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Simple enough, big print but no big words
Simple enough for me, few words in me
I love the silences, they speak to me
In the ridges and fens among my crops

Simple enough, a pipe down at the pub
Simple enough for me - Guinness or Pimms
I love a pint in the evenings with the lads
In the corner, well armed with pints and darts

Simple enough, big print but no big words
For a penny catechism kind of man
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
 Feb 2019 ConnectHook
Caleb John
Caleb

Your God called you to life

So why do you cling to death

Let go of your Gods

Remain steadfast in who you are

Remain strong in what you know to be true

This world has nothing for you

Cling to your God
For Young Artists, Musicians, Scientists, Poets, and Philosophers

Be strong in your Pixies, for some will say
That you are wasting your time on fantasy
When you should be laboring hard all day
As servant to some old master’s machinery

Be strong in your Pixies, yes, even when
You are all grown up, and have a great career
Dream still again each magic forest and glen
And keep your Pixie-knowledge close and clear

Be strong in your Pixies, and sometimes glance
Back to that moonlit realm, where Pixies dance
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
 Feb 2019 ConnectHook
Rich Hues
Gobbing and thrashing
       To Jello Biafra,
Before your damascene conversion into
        Something from Kafka,
The feminist utopia -
        A left wing theocracy,
You should have read Forster's
   Two Cheers for Democracy,
With red dead Cortez
      In her little white coat,
Where only lunatics and women
     Bother to vote.
The boys get a mantra
    A three syllable jingle,
The reason he topped himself?
    The reason you're single?
 Feb 2019 ConnectHook
Rich Hues
There is a bookshop in town,
That smells of coffee and sandalwood and leather
Where millennials gather together,
Pink haired and proud,
Illiterate, opinionated and loud,
Owners of cats, vibrators and at least one sexually transmitted disease,
The feminist alternative to a family, they seem happy with these
...For now...
Not yet ready to play wife and ruin a sorry incel's life.

Why should they spare me a second look?
As I deface a poetry book,
Looking for the poem that annoys me most,
In the hope of upsetting the poet's passing ghost.

The summoned sales assistant asks me to stop - so -
I ask her what it's like to work in a shop.
She goes for help and while she calls, I decorate the margin with a **** and *****.
In the real world, posting bane,
A pencil meme, the mark of Cain.

Banned, I'm thrown out on my ear,
And so
...For now...
I'm here.
O sink not down in 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
You fling your hurting soul against old walls
Those peeling walls presume to fling it back
A wood-roach scuttles across your hopeless hopes
Through cigarette-ashes of eternity

The wreckage of the past a pile of books
The bleakness of the now a cheap tv
Unheard in the humming of electric strips
Unholy unpostolic poverty

There is no insulation against tomorrow
But the Poly-Perk blesses your cup of sorrow
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is:
Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.
It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.


Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  The Road to Magdalena, Paleo-Hippies at Work and Play, Lady with a Dead Turtle, Don’t Forget Your Shoes and Grapes, Coffee and a Dead Alligator to Go, and Dispatches from the Colonial Office.
From the cast of Trump
Throes a country tis of thee
Oh say can you see

Logan Robertson

1/02/2019
From Trumps deliverance/role/mold/infirmity comes pain/(play on word- throw) on his whims/teeters/tooters/totters
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