Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

           Fire Ants Devouring the Corpses of Unhatched Wasps


                      Nature does not, in the long run, favour life.

                  -C. S. Lewis, “On Living in an Atomic Age,” 1948


A formation of formicidae trekked north-northwest
Across a vast and lonely sunbeaten expanse
Their imperial quest a fallen wasps’ nest
Between a lawn chair and a potted plant

The ants greedily ripped open the paper shells
Like Christmas crackers for the goodies inside
The ghastly drippings of pupae in their jaws
Fragments of dead wasplings for their demanding queen

A formation of formicidae trekked east-southeast -
What, then, is the number of an unnumbered beast?

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                             We Were Dressers of Sycamores


                                         Amos 7: 12-15
                                         Saint Mark 6: 7-13

           From the readings for the 15th week in Ordinary Time


All of us are sent, one place or another
On curious missions little understood
No detailed instructions, no notes, no maps
Take this road and go on until it ends

And greet the folks you meet along the way
Some of them will need your help, your love
Some of them will give you help, their love
And one of them might ****** you

All of us are sent, one place or another
We can’t get out of it; we're needed, brother

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         Those Who Stereotype “These Professors”

                                                   Exodus 20:16

These professors

Dr. Moriarty was a PFC on certain Pacific islands
Who could bayonet an enemy
Clear a jammed machine gun under fire
See his pals blown to pieces next to him
And work out subtle textual analyses

These professors

Dr. Chambers was a retired colonel of Marines
A natty little man in blazer and bowtie
Who could bayonet an enemy
See his pals blown to pieces next to him
Deconstruct the minutiae of energy distribution
And toss a foul-mouthed football player out on his sorry ***

These professors

Dr. Dale was a butcher until his thirties
When he entered college for the first time
He knew your hamburger from the outside in
The economics of building a business
He probably could have bench-pressed a Ford Fiesta
And when he spoke of Wordsworth, Keats, and Coleridge
You could feel the air of The Lake Country

These professors

“These professors” were complete men
Strong in war and word and wisdom and work
Unlike envious Unferths who learn life only second-hand
                    From Fox News and John Wayne movies
                    And closed loops of echoing InterGossip sites

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                  On the Events of 13 July 2024

                                                  …that we but teach
****** instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague th’ inventor. This even-handed justice
Commends th’ ingredience of our poisoned chalice
To our own lips.

                                    -Macbeth I.vii.8-12

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Macbeth, Doctor Zhivago, Captain Call, Yevgeny Yevtushenko, Allen Ginsberg, and Rod McKuen Visit the Dentist but Have to Wait for Beowulf's Root Canal

         In gratitude for all the wonderful dentists, hygienists, and
                       technicians who keep us chewing!


                                  Macbeth Visits the Dentist

Is this a drill which I see before me
The whirring drill outstretched to my teeth
O happiest gas! Come let me clutch thee!
Before my body I throw my dental shield


                            Dr. Zhivago Visits the Dentist

Poor dental hygiene is for crowds of mediocrities
Only individuals seek dentistry
And they shun those who tolerate bad teeth
How many things in the world deserve our loyalty?

A dentist whose papers are in order


                            Captain Call Visits the Dentist

Call saw that the dentist was looking at him
The nitrous oxide drained out of him
Leaving him feeling tired
“I hate a bad tooth. I won’t tolerate it.”


                 Yevgeny Yevtushenko Visits the Dentist

For a tooth to come out
Some of the pain must be devoted to Stalin
Soviet dentistry demanded happy endings
I knew I could floss and brush better than Mayakovsky
Bella’s teeth were second only to those of Akhmatova
Only I could make Babi Yar all about me and my teeth
When I saw a dentist in Zima Junction
I saw the truth of the Revolution in her little mirror


                     Allen Ginsberg Visits the Dentist

I saw the best teeth of my generation destroyed by sugared sodas and a failure to brush and floss

dragging themselves through the medical complex at dawn looking for a fix

thinning-hair old hipsters burning for relief from aching jaws at the healing hands of dedicated professionals among their shining instruments

dedicated professionals who did not drop out of the University of Arkansas and never saw Mohammedan angels among the rooftops


                                   Rod McKuen Visits the Dentist

I am like a molar; I have chewed alone
Gnawed a hundred hamburgers
Never found a bone
Still and all I’m toothy
Reason is you see
Once in a while along the way
Dentists have been good to me.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                Beowulf Visits the Dentist

Arise from the nitrous oxide

From the somnolence, dreams, and pain

With forge-hammered teeth

And then go out

Go out and bite something

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                         ­   Ford vs Chevy

In an era where everyone was either Ford or Chevy
I was an MG roadster
Unreliable
But lots of fun

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                        “Is That MePhone Surgically Attached to you?”


“Is that thing surgically attached to you?” the teacher sighed.

“You can’t talk to me like that!” the MePhone replied.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                    How is Your Adventure So Far?

                                  Tell me, what is it you plan to do
                                  with your one wild and precious life?

                                 -Mary Oliver, “The Summer Day”

Even if you are looking up at an I.V. drip
Instead of green leaves and a summer sky
Your adventure is not nearly at an end
Not even in this life – and the next life, wow!

Your childhood joys have never slipped away
That cheesy 45 rpm that graced your first dance
Has not come to the end of its groovy grooves
You’ve still got the happiness, the moves

Your first job, boot camp, university
Riding a big red bus ‘round Piccadilly Circus
Drinking from your canteen on a mountain top
Your first kiss, that evening in Rome – there’s more to come!

Your first car is still parked in the driveway
Waiting to take you where you always meant to go

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                        Their Ephemeral Temples Look Much the Same

Their ephemeral temples look much the same
In a semi-circle the faithful sit or stand
And turn their eager faces to an altar flood-lit
To be magicked by their leaders and gods

They wave their arms in ecstasy and awe
While lantern-slides of flags and martyred heroes
Ripple as electronic waves beamed into their eyes
Commanding free obedience through spontaneous scripts

At dawn

Contractors will tear away the plywood and paint
Take down the plastic statues and columns
The recordings of programmed emotions
And heave them into the beds of rented trucks

Preaching or politics, or some other game:
Their ephemeral temples look much the same

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                        Two Chairs Overthrown

Overnight the wind tossed two lawn chairs about
The revolution abandoned them bottoms up
Unoccupied and whoopsy-daisy down
Leaving them unable to grace the dawn

Sheet-metal thrones, unoccupied, alone
Ozymandian relics among the grass
Where once (yesterday dusk) two wise men sat
And ruled the lawn with their single-malt thoughts

Oh, who will raise these royal seats and speak
With authority and knowledge to all who seek?

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  Hurricane II: Outer Bands and Second Thoughts

Clouds give way to sun
Winds to stillness, birds circle
In healing symmetry

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                      Hurricane I: Outer Bands and Inner Thoughts

Sun gives way to clouds
Stillness to winds, birds circle
Searching for meaning

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

           Reading the Magna Carta Will Make Us Smarter

                  (And it bans fish weirs in the Thames)

The Kings have been subject to the law since 1215
But are American presidents? That remains to be seen

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

     A Sunday Morning Church Message: “Some Folks Need Killing”

             “…disciple-makers through the power of Jesus Christ!”

                                            -Lake Church

A lieutenant-governor strutting and yelling in church
Demanded the deaths of “some folks” unspecified
The faithful of Lake Church heard out his deadly cause
And then obediently applauded him -

The man who might someday order their executions

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                            Hurricane Track Attack Forth and Back

Spaghetti models are not really spaghetti
But only colored lines across electric maps
Squiggling in iridescence around the Gulf
Slithering atop the waves, then to your house

The weather reporters’ cliches fall from the skies
As microbursts of bottled-water-babbles
Canned goods and fresh radio batteries
Tune to this station as your roof blows away

Spaghetti models are not really spaghetti
But watch the newsie in the street – he’s getting all wet-ty!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                      Yes, We Are a Republic – Much Like Haiti

              As for the men in power, they are so anxious to establish
              the myth of infallibility that they do their utmost to ignore
              truth.

                                -Pasternak­, Doctor Zhivago

In America every night is Kristalnacht
Everyone seems to hate everyone else
Gunfights in our parks, mass murders everywhere
Communist-made fireworks celebrate freedom

From state to state a reichskirche is on the march
Employment is down, prices are up
Vultures circle our dying President
Some in Congress promote raw genocide

The Supreme Court authorizes presidential crimes -
As St. Thomas More said to Lord Norfolk:
                                                                ­  “I show you the times”

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         It Wasn’t the Fourth of July

                 That we may wander o’er this ****** field
                 To book our dead, and then to bury them

                                 -Henry V IV.vii.75-76

It wasn’t the fourth of July, but it was about then
Near the Cambodian border, on the Vam Co Tay
Searching for two American airman whose machine had gone down
Down, down into the steaming green Vam Co Tay

Bloated and floating, quite still when we saw them
The sloshy prop wash bumped them about a bit
Empty eye sockets, mouths open in silent screams
We poncho-linered their bodies aboard the boat

Cigarettes of despair against the stench and rot
This was not what we sang about in school

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                            The Haunted Electric Toothbrush

This morning at dawn
I was alone
I heard a moan
A mysterious groan
A ceaseless drone
It wasn’t the ‘phone

It was my toothbrush

It had on its own
Turned itself on

My Philips Sonicare ™© and (legal protections in a peach tree) has done me good service for years. This morning it turned itself on atop a glass shelf with other little bottles of this and tubes of that, making an unusual moaning / groaning / droning that took me some time to sort out. It is a great device; when it finally hands in its lunch pail (as Bertie Wooster would say) I will buy another just like it.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                              An Old Crucifix on the Garden Gate

Summer is better in theory than in practice
A vision through the window of a shady lawn
All green beneath perfect Robin Hood oaks
Bright leaves, a chair, a book, a glass of tea

But the thermometer stands at 97
Even the shade itself wants to burn one’s skin
Wasps seem to seek their end in suicide dives
Wanting to die beneath the swing of a hat

Summer is better as abstract theories
And in our happy childhood memories

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                   The Honor of Being Posted to an Enemies List

             Trump Amplifies Calls to Jail Top Elected Officials,
             Invokes Military Tribunals

                                        -DNUZ, 1 July 2024

Our leaders are making lists of enemies
We should want to be at the top of them:
Resistant and insolent, contemptuous
Of tyrants and their pathetic disapproval

I fear that I am not important enough
To be on anyone’s national list
But then perhaps the local party faithful
And their Q Boys will write me up instead

True Americans will be booed and hissed
But what an honor to be on that list!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                        Shakespeare: But I Gave You Your Start

                          Cf. Shakespeare’s Sonnets 79 & 80

Once upon a time you and I were alone
I wrote of your virtues and your beauty rare
You posed for me, for a portrait painted in verse
You gave my poor iambics a forever glow

Your best is so much better than my good
And so I understand if you have found another pen
To pleasure you with far more skillful words
While I am left with an empty, unmade page

There are other poets of superior art
But please remember that I gave you your start

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         The Principal Who Liked His Pizza

If test scores made HIM look good – pizza for all
And a hallway plaque with HIS NAME at the top
If HE could claim an academic win – pizza for all
And another plaque with HIS NAME at the top

If the drama team won a competition – pizza for all
And another plaque – HE was HIS favorite topping
If the football team won district – pizza for all
And a bigger plaque with HIS NAME at the top

And when the evening sun set over the gym
Five or six of those pizzas went home with HIM

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  James Bond Faces Aunt Agatha’s Inquisition

                   No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to REDACTED

                   Rewriting James Bond: Offensive references to be
                   removed from Ian Fleming’s 007 novels | Euronews

Ian Fleming’s novels are *******; that’s the point
Laddy boy books for laddy boys and laddy dads
An escape from duties and domesticities
With the weekly cigar and the weekly glass

The sentencing:

Assign him Jane Austen as his reading list
No car chases, gunfire, or bikinis
Henceforth he may drink only herbal tea
And breathe only candle-scented air

Reduce him to a weakling all pale and harried
And then complain that he’s not the man you married

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  National Public Radio on Saturday Morning
                  While Driving to the Dump in an Old Pickup
                  Whose Radio Receives Only Two Stations

Wait, wait; don’t bore me

(knowing chortles and polite applause)

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

Except for the title none of this is mine; the direct quotation following is from Shakespeare:

                                              Jill Macbeth

…Come, you spirits
That tend on mortal thoughts, unsex me here,
And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full
Of direst cruelty! make thick my blood,
Stop up th’ access and passage to remorse,
That no compunctious visitings of nature
Shake my fell purpose, nor keep peace between
Th’ effect and it! Come to my woman’s *******,
And take my milk for gall, your murd’ring ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances
You wait on nature’s mischief! Come, thick night,
And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell
That my keen knife see not the wound it makes,
Nor heaven peep through the blanket of the dark
To cry, “Hold, hold!”

                                         -Macbeth I.v.41-62

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Macbeth, by William Shakespeare

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                            Monsoon Coffee

The old men argue whether we have monsoons
Or if our afternoon thunderstorms are unworthy
Of scientific labels, notations, or marks
To be discussed on the six o’clock news

Each day at four I take my coffee outside
To sit beneath the oak and take the air
With a book, the Wordle, or an empty mind
As thunderheads rise like monsters in the east

Fearsome clouds menace the sky-paling moon
And breezes wind themselves up for the daily monsoon

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                         ­  Double Haters

                            The windiest militant trash
                            Important Persons shout

                      -W. H. Auden, “September 1, 1939”

No
I am not a double hater
I am a single writer
Since both parties chose to crater
I refuse to choose either blighter
They offer us only Stink and Stank
So I will leave my ballot blank

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

               You Are Not Something Burnt into the **** of a Cow

So many people want to be brands
I hope you are not a brand
I want to read your words, not your brands
You are a poet
You are not a label on a tin of tomatoes
Or something burnt into the **** of a cow

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                      The Percolation of Our Beautiful Green Earth

Like MeeMaw’s aluminum coffee ***
The earth percolates through all the seasons
Of rain and drought and freeze, of dust and mud
The ground we work gives up its annual troves

The tiller’s tines turn up old pocketknives
Old nails, old screws, old bits of window glass
An unfired flash cube from a party long ago
Gardening is also archaeology

I excavate from the machine while sitting in the shade
Decades-old fence wire wrapped around the blade

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                            Waiting-Room Art:
      Same Old Bicycle Leaning Against the Same Old Sunlit Wall

We’ve all seen that bicycle, that sunlit wall
In photographs taken in Italy
And Austin (don’t forget the bike-lock now)
In paintings from old-lady art classes everywhere

Perhaps that bike and wall are a Statement
About Milieu and Patina and, like, stuff
Neoformalist New Socialist Realism
Inverted kitsch deflating the patriarchy

I propose a fresh vision: what I would like
Is that old wall crumbling, and crushing that bike

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                     You’re in Good Shape – for a Man Your Age

                         Which is what my NP and doctors say

My heart has a gadget to make it tick
I stumble about with a walking stick
My brand-new glasses are ever so thick
My neck it suffers a perpetual crick
And I just don’t get around so quick
But I’ve still got my hair; it’s pretty slick
And I’m young in spirit, still doing my schtick!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                      Giv­ing People The Bird

                                An Empty Chick-fil-A Car
                      Idling in the Medical Clinic’s Red Zone

Blocking the patients-only zone is a bit absurd
Or maybe Chick-fil-A is simply giving us The Bird

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                            From Shakespeare: It’s Complicated

                                  Cf. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 78

Oh, yes, you have long been a muse to me:
Erato, certainly, a goddess in jeans and sneaks
Euterpe when you sing along to the radio
But maybe now a sad Melpomene

Oh, yes, you have long been a muse to me
To my poor eyes to scan and deeply see
And then translate your joy into iambic lines
In gratitude, in hope, in forever words

Oh, yes, you have long been a muse to me
But now to others – and are we not to be?

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                The Hanging of Jake Spoon

                 Nothing in his life / Became him like the leaving it

                                         Macbeth I.iiii.7-8

At dusk. Heat. Heat and dust. Jake’s last slow ride
Words through a fog of fear, last words, slow words
Old pals and dead enemies on either side
Slow cooings and callings from unseen prairie birds

Smooth Jake, always good for a laugh and a drink
A ladies’ man, a gamblin’ man, a man of charm
Unreliable, yes, not one to pause and think
Tho’ he never meant nobody no harm

He suddenly spurred his pacer, making amends
His moment of nobility, to spare his friends

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                         ­        Ad Covers Content

V: Ad covers content

R: Thanks. Feedback improves Google ads.

V (Vox clamantis in deserto): No, it doesn’t

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                           Three Gentlemen Perusing Books
          in the Wreckage of Holland House, December 1940


                                   Manuscripts Don’t Burn

                       -a trope in The Master and Margarita


You needn’t be a gentleman, or English
To care for music, art, truth, beauty, and books
To love civilization and all its possibilities
Through the measured dance of sub-creation

If you happened upon a bombed-out library
You would pull a surviving book from its smoking shelf
Open it to words you may have read long ago
And among transient ruins celebrate eternal verities

I hope I will have the courage to read with you

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                              Grab ‘Em by Their…Patriotism

                      Republican arrested after 'chasing an adult dancer
                      on a road while waving a gun at 2:45am

                               -U. K. Daily Mail, 20 June 2024

Now let this news serve as a stern rebuke
To those who say that America no longer stands tall
Or pursues positive domestic policies
In service to working women everywhere

Oh, may our bible salesman proudly wave his…
Flag as a brave new Paul Revere rides his…
Horse through every Middlesex village and town
Because if the British aren’t coming, someone else is

Now we know (hoist the banner upon its shaft!)
Just why they want our daughters for the draft

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                       Bullets Do Not Whine

Bullets do not whine as they pass one by
Nor do they

Clang
Zing
Ching
Sing
Whizz
Zip
Zap
Zow
Pow
Pew
Pop

What they really say, quite loudly, is
“S*!”

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

             The Fairies Themselves Now Dance Sweet Summer In

                         My work is loving the world.
                         Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird

                                      -Mary Oliver, “Messenger”

Everything is sacramental this week:

The Strawberry Moon in the fullness of being
Midsummer magic by day and by night
The English quarter day, the Feast of St. John
And holy bonfires in honor of light

Good honeybees take Communion at every flower
Soft breezes sing hymns among the ripening corn
The woods and fields are baptized in happiness
The sun and moon bless maidens and swains

We need no clocks or calendars to tell us when –
The fairies themselves now dance sweet summer in

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                  Old and Unselected Poems

Why do publishers entitle volumes of verse
                                   New and Selected Poems?
Is it the editors’ lack of imagination?
Or is it some sort of secular rubric
An inky “We’ve always done it that way?”

When you finish writing a poem it is new
It didn’t exist before you, and now it does
And someone who reads your poem has selected it
It wasn’t selected until someone picked it up

Every poem is forever new and selected
And to the joy of your friends, so are you

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

            Somewhere in New Mexico I tipped a Waitress 25%

        NOT I - NOT ANYONE else, can travel that road for
        you.   You must travel it for yourself.

                                         -Walt Whitman

On a cool autumn morning in New Mexico
A greasy spoon along the interstate
Walt Whitman and I enjoyed breakfast together
Bacon and eggs, hash browns, coffee and toast

And it was very good – no heaves of gas
But Whitman found an errand in some other soul
And sang a different self to California
McKuen rode with me the rest of the way

Breakfast was ninety-five cents; I added a quarter
The waitress was happy, and so were we all

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         Do You Miss Your Trapper-Keeper?

This is the middle of June so why
Haven’t the back-to-school sales begun?
This year’s cooler than cool styles
Have been stored in shipping containers

For months or years on Indonesian docks
Or in warehouses in Long Beach
The teeny-boppers who modelled those clothes
Might be in graduate school by now

If school were as cool as the ads
Taylor Swift would be the principal

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                     From Shakespeare: Happily Lacking in Originality

                                    Cf. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 76

A new sort of sunrise cannot be invented
Our loving moon is the same year after year
Summer lawns for barefootin’ are old news
Happy yellow bathtub ducks splash forever

And so my love for you cannot be renewed
Because it has no expiration date
My iambs and occasional rhymes are always fresh
From singing joyfully of ever-new you

A new sort of sunrise cannot be invented -
Except when you say “Good morning!” each day

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                       Don’t Be Still, My Heart

A brilliant young surgeon fitted my heart
With a scientific gadget to keep me alive
And I am alive, and grateful to him
Every time I read and laugh and mow the lawn

But now I read he’s been struck off the list
For a wicked crime – it was on the news
He listened to me and now I wish I could
Listen to him, and maybe help in some way

I read and think and pray and mow the lawn -
Don’t be still, my heart

Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                             1957: The Year We All Became Soviets

                 “…we’re going to get science applied to social problems
                  and backed by the whole force of the state…”

              Mark Studdock in C. S. Lewis’ That Hideous Strength

Soviet Science launched a beeping toy into space
In the name of Progress; a mass-murderer ordered it so
And a month later Science launched and killed sweet Laika
Abandoned in orbit to die alone

Brave America suffered the Aunt Pittypat vapours:
We too must launch our slide-rules into space
And set our children to study Sovietism
Send civilization into orbit to die alone

Dogs and apes and men have flamed out in crashes
And Alexandria again is but pale ashes

Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                   Mockingbirds at Dusk in a Time of War

They might be fighting; they might be he-ing and she-ing
Their leaf-rich oak could be their arena
Or it might serve them as their bower of bliss
For love in this magnolia-scented dusk

They’re still at it, whatever their “it” might be
But breaking off to blitz the subtle cat
Sneaking about in quest of a bunny or squirrel
But who from feathered fury must now retreat

They might be fighting; they might be he-ing and she-ing
But then
They might be mocking the rest of us


Bower of bliss – cf. Spenser’s *The Faerie Queene

Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                         ­ I Once Attended a Funeral...

I attended a funeral
Where the officiant did not
Talk about himself

Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         A White Buffalo Along the Yellowstone

The alligator-boot boys will gather ‘round
Mahogany tables with sky-high views
And there intrigue how best to use this news
For the enrichment of all their plans and plots

The new-born calf could be sold for experiments
Or maybe enclosed behind a barbed-wire fence:
“COME SEE THE SACRED WHITE BUFFALO FOR ONLY
                    TEN DOLLARS
OR A HUNDRED DOLLARS PER CAR SELFIE PERMITS EXTRA!

But you and I pray that whatever gods we know
Will protect this blessing, this baby buffalo



Rare white bison calf reportedly born in Yellowstone National Park: "A blessing and warning" - CBS News

Lawrence Hall HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                   Petite Bourgeois, Personal, and Self-Indulgent

                        I used to admire your poetry. I shouldn't admire
                        it now. I should find it absurdly personal. Don't you
                        agree? Feelings, insights, affections...it's suddenly
                        trivial now.

                   -Strelnikov to Yuri in Doctor Zhivago (film)

In the evenings I sit on my summer lawn
Slouched in an old, much-painted metal chair
That symbol of petite-bourgeois respectability
With a little table for my drink, my pipe, my book

(The cat pads by on errands of his own)

At dusk a friend or two might amble along
And join me for a glass, a smoke, a talk
We casually swat at mosquitoes and rumors
And argue about Doctor Zhivago and Lonesome Dove

(A fast-diving mockingbird mocks the cat)

In a fallen world of chaos and suffering
With fear of revolution in the air
Is it right to indulge ourselves with such trifles
As sitting and talking with old friends in the twilight?

Oh, yes

(The cat and the mockingbird continue their game)