Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

The Luna Moth

The moon does not in fact wax anything,
She does not wane; she simply ever-is;
She rules the softly-sung, soft-summer nights,
A willing queen, and willingly obeyed.
The luna moth, her winged votary,
Clings to indulgent oaks of their kindness,
Their moon-sent goddess from another world,
And strangely robed and crowned in lunar green,
Pheroming softly for some other moth
To come perform with her those rituals
Of love illogical, of sacrifice;
For all a luna moth can do is live
A summer week or so, but in those hours

She loves

In lunar beauty, strangely eternal
Who needs a dying luna moth?
                                                We do.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

Sean Spicer Never Metaphor He Didn’t Like

Walk back those Spicerian goosesteps, dude
(And while you’re there, unblame the Russians)
Similes using ****** are always rude
And now you’ll suffer Tweeter concussions

Cops will drag you away from your lectern
Like that screaming fellow aboard the plane
And make each reportorial neck turn
Heads swiveling to see where you’ve left your brain

Blame everything on the Russians?  You bet!
It must be true; it’s on the GossipNet

This began as a criticism of overproduced, hammy, yowly, look-at-me, as-arranged-by-a-junior-high-assistant-band-director interpretations of the National Anthem.  It deteriorated. I blame the Russians.

Does Anyone Sing the National Anthem These Days?

Because Francis Scott Key was all about Who-Whoa-Whoa and Yay-Yay-Yay

A minute or so of recorded music
Over-produced in that insta-emo style
Then followed by “Whoa whoa yay oh yay whoa
Whoa yay yay yay whoa oh yay whoa whoa whoa

Whoa yay oh yay whoa whoa yay yay yay whoa
Oh yay whoa whoa whoa whoa yay oh yah
Yay whoa whoa yay yay yay whoa oh yay whoa
Whoa whoa whoa yay oh yay whoa whoa yay yay

Yay whoa oh yay whoa whoa whoa yay yay
It’s all about me-me-me-me-me-meeeeeeeeeeemeeeeeeeeeeeemeeeeeeee!”

Followed by –

Baseball: “Play ball!”

Racetrack: “Gentlemen, start your engines!”

Rodeo: “Gentlemen, start your cattle!”

The federal government’s Outer Continental Shelf Oil & Gas Lease Sales
Close: “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s open your sealed bids!”

School: “Teachers, start your sophomores.”

Austin, Texas City Council: “And now, Comrade Muffin Snort-Ponsonby,
BA, MA, MEd, Chair Emerita of the Travis County Sensitivity League, will
chant her original composition, “Spiritual Wind-Song Ode to Comrade
Stalin.”

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

If you send me kind words, let me thank you now, because trying to reply is often futile under the new regime.

Whack-a-Cabinet Secretary

The New Children’s Game for Old Children

One pops up; someone whacks him down
Two more pop up; we can only frown
After the third, we take the hint:
We have no stable government

Palm Sunday in Egypt
9 April 2017

Revelation 20:4

Poor bleeding Egypt, Mother of martyrs
Whose sands receive the gift of sacred blood
Almost without an end: the Apostle Mark,
Saint Katherine, and even on this day:

A child in the narthex scampering about
Although his mother told him to behave
A man waiting for a friend, passers-by
Someone hoping that the sermon is short

O may they now with Christ enter into
Golden Jerusalem, now and forever

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

502 Bad Gateway
____________
nginx/1.1.19

Dear Friends,

This has been fun, but with the late changes I can make nothing of the HelloPoetry site.  If I can manage to submit this, please know that you can continue to read my scribblings on my own poorly-accomplished – but functional – site, Reactionary Drivel at reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com.  It’s not really reactionary, tho’ it’s often drivel!  And if you will send me the name of your site, I will follow you there.

Cheers,

Lawrence


Good-bye, Poetry?

Oh, Eliot, what has happened to your wonderful site
Your gift of poetry to a suffering world?
Did some Morlock in an unhappy hour
Break into spring to make it winter again?

Who has torn and scattered the pages
And thus obscured the words so carefully shaped
By the fugitive keepers of dreams
Who seek for them again in the wilderness?

There once was a workshop for poor scribblers –
A studio of dreams – may it be restored!



Well Done, Thou Good and Faithful Cat

for Calvin

Yes, surely there will be another cat
But not this Cat, not this Big Orange Dust-Mop
Lounging “with abs of steel and *** appeal”
At his window, hungry for hummingbirds

Or lurking there behind that door to swat
His Sarah, who served as his household staff,
For failing to render due obeisance
To him, the superior MagnifiCat

Dear Calvin –

For now, farewell, until that better World,
O happy, leaping, loving childhood friend

Fifty Shades of Cruise Missiles:
The Night of 6 April 2017

The news appears on the glowing telescreen:
“50+ Missiles Aimed at Syria”
The typeface set in a lurid shade of red
With a flashing cartoon police-car light

And because I was walking in the fields at dusk
I am still armed for a war against age
With a walking stick propped inside the door
Proof against nothing but instability

Useless against missiles or poison gas
I had better go to bed with a good book