you’re the only one with less scruples than the Supreme Court.”
“Paula Deen and Bill Cosby walk into a bar…”
“And remember – this gun is pointed right at your pancreas.”
“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but when you can’t get a refund on those tickets to Lisbon…”
“We’ll always have Caney Head.”
“I have already given him the best table, knowing that he is with the Clinton campaign and would take it anyway.”
“C’mon, Mr. Rick. We’ll get the car. We’ll drive all night. We’ll go fishing. We’ll wear togas! Partee! Partee!”
“Major Strasser has been tasered!”
“Here’s looking at you, kid. You know, that’s a really patronizing, sexist expression.”
“Louie, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful limited-liability partnership.”
“I came to Casablanca for the Blue Bell ice cream…I was misinformed.”
-30-
Monday, July 6, 2015
With True Prayers
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
With True Prayers
For the Martyrs of Charleston
“…but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there”
-Measure for Measure II.ii.151-152
A study table is an Altar too
Whereon repose not only holy books
But also hopes and prayers and coffee cups
On Wednesday evening – there in fellowship
To crown the middle of the busy week
With an hour or two of quiet discourse
And, yes, laughter, joy, and merriment
Among dear friends, our happy gifts from God -
Evil cannot veto, even with our blood
The truth: this table is an Altar too
Published in Longbows and Rosary Beads, June 2015
mhall46184@aol.com
With True Prayers
For the Martyrs of Charleston
“…but with true prayers
That shall be up at heaven and enter there”
-Measure for Measure II.ii.151-152
A study table is an Altar too
Whereon repose not only holy books
But also hopes and prayers and coffee cups
On Wednesday evening – there in fellowship
To crown the middle of the busy week
With an hour or two of quiet discourse
And, yes, laughter, joy, and merriment
Among dear friends, our happy gifts from God -
Evil cannot veto, even with our blood
The truth: this table is an Altar too
Published in Longbows and Rosary Beads, June 2015
Children and Books
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
A Boy with a Book
For Gunter, Kason, Joey, and Isaac
A little boy is not a boy without
A book to guard him against education:
Give him spaceships, cowboys, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If he can’t find a book that sings, give him
Lots of blank paper, and he’ll write his own:
Sheriffs, swords, shields, and ships, his gear in
trim
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A boy is a child of summer; he needs
His dog, sun-leafy hours, and his books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks:
Adventure yarns, and wooden sword in hand
In summer to make a boy a worthy man
A Girl with a Book
For Kate, Valentine, Veronica, Virginia,
Margaret Rose, Harper Rose, and Kaili
A little girl is not a girl without
A book to guard her against education:
Give her spaceships, cowgirls, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If she can’t find a book that sings, give her
Lots of blank paper, and she’ll write her own:
Princesses, swords, and ships, a voyager
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A girl is a child of summer; she needs
Her dog, sun-leafy hours, and her books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks
A girl, her book, her sword, her backyard tree:
Oh, what a good, strong woman she will be!
mhall46184@aol.com
A Boy with a Book
For Gunter, Kason, Joey, and Isaac
A little boy is not a boy without
A book to guard him against education:
Give him spaceships, cowboys, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If he can’t find a book that sings, give him
Lots of blank paper, and he’ll write his own:
Sheriffs, swords, shields, and ships, his gear in
trim
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A boy is a child of summer; he needs
His dog, sun-leafy hours, and his books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks:
Adventure yarns, and wooden sword in hand
In summer to make a boy a worthy man
A Girl with a Book
For Kate, Valentine, Veronica, Virginia,
Margaret Rose, Harper Rose, and Kaili
A little girl is not a girl without
A book to guard her against education:
Give her spaceships, cowgirls, a pirate’s shout
Instead of teachy televisation
If she can’t find a book that sings, give her
Lots of blank paper, and she’ll write her own:
Princesses, swords, and ships, a voyager
To sail the Spanish Main until the dawn
A girl is a child of summer; she needs
Her dog, sun-leafy hours, and her books
And outlaws hiding there among the weeds
Or maybe the Sheriff of Nottingham’s crooks
A girl, her book, her sword, her backyard tree:
Oh, what a good, strong woman she will be!
"With a Clear View of the Southern Sky"
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
“With a Clear View
of the Southern Sky”
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
Those cosmic spies and robot messengers
Lurk on the roof and there obscure the stars
With clutter beamed and bounced about the skies
Encoded and decoded back and forth
Somewhere between the truth and a satellite
Attractive knowledge of evil and good
Electrons coiled around a metal tree
Purring in unison: “You shall not die” -
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
mhall46184@aol.com
“With a Clear View
of the Southern Sky”
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
Those cosmic spies and robot messengers
Lurk on the roof and there obscure the stars
With clutter beamed and bounced about the skies
Encoded and decoded back and forth
Somewhere between the truth and a satellite
Attractive knowledge of evil and good
Electrons coiled around a metal tree
Purring in unison: “You shall not die” -
Curved metal plates with gadgetry attached
Tainopsis
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Tainopsis
Grandfather’s Saint George medal – hide it first
The ikon of Saint Seraphim – that’s next
Babushka’s crucifix – O, how she loved it
The picture of the Czar – away! Away!
Do not betray your thoughts – a careless word
A smile not authorized, a memory
A fragment from a cheerful Christmas song:
These do not advance The Revolution
Beneath our Brave Red Star they must lie hidden
While our dear comrades love and watch us all
mhall46184@aol.com
Tainopsis
Grandfather’s Saint George medal – hide it first
The ikon of Saint Seraphim – that’s next
Babushka’s crucifix – O, how she loved it
The picture of the Czar – away! Away!
Do not betray your thoughts – a careless word
A smile not authorized, a memory
A fragment from a cheerful Christmas song:
These do not advance The Revolution
Beneath our Brave Red Star they must lie hidden
While our dear comrades love and watch us all
Script for the Hourly News
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Script for the Hourly News
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icon boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon shooting boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon booths on the ground icon shooting boots
on the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
shooting boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon shooting boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon boots on the ground
icon shooting boots on the ground icon
shooting boots on the ground icon boots on
the ground icon boots on the ground icon
boots on the ground icon shooting boots on
the ground ISIS school lunches gluten-free
mhall46184@aol.com
Script for the Hourly News
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the ground ISIS school lunches gluten-free
Matins and Lauds and Cats
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Matins and Lauds and Cats
Now stir your morning hopes into a cup
Of coffee sweetly censed with optimism
Along with milk or cream and chemicals;
Switch off the strident, nattering radio
And through the kitchen window note with joy
The dramatic stretchings of indolent cats
Yawning the beginning of their new day,
A tree frog working late, reposing still
Upon the screen as if it were a throne
From which he rules all insect destinies,
And a sudden fluttering in the grass
As an early bird gets his worm indeed
While a vapor of diaphanous mist
Slow-curls among the oaks, perhaps to seek
Some comfortable solitude for the day;
Old Sol, fresh from his adventures in the East
Serves sunlight filtered softly through the damp,
Fresh light for your breakfast, a Matins
Psalm sung to you all the way from a star.
Matins and Lauds without any Cats
If your sunrise view is of garbage cans
And utility poles leaning over an alley
Or if you have no window, or even a kitchen
If morning dew condenses on barbed wire
Or dripping concrete walls echoing-echoing,
If your only view is of a cinder-block wall
And the only sound is the medicine trolley
Squeaking through its early hospital rounds
Without any coffee or even much hope
Then please feel free to borrow for today
Any of the many, barely-used mornings
From those of us who in our ingratitude
Tend to begin our days of open windows
Not with a joyful litany of praise
But with a tiresome catalogue of complaints
mhall46184@aol.com
Matins and Lauds and Cats
Now stir your morning hopes into a cup
Of coffee sweetly censed with optimism
Along with milk or cream and chemicals;
Switch off the strident, nattering radio
And through the kitchen window note with joy
The dramatic stretchings of indolent cats
Yawning the beginning of their new day,
A tree frog working late, reposing still
Upon the screen as if it were a throne
From which he rules all insect destinies,
And a sudden fluttering in the grass
As an early bird gets his worm indeed
While a vapor of diaphanous mist
Slow-curls among the oaks, perhaps to seek
Some comfortable solitude for the day;
Old Sol, fresh from his adventures in the East
Serves sunlight filtered softly through the damp,
Fresh light for your breakfast, a Matins
Psalm sung to you all the way from a star.
Matins and Lauds without any Cats
If your sunrise view is of garbage cans
And utility poles leaning over an alley
Or if you have no window, or even a kitchen
If morning dew condenses on barbed wire
Or dripping concrete walls echoing-echoing,
If your only view is of a cinder-block wall
And the only sound is the medicine trolley
Squeaking through its early hospital rounds
Without any coffee or even much hope
Then please feel free to borrow for today
Any of the many, barely-used mornings
From those of us who in our ingratitude
Tend to begin our days of open windows
Not with a joyful litany of praise
But with a tiresome catalogue of complaints
A Few More Little Poems
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Sirens and Harpies
The siren of the romance-misted night
Softly seductive and mysterious
By dawn shifts shape into a haggery fright:
The elf is now a harpy imperious
Data Not Available at This Time
“Data not available at this time”
Scrolls slowly across the tiny screen
But
(insert name of internet service biller – not necessarily as good at providing – here)
carefully counts every dime:
Their monthly pound of flesh is never lean
How Lucky God is to Have Him
Perhaps he is a seer
Gifted with visions of glory
Still, I don’t want to hear
His me, me, me conversion story
Not on My Watch
A fellow whose timepiece was off just a notch
Said of a jeweler who was drunk on Scotch,
“He can work on his hangover,
but not on my watch.”
Rain with Punctuation
A house when empty is not always peaceful
But today it is. September rain to heal
The hurt, summer-dry earth floats so softly
And so quietly
That thunder is a loud punctuation
An exclamation mark BANG! In the middle
Of a quiet, meditative line.
Elegy for Brave Little Cottonpip
For Deedra
In Egypt cats were set as palace guards
To watch the desert from stone-linteled gates
With wide-set eyes, proud lions of the Nile
And in their diminutive dignity
Bless with their furry, purry, royal presence
The households of the ancient kings and queens
And cats have never forgotten their ancient
warrant:
To pose, to pace, to pause, to pounce, to please
Their noble queen always, faithful even unto
death -
O do not mourn the passing of brave Pip
For now he tumbles and plays among the stars
And purrs to you still, your brave palace guard
Quagmire
We’re mired once more within a quag
Or quagged, perhaps, within a mire
Evil laughs at the same old gag:
Nero golfs while the world’s on fire
mhall46184@aol.com
Sirens and Harpies
The siren of the romance-misted night
Softly seductive and mysterious
By dawn shifts shape into a haggery fright:
The elf is now a harpy imperious
Data Not Available at This Time
“Data not available at this time”
Scrolls slowly across the tiny screen
But
(insert name of internet service biller – not necessarily as good at providing – here)
carefully counts every dime:
Their monthly pound of flesh is never lean
How Lucky God is to Have Him
Perhaps he is a seer
Gifted with visions of glory
Still, I don’t want to hear
His me, me, me conversion story
Not on My Watch
A fellow whose timepiece was off just a notch
Said of a jeweler who was drunk on Scotch,
“He can work on his hangover,
but not on my watch.”
Rain with Punctuation
A house when empty is not always peaceful
But today it is. September rain to heal
The hurt, summer-dry earth floats so softly
And so quietly
That thunder is a loud punctuation
An exclamation mark BANG! In the middle
Of a quiet, meditative line.
Elegy for Brave Little Cottonpip
For Deedra
In Egypt cats were set as palace guards
To watch the desert from stone-linteled gates
With wide-set eyes, proud lions of the Nile
And in their diminutive dignity
Bless with their furry, purry, royal presence
The households of the ancient kings and queens
And cats have never forgotten their ancient
warrant:
To pose, to pace, to pause, to pounce, to please
Their noble queen always, faithful even unto
death -
O do not mourn the passing of brave Pip
For now he tumbles and plays among the stars
And purrs to you still, your brave palace guard
Quagmire
We’re mired once more within a quag
Or quagged, perhaps, within a mire
Evil laughs at the same old gag:
Nero golfs while the world’s on fire
Je Suis Dust Jacket
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Je Suis Dust Jacket
A can’t-put-it-down layered tapestry of
Spell-binding patriarchal must-read rich
Ness woven of cross-cultural patriarchal
Assumptions is a multi-gendered land
Mark of accessible, richly textured
Narratives that will make you laugh, make you
cry,
And change your life forever through a unique
Voice of powerful unstinting timeless
Human condition moving milestone land
Mark compelling nuanced epic of searing
Honesty and gripping poignancy burnt
Into the human conscience challenges
The heterosexist patriarchal
Mainstream that will define a generation
Iconic sensual stunning absorbing
Lapidary roman a clef triumph
Definitive edgy in the tradition
Of luminous provocative. And stuff.
mhall46184@aol.com
Je Suis Dust Jacket
A can’t-put-it-down layered tapestry of
Spell-binding patriarchal must-read rich
Ness woven of cross-cultural patriarchal
Assumptions is a multi-gendered land
Mark of accessible, richly textured
Narratives that will make you laugh, make you
cry,
And change your life forever through a unique
Voice of powerful unstinting timeless
Human condition moving milestone land
Mark compelling nuanced epic of searing
Honesty and gripping poignancy burnt
Into the human conscience challenges
The heterosexist patriarchal
Mainstream that will define a generation
Iconic sensual stunning absorbing
Lapidary roman a clef triumph
Definitive edgy in the tradition
Of luminous provocative. And stuff.
The Revolution
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
The Revolution
Little men arguing in shabby rooms
Meetings, manifestos, revolvers, bombs
Informers, spies, social organization,
Speeches, minutes, dues, What is to be Done?
The great cause of the Proletariat
Greetings from our good comrades in Smolensk
Nihilism, committees, secrecy
The thirst for culture is aristocratic
Nihilism is the only art of the people
Rumors, whispers, clandestine magazines
The unification of workers and peasants
Resolutions passed in the factory soviet
Clenched fists to reject the personal life
Electrification and equality
Cigarettes, vodka, the people’s justice
Against the parasitical bourgeoisie
Solidarity to destroy the kulaks
His poetry reeks of sentimentality
Self-centered intellectual decadence
The people’s will for the people’s party
Education for the twentieth century
Lift high the red banner, fill full the graves
mhall46184@aol.com
The Revolution
Little men arguing in shabby rooms
Meetings, manifestos, revolvers, bombs
Informers, spies, social organization,
Speeches, minutes, dues, What is to be Done?
The great cause of the Proletariat
Greetings from our good comrades in Smolensk
Nihilism, committees, secrecy
The thirst for culture is aristocratic
Nihilism is the only art of the people
Rumors, whispers, clandestine magazines
The unification of workers and peasants
Resolutions passed in the factory soviet
Clenched fists to reject the personal life
Electrification and equality
Cigarettes, vodka, the people’s justice
Against the parasitical bourgeoisie
Solidarity to destroy the kulaks
His poetry reeks of sentimentality
Self-centered intellectual decadence
The people’s will for the people’s party
Education for the twentieth century
Lift high the red banner, fill full the graves
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