Tuesday, August 31, 2021

"I Guess You Saw a Lot of Action, Huh?" - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“I Guess You Saw a Lot of Action, Huh?”

 

Don’t

 

You and I weren’t there; it’s none of our business

They will talk about it among themselves

Politely excluding us, as they should

Mostly each will grapple with it in the dark

 

Alone

 

You and I weren’t there; it’s none of our business

They might become more open when they are old

When God speaks to them from the desert and plain

But the decision is theirs; it is their pain

 

Theirs

 

You and I weren’t there; it’s none of our business

Don’t ask

Don’t even speak

Just leave it alone

Monday, August 30, 2021

A Remembrance - weekly column 29 August 2021

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Remembrance

 

Last week more of this nation’s finest young men and women were killed by a depraved suicide bomber.

 

Along with our young Marines, a Navy Hospital Corpsman (“Doc”), and a Soldier, hundreds of civilian men, women, and children were blown apart because they wanted to be free.

 

Our young American men and women were serving our nation and helping refugees because they were always encouraged to be the best.

 

Other young men and women are sometimes commanded by their perverse elders to be the worst.

 

There is a difference.

 

We have all seen our young men and women tend to the babies, the sick, and the elderly, giving them water and food and comfort. These are not propaganda images; every soldier, sailor, airman, and Marine who has seen the elephant can tell you of the generosity and kindness of American grunts toward displaced civilians. The notorious exceptions are just that, exceptions, a failure to meet the standards expected of every G.I.

 

Our wonderful young men and women, hardly out of their teens, died on their feet doing good, bravely and in the open.

 

Their murderer was a skulking wretch who could only cling to his hatred and his bomb.

 

There is a difference.

 

The young men and women who were murdered last week did not go to The Right Schools, did not wear custom-made uniforms with lots of shiny stars and gew-gaws, and did not sip single-malt in oak-paneled rooms with wealthy arms dealers I mean government contractors.  They carried rifles and aid-bags and the burden of duty, not briefcases, and they busted a sweat in the field, not on the golf course. The concept of summering in the Hamptons was unknown to them; they summered on the rifle range and in technical school

 

There is a difference.

 

They probably didn’t execute a salute as precisely and as prettily as some of our political leaders who never made the first day of recruit training, but their salutes meant something.

 

There is a difference.

 

These young men and women found a purpose.

 

They made a righteous difference.

 

They did good.

 

 

 

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: 

Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.

At the going down of the sun and in the morning

We will remember them.

 

-Laurence Binyon, “For the Fallen”

 

-30-

 

By God, The President Can Execute a Snappy Salute - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Man Can Execute a Snappy Salute

 

By God, the man can execute a snappy salute

Though he never made the first day of boot camp

Maybe he learned to salute from watching Patton

Or John Wayne movies, over and over

 

By God, the man can execute a snappy salute

Even while propped up by his briefcase boys

Showing off his practiced thousand-yard stare

While thirteen flag-covered coffins are carried by

 

By God, the man can execute a snappy salute -

And the brave young people who trusted him

 

Sunday, August 29, 2021

Why Does Saint Augustine Have Two Feast Days? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Why Does Saint Augustine Have Two Feast Days?

 

“Take it and read, take it and read.”

 

-Saint Augustine, Confessions

 

Trans. R. S. Pine-Coffin, Penguin Classics

 

Why does Saint Augustine have two feast days?

Because he speaks to both the East and West

A little child still says it to us twice

“Take it and read, take it and read.”

                                                         We should listen

Saturday, August 28, 2021

We All Dream of Our Own Library Someday - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

We All Dream of Our Own Library Someday

 

If you have a garden and a library, you have everything you need.

 

-attributed to Marcus Tullius Cicero

Ad Familiares, Letter IV to Varro

 

 

We all dream of our own library someday

Shelf after shelf of finely bound editions

An oak-paneled room with a stone fireplace

And French windows that open to the sea

 

We all dream of our own library someday

A handsome wooden table instead of a desk

Lamplight and candlelight that fall upon

The open pages of a Russian poet

 

We all dream of our own library someday -

For now, a back-pack paperback must do



(My dream library is in a wood or a wooded park, but “sea” set itself into place and refused to move. Perhaps I saw your dream library for a moment.)


Friday, August 27, 2021

An Old Man Clinging to a Microphone - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

 

An Old Man Clinging to a Microphone

 

Those he commands move only in command,

Nothing in love…

 

-Macbeth V.ii.19-20

 

An old man bowed his head, maybe in prayer

Asking forgiveness for the massacre of innocents

Or maybe he was sorry only for himself

Because no one liked him anymore

 

His speech was as fragmented as the dead

He gobbled out words, poor scripted cliches’

Those in attendance felt little for him -

Pity, yes, and surely something of fear

 

For no one dared ask him, as he shuffled away,

“Mr. President, will you please resign today?”

Thursday, August 26, 2021

Gifted - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

“Gifted” is not a Verb

 

“Stop it. Just stop it.”

 

-Bob Newhart

 

A gift is given, not gifted

“Give” is the given action verb

Let not your strong usage be shifted -

Just dump the fashions at the curb

Wednesday, August 25, 2021

Noah Sends out Another Dove Today - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Noah Sends out Another Dove Today

 

Some other land, some other sea

 

-Cavafy, “The City”

 

If Noah were to release that dove today

It would fall along with the olive branch

Along with all hope, blasted out of the sky

Its bloody feathers fluttering to earth

 

Among refugees who haven’t the right papers

Tuesday, August 24, 2021

Boxes are for FedEx - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Boxes are for FedEx

 

You don’t want to hear about my boxes

I don’t much care much about your boxes

Boxes are for FedEx. And birthday gifts

Good Comrades check boxes;

                                                poets create

Beauty among the chaos

Monday, August 23, 2021

"Hell in a Very Small Place" - weekly column, 22 August 2021

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

“Hell in a Very Small Place”

 

Note: Events in Kabul could make this column obsolete before its publication, or even before it is finished.

 

There are only ten, maybe fifteen Americans – I am one of them - who do not know how to evacuate from Kabul the thousands of Americans, allies, and the many people now on a Taliban death list because they worked as receptionists or cleaners or area supervisors for any of the many nations who had charities, businesses, investments, or military services in Afghanistan.

 

A comparison is never exact; if it were it would be the thing itself and not a comparison. That said, the airport in Kabul appears to be a Dien Bien Phu, meeting the Bernard Fall standard of “Hell in a very small place.”

 

The airport is a small area, surrounded by an army of evil men and crowded with thousands of desperate civilians who need lots of food, water, shelter, and protection. It is garrisoned by British, American, Italian, French, Turkish and German soldiers who need lots of food, water, ammunition, and the other necessities of war. The only way in or out is by aircraft, and those can be downed on approach or takeoff even by light weapons (which our government so thoughtfully provided to the wrong people). The electricity and water can be cut at any time and the backups shelled, and then the Taliban will have our people and our friends in a position that cannot be held for more than a few hours.

 

A question is why the Taliban are waiting. Are they secretly negotiating with London and Washington for huge payoffs? Presumably they are also putting their armor and artillery (again, which our government so thoughtfully gave them) into position along with assault formations, possibly coordinated by efficient, ruthless Chinese Red Army liaison officers.

 

But maybe the Chinese aren’t involved – the fellows from the hills who were dismissed by our leaders as disorganized seventh-century tribal warriors turned out to be pretty darned organized after all. Many of them can’t read, write, or think critically, but they are excellent with electronics and the best and latest weapons (and you paid for all that stuff).

 

By the way, when you get up tomorrow morning and coax your old car’s engine into turning over so you can go to work, think about all the Taliban swelling around Kabul in all those expensive Hummers your work bought for them.

 

Why all this is happening is to me unknown.  I know only that a great many young American soldiers and those of other countries have been left with a mess made by our leader-class who know more about partying than they do about history.  While the tailored suits of Merovingians and the tailored uniforms of courtier-generals are positioned for Bagdad-Bob press briefings in D.C., our young enlisted women and men, some cranky old NCOs, and maybe a grey-haired major or two long ago passed over for promotion are in the dust in Kabul sorting out the mess. Their uniforms aren’t pretty, what with the blood and dirt and heat, but maybe they won’t be written up for being non-reg.

 

When this is all over there will be more medals and commendations handed out along the halls of the Pentagon than will be awarded to real soldiers.

 

But, hey, who needs to know history, right? It’s one of those useless liberal arts. All we need to do is chant “Learn. To. Code.” over and over.  Well, we learned to code, all right, but the products of all that coding have been given to the Taliban and their new Red Army pals.

 

What will happen this week in Kabul? And who will be left behind?

 

 

Massacre of British Army in Afghanistan in 1842 (thoughtco.com)

 

The Second Anglo-Afghan War in the Late 1870s (thoughtco.com)

 

Hell In A Very Small Place: The Siege Of Dien Bien Phu: Fall, Bernard, Fall, Bernard B.: 8601234570592: Amazon.com: Books

 

Soviet invasion of Afghanistan | Summary & Facts | Britannica

 

-30-

 

Absent Friends and Failing Light - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Absent Friends and Failing Light

 

We all have lists of absent friends

Who were with us one week and Covid the next

With unfinished stories and little jokes

We meant to tell each other the next time we met

 

The very picture of health, we say to ourselves

Shooting a few hoops (“Yeah, I still got it!”)

Washing the pickup, coffee after Mass

Merriment – but then a note – in failing light

 

Life is shadowy, seen through a dark, dark lens

We all have lists of absent friends

Sunday, August 22, 2021

The Critics not Taken - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Critics not Taken

 

Everyone says we’re reading the poem all wrong -

“The Road not Taken” is about Edward Thomas

Joining the army or Robert Frost not

And why is one road less traveled and is that good?

 

Is it bad? And why is the wood yellow?

Who is prolonging the decision, and why?

Maybe the road not taken should be

Quoting it at every high school graduation

 

We’ve heard it so often that we want to say:

Just make a decision then go away!

Saturday, August 21, 2021

A Laser Focus on Screaming Deaths - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

A Laser Focus on Screaming Deaths

 

Look upon my Works, ye Mighty, and despair

 

-Shelley, “Ozymandias”

 

Laser focus laser focus laser

Focus laser focus laser focus

Laser focus teens falling to their deaths

Laser focus escape for two thousand dollars

 

Laser focus or a promissory note

If the enemy overrun the airport

We’ll laser focus your refund back to you

With this laser focus degree of precision 

 

Shredded body in the laser focus

Of the wheel well

Friday, August 20, 2021

Floyd Makes a Bomb Threat at the Library of Congress - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Floyd Makes a Bomb Threat at the Library of Congress

 

No one imagines a bomber encountering

A congressman anywhere near a library

No one imagines Brother Floyd encountering

A dentist

 

Suspicious vehicle near Library of Congress; US Capitol Police | khou.com

Thursday, August 19, 2021

On the Occasion of Being Scanned by an Electro-Mechanical Device - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

On the Occasion of Being Scanned by an Electro-Mechanical Device

 

The room is softly lit, like a Star Trek Set

Mostly pale, indirect blues, occasional pinks

A large circle, like a mechanical god

Appears to be a portal spinning through time

 

DO NOT LOOK INTO THE RED LIGHT

 

The machine slides me into itself

And commands me in a soothing plastic voice

“Take a deep breath and hold it.”

[Pause]

 

DO NOT LOOK INTO THE RED LIGHT

 

“Breathe normally.”

[Pause]

“Take a deep breath and hold it.”

[Pause]

 

“Breath normally.”

 

DO NOT LOOK INTO THE RED LIGHT

 

But breathe

 

Breathe

Wednesday, August 18, 2021

Signs not Found in High School Locker Rooms

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Signs not Found in High School Locker Rooms

 

There is no I in eye.

 

You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take except in the “Hi, Bob!” thing, in which case maybe you should.

 

When the going gets tough, the tough think of logical alternatives.

 

We’re Number Ten!

 

Through these doors walk unhappy kids whose parents are re-living their youthful disappointments through their children.

 

That which does not kill you lowers your resistance to disease.

 

Pain is just weakness traveling to a lifetime of bone and joint clinic visits.

 

Shoot for the moon – if you miss you’ll fall screaming to your death.

 

Starving children working in contract sweat shops to make licensed team gear aren’t interested in your motivation.

 

And let’s be real – failure is always an option.

Tuesday, August 17, 2021

Ode on a Coffee Urn - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

Ode on a Coffee Urn

 

If Keats Took His Morning Coffee

at Hub City Diner in Lafayette, Louisiana

 

Thou stainless steel bride of the day’s pale dawn

Thou foster-child of all our morning hopes

Patient historian who writes upon

The pages of our lives optimistic tropes:

 

What die-cut label hangs about thy shape

Of morning blends or sometimes darker roasts

From Jamaica’s Blue Mountain, or some further scape

Perhaps above Colombia’s green coasts

 

What men or gods are these who at Hub City can say

“What wonderful coffee for beginning the day!”

Monday, August 16, 2021

The Lone Ranger Masks Again - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Lone Ranger Masks Again

 

When I was a boy I wore my Lone Ranger mask

I even wore my Lone Ranger mask to school

Where mean ol’ Miz Griggs made me take it off

But now I may (as opposed to “can”) wear my mask

 

Indeed, I must wear a mask, and so, ha!

Ya can’t make me take it off now, Miz Griggs!

I can wear my Lone Ranger mask, so boo-hoo!

Me and the Lone Ranger, we ride again!

 

Only…the problem is…I’m not in school

 

Rats

Sunday, August 15, 2021

Back to School - weekly column 15 August 2021 (much of this is recycled from 2017)

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Random Thoughts about the First Day of School

 

For the past month there has not been a newspaper, radio station, or television station in this great land of saints and scholars that refrained from employing the cringe-making wheeze, “School is gearing up.”

 

No, school is not gearing up.  It has never geared up.  It will never gear up,  except maybe in Cousin Les’ auto shop class.  Let us make our first lesson of the Michaelmas term a caution against using tired metaphors.

 

Adverbs also obscure meaning.  There is no adverb less useful than “actually.”  After all, one cannot “unactually” do something.  And then there is “absolutely,” a useless four-syllable construction meaning “yes.”  Say “yes” to clear usage.

 

Back-to-school ads feature adorable little kidlets with big grins modelling the cooler-than-cool new shirts and skirts and jeans and sneaks, and maybe a notebook.  The children in school ads never carry, oh, you know, books.  Have you ever seen a b-t-s ad in which the kid was carrying a copy of The Brothers Karamazov or The Road to Magdalena or maybe a Jane Austen?  Nope, and you won’t see those books in the kid’s house, either; a big ol’ television the size of Rhode Island is the usual home altar and cultural center now. Who needs 2,000 years of Christian scholarship, music, and art when everyone can now lapse into a fuzzy-eyed stasis, the Lot’s-wife-as-a-pillar-of-salt thing, in front of the latest episode of Flip This Dancing House Cooking Show off the Island of Machine Gun Fire and Dead Bodies?

 

Is there a Texas Education Agency rule that school administrators must shave their heads and grow odd tufts of hair on their chins?

 

Dress codes and professional demeanor are issues that really annoy principals: slovenly clothes, weird hair, gang signs, flip-flops, tattoos, cartoon tee shirts, tardiness, inappropriate language – and that’s the faculty; the kids tend to do better.

 

Just a joke, guys, just a joke.

 

Did you know that algebra is now taught in junior high middle school? 

 

Algebra is not in the Bible, though. Jesus never said, “Solve for X.” Tell Mr. Romano that.

 

Mr. Randolph is an expert in band shoes.

 

Parents, do you know that your daughter can learn to weld in high school? 

 

Do you know that your son can escape the microwave bubble and learn real cookery in high school?

 

Kids, do you know that Julius Caesar and Macbeth are about American politics and layered with Christian teachings about right and wrong?

 

Shakespeare is great fun, but English teachers are borrrrrrrrrrrring.

 

When I was in school, back when wearing a mask was for The Lone Ranger, we kids learned about telling time by using construction paper and brads and crayons to construct a clock face on a paper plate.  I suppose now children print out a picture of a Fit-Bit and hot-glue it to a take-out pizza box. 

 

But busses / buses are still yellow (and their wheels still go ‘round and ‘round), new pencils (especially cedar, if you can find them) smell like your own childhood, the first day of school is exciting, 6th-grade band concerts are painful to the ear but symphonic to the soul, new clothes are nice, the first look at amoebae through a microscope is to visit a new world, sophomores should be fitted with tracking devices, the only real football is school football, your friendly librarian will help you find the information you need, Robert Frost makes more sense than Congress, seniors pretty much rule the universe, and voting in a school board election remains a lonely experience.

 

The past few years have been rough in spots, and you have had to power through them. I hope and pray that this year the good old magic of back-to-school will stay with you through next May.

 

-30-

 

Flight of the Mild Geese - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com 

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

poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

 

The Mild Geese

 

The abbey geese, for reasons of their own

Waddled up from the pond and onto the lawn

To mingle with the habited brothers

After the midday Mass

 

Fr. R looked out, a bit cranky that day

And spoke with Benedictine clarity:

 

“White geese.”

 

“Black geese.”

 

“All geese.”