Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

        The Writer, the Reader, and the Synapse Between Them

                                               Per V.B. & W.K.

From the writer to the reader
From the speaker to the listener

Like a 16-year-old crossing a field at noon
A little word has a lot of ground to cover in the heat
A mile of open ground to a wall and some trees
Where confusion does not want it to arrive

From the writer to the reader
From the speaker to the listener

If we send a little word across a field
But stay behind ourselves and only watch
To see what happens - how responsible are we
If the word dies screaming among the wheat

From the writer to the reader
From the speaker to the listener

Like a 16-year-old crossing a field at noon
A little word has a lot of ground to cover in the heat

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                This Side of the Covid

The Covid still is spinning me around
And flinging random thoughts against the roof
The bat-cave roof of this cosmic centrifuge
Whoops-a-go with a plastic temperature

And here’s a finger for the oxygen thing
With which to touch a passing ice-cream dream
And clutch it to a forest long sacrificed
For all the snot-paper I needed last week

So if, dear friends, I fail to make any sense
My words are piled in drifts along the fence

I think.

Maybe.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                        An Orderly Transition of Power, They Say

             Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame
             That darkness does the face of earth entomb
             When living light should kiss it?

                              -Macbeth II.iiii.9-11

On Inauguration Day there should be:

Children waving sparklers, avenues of light
High school bands and Boy Scouts in formation
Merriment along streets scrubbed clean and bright
A happy people in love with their nation

But we are given:

Soldiers, concertina wire strung between Corinthian columns, secret service, chain-link fencing, police, checkpoints, soldiers, roadblocks, secret service, rooftop marksmen, police, missile batteries, soldiers, no-go zones, secret service, lockdowns, police, lockouts, soldiers, security gates, secret service, identification checks, police, radar, soldiers, radios, secret service, body scans, police, x-rays, soldiers, sniffer dogs, secret service, permits, police, passes, soldiers, patdowns, secret service, badges, police, questions, soldiers

Fear

Why?

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

           Soldiers Sleeping Beneath a Bust of Father Abraham

In the Capitol exhausted soldiers sleep
Beneath a bust of Abraham Lincoln
And a sign that reads: “Cameras and related gear
Not authorized in this area.”

After days of transports and formations
Of stringing wire and policing the area
Of orders and marches and lines for the head
And maintenance of all weapons and gear

They sprawl just any whichaway on a floor
To be mocked with sneaky MePhone photographs
“Is that all our overpaid soldiers do? Sleep?”
And stepped around by those whom they protect

Insolent civilians might not give a ****
But our soldiers are blessed by Father Abraham

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

          The Understated Joys of Crows and Bedroom Slippers

The morning lawn is white with frost and mist
And speckled black with a claque of sneaky crows
Bullying the little birds aside for the seeds
Before the squirrels are up to contend for them

Into my Christmas slippers I push my feet
Slowly so as not to startle the birds
But they spy me through the window and rustle off
In insolent protest against all men

Because their feet are cold and mine are hot
Since I have slippers, and the crows have not!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

              The Ever-Glorious Presidential Medal of Freedom
                        With a Wal-Mart Gift Card Attached

As a child I played miniature golf, you see
So is there a Medal of Freedom for me?

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                             “My Temple Stands in Ephesus”

                                            -Pericles V.i.241

“My temple stands in Ephesus,” the goddess says
I don’t believe in goddesses, of course,
And stern Saint Paul would cut up rough about them
But we could wish them so, temples and gods

We could board a ship with a seeing eye
A ship of wonderful cargoes safely stowed
And let there be “Lords, Knights, Gentlemen,
Sailors, Pirates, Fishermen, and Messengers”

To speed our stories and our very selves
To where a temple stands in Ephesus

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      Snow Clouds for Children on a January Dawn

There could be snow later, and that would be nice
Children can grow up here and never see snow
Today they might go out and play in it
While we old folks tut-tut, “You’ll catch your death…”

But they are asleep, the snow is asleep
Only the rain is awake, drip, drip, drip
Making last summer’s leaves speak one last time
As they crumble into their winter sleep

There could be snow later, and that would be nice
For the children: a happy new year twice

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     ­   Antihistamine Dreams

My night-time sneezing, cold, and ‘flu medicine -
It flew me back to Viet-Nam last night
Not on a battlefield or Ye Olde Veterans’ tour
But with a mixed group younger than any war

From a tour bus I pointed out scenes of my youth
To people who wisely were not interested
Who with their Leicas took pictures of fields
And the languid flow of the Vam Co Tay

And there were no hard feelings anywhere
Until someone shot me from a window

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         You are the Daily Good – Thank You

                               What good shall I do this day?

                                         -Benjamin Franklin

So much good is being accomplished today:
Women and men going about their daily work
Food pantry volunteers stocking the shelves
Retirees prepping meals for everyone else

So much good is being accomplished today:
Little children study (and clean their plates)
A teen shops for his MeeMaw so she’ll be safe
A neighbor gives comfort to her grieving friend

So much good is being accomplished today:
And you and I are going to be a part of that

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                 Storm Heaven, if You Will

          In the midst of a world of light and love, of song and feast
          and dance, he could find nothing to think of more interesting
          than his own prestige.

                         -C.S. Lewis, A Preface to Paradise Lost

Storm Heaven with your selfless prayers, if you will
But not your fellow man with fists and flags

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                         All the President’s Mob

Sedition batters past the capitol police -
As Congress, sweet harmless Merovingians,
Arming from a thesaurus of pomposity
Meet the attempted coup with lofty words

While hidden far away, lurking unseen
Our Leader screams into his telescreen
Moving his dementia along the Potomac:
Glorifying himself in the highest

Our government, cowering on the floor
Maintains that it will not be intimidated

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

            Drive-Through Covid Testing and Bladder Control

Just waiting in a car-queue, something new
Every hour up a hundred yards or so
Readings on the MePhone, a book or two
And good ol’ Morning Al on the radio

Clutch, go, brake, clutch, inches at a time, wait
News on the up hour, and news on the down
Scan the QR code, number, name, and date
For the nice lady in a mask and gown

Hold your head forward, now strike a pose
Then up my nose the little swabbie-thing goes…

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                  An Asymptomatic Sinner

I burned a television set today
Which was a rewarding experience
A bonfire of the vanities indeed
Burn, you 140 channels, burn!

I am in quarantine, ‘though symptom-free
And there was an old television around
And so I burned it. And I’m glad, ha-ha!
Tomorrow I will rake the ashes for its guts

While in quarantine, waiting for my test -
A burning television is a merry jest!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                              Behold!

A story requires an occasional “Behold!”
Merely to see the magic is not enough
The children do not merely see Aslan
Nor does Uncle Andrew merely see the witch

Behold!

A story requires an occasional “Behold!”
Merely to see the Truth is not enough
The Magi do not merely see the Star
Nor do the shepherds merely see the Child

Behold!

A story requires an occasional “Behold!”
Or else the magic isn’t truly told

Behold!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     Seraphim of Sarov
                                         And the Bear
                                      And the Robbers

Saint Seraphim was seen feeding a bear
He would have fed the robbers too, poor men
With both the little in his larder bowl
And healing from the greatness of his soul

With his own axe they beat him near to death
Before looting his cell of its rumored riches
They found indeed a treasure of great wealth:
A peasant’s Ikon of the Mother of God

For the rest of his life

Seraphim leaned upon his axe and upon God
Taking our brokenness upon himself

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

       Useful Things Aboard a Delivery Truck on New Year’s Day

A new clothes-dryer for our little house
“MADE IN AMERICA” – but is it really?
By hand to the hydraulic lift, and down
And by dolly trolley into the laundry

It made its journey with someone’s new washer
A refrigerator, and a cast-iron cooker
Useful things delivered by working men
Wrestling trucks and freight for the common good

When their day’s work is done I hope that they
Can relax

(around a cooker, with a cold one in hand)

                        and say, “This was a good day.”

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                Happy Roman New Year - Join me for a Cuppa


                                   I went, and I am still going.

                                       -Yevgeny Yevtushenko
                                             “Zima Junction”


The dogs and I are out on our morning patrol
Greeting the new day, new month, and new year
Greeting the sun as he sings through woods
His song of Creation, Creation-fresh

I have fed the animals, lit the fire
Made coffee to enjoy at my old desk
With Edmondson, Wells, and their pal Shakespeare
And John Senior with his awfully thinky words

Fresh coffee, fresh words for me and for you –
Join me, won’t you, for a merry cup of brew!



I have no connection with the authors or publishers; I simply recommend them to you:

Edmondson, Paul and Wells. All the Sonnets of Shakespeare. Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2020

Senior, John. Pale Horse, Easy Rider. Lawrence, Kansas, Shakespeherian Rag Press, 1992

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     31 December 2020 –
                            Time Out for a Penalty Flag

             The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
             And God fulfills himself in many ways

                     -Tennyson, “The Passing of Arthur”

Change does not lie in calendars or dates
But in the seasonal turnings of the year
And in the ordered ways of God with us
Compassing us truly in spite of ourselves

Years are but our usages and measurings
Tools lent us for a time for learning Creation
For balancing the better against the good
And the transcendent against the transient

Life is not lived in calendars or dates
But beyond all time, and only in Truth

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         Our Fearless Leaders / Have Got / The Shot

But as for us, well, we have not

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                            First Communion in the Virus-Time

                                                For Veronica

                                           True Ikon of the Lord

A little girl’s mantilla is a crown
A crown an empress might covet for herself
Wore she not her own First Communion mantilla
Forever within the recesses of her heart

A little girl’s white cotton dress is a robe
A royal robe of courtly majesty,
Worn in the presence of her Lord and King

A little ******* First Communion day
Awes even the angels in her imperium

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


                            Reading is a Suspicious Activity:
                                Blue-Penciled in Solovetsky

   “…Soviet writers failed to write about their personal thoughts.”

                                               -Yevtushenko

Reading is a suspicious activity
Unless it’s a technical book of instructions
Or a hunting magazine with centerfolds
Of seductive semi-automatics

Writing is a forbidden activity
Unless it’s a grocery shopping list
Or the code to a new computer game
Of zombie valkyries with ******* tats

They’ve only gotten as far as statues thrown down
They’ll destroy the libraries next – and maybe you

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               Washing-Machine Archaeology

History passes, and so do washing machines
Rattling and spinning to the end of their span
Their dutiful cleanings cleaned out at last
Whited sepulchers around silent drums

The householder as Howard Carter finds
Behind a dead machine “Yes, wonderful things!”
Clothes hangers, metastasized dust bunnies
Inexplicable stains that hiss and spit

And in a midden, he discovers with a shock -
Almost embalmed – that famous long-lost sock!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

          The Feast of Saint Stephen as Observed at the Truck Stop

                            On the occasion of meeting a friend
                         for breakfast on the Feast of St. Stephen

Now the overpass looked down
On the Feast of Stephen
With some garbage strewn around
Moldy and uneven
Brightly shone the neon light
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Pumping diesel fuel

(This is gonna be one of the Greats, eh!)

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                             Christmas Day in the Covid-Time

There are no children around the tree this year
To make Christmas complete with their happiness
No Barbie dolls, electric trains, or bikes -
We are distanced in everything but love

No relatives come and go, not even the one
Who will park his pickup truck on the lawn
No fruitcakes given and received, no hugs -
We are distanced in everything but love

But still there is the fire, the dog, and us -
We are distanced in everything but love

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

          Why Can’t You Come Home for Christmas, Daddy?

Christmas eve – and the conversation is low
The chaplains have left the men with their blessings
And have in their turn been blessed by the men
Who gather now with powdered coffee, with words

Christmas eve – written in a little child’s hand:
“Why can’t you come home for Christmas, Daddy?”
And a crayoned Santa Claus who can fly
Above the razor wire, and far away

Christmas eve - midnight’s canvas-pillowed tears
Christmas at home someday - only ten years

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    Christmas Eve Eve Eve

Winter arrives, they say, at 8:31
And how do they know? The light doesn’t change
The soft pale light filtering through the fog
Upon the grey-brown fields who have fallen asleep

While we speak of lockdowns and rollbacks and deaths
And plan for the least-attended Christmas Mass
The fields and forests hardly speak at all
Only in their prayerful whispers of the Eternal

Time is  told to us by the sun, moon, and stars -
And all the seasons arrive in God’s good time

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

        Everyone Writes a Drivelly Poem about the Winter Solstice
                                           And entitles it
                                         “Winter Solstice,”
                           And yet Somehow the World Goes On

The sun seems to stand still, and too, the world
An Ouroboros of lockdowns and masks
And the increasing divisions of partisans
In yet another republic devouring itself

There is an insubstantial Christmas truce
Undeclared, a catching of breath and will
In hopes that two-faced Janus will close his doors
Against the failings of the coming year

The sun seems to stand still, and too, the world
We also wait, and search the skies for a Star

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                Bifocalism for the Masses and, Like, Stuff

Bifocals – the upper lens sees far away
The sun and the moon and the dancing stars
All in their appointed places above
Great mountains and oceans and thunderstorms

Bifocals – the lower lens sees the end of your nose
The sweep hand dancing around your Timex watch
The book you are reading, the book you are writing
Your thoughts encoded in orderly lines

Bifocals – both lenses balance your sense of vision -
But take the stairs with care and precision!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                       And He Liked Really Cool Cars

                                 For George Ebarb

                                Of happy memory

                  Who served God, his family, prisoners,
                  And all who were blessed in knowing him
                  With unfailing love and generosity

                 (And he liked really cool cars!)

A convention is to say that when we die
God will not ask us about the cars we drove
But we may hope and pray that in George’s case
A happy exception was made for him

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

               Keep a Sharp Lookout – This Fog Won’t Last

           My country was made for noble hearts such as yours.

                       -Aslan in Voyage of the Dawn Treader

When we can’t turn outward, we turn inward
That might not be such a good thing, you know
We are probably out-of-practice, busied
With meetings and work and coffee-shop dates

For now our lives are solitude and screens
Pajama feet and emptiness, and if
We call someone, who is it who answers us?
“Be still, and know that I am Internet?”

Oh, no. The night is misty indeed, but the stars -
The stars still shine; be brave, and look for them

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    Do not Clench unto Others

Merciful God in His infinite love
Will never clench His fist at us

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          A Little Child Lacing Her Shoes

                                  For Sarah, of course

She is as proud, as she can be, and I -
I too am proud, watching her twist her tongue
In thought – the rabbit pops into its hole
To emerge on the other side – hello!

She is as proud as she can be, but I
Am a little bit sad as she stands up now
Dancing in place to make the heel-lights *****
Then giggling, “Catch me, Daddy!” as she runs away

And I play-chase, knowing that all too soon
There won’t be little lights for me to follow

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                   Tin Ears in the Hands of an Angry God

                       -as Jonathan Edwards did not yell

If You are good and kind and loving, O Lord
Then why do You permit
                                                 The harpsichord?

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                 Before the Magi Came

                                 -1 Maccabees 4:36-60

Yes, long before the holy Magi came
Judah the Maccabee brought forth his gifts
First scourging the Temple clean of false gods
In prayerful preparation for the True

And then presented God with oil and bread
A consecrated Altar of undressed stones
Incense and lamps and songs and grateful hearts
And an octave of inextinguishable light

Thus, long before the holy Magi came
Even before the Star, Judah brought a flame

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                Contagious Disease Unit – Ward 20 Deck 2

Maybe my aptitude for throwing up
My ENT infections, fevers and chills
Hopeless motion sickness and fainting fits
Were the reasons why NavPers posted me there

All the diseases in the Fleet called it home:
Infections, syphilis, leprosy, the clap
(Let’s give him a hand), and for reasons not clear
A couple of crewmen from the Pueblo

Before I was sent to be sick in Indo-China -
And now they say there’s a virus going around

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      Waiting for the Messiah Someplace Else

     Motel: Rabbi, we've been waiting for the Messiah all our lives.
     Wouldn't now be a good time for him to come?

      Rabbi: I guess we'll have to wait someplace else.

                                   -Fiddler on the Roof

And so we wait, here where we are, the time
Marked off by calends and by candlelight
Four Gospels in a ring of holy fire
Before the Altar, and before the Throne

The Magi journey through space and time
Our journey is in waiting for a star
To shine upon us all, and lead us to
The Temple where all waiting finally ends

Beside an Altar of repose in a Stable
A cradle of wood from Eden and the Ark

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                   Marketing Strategies of the Nazgul

An email arrived from a dear, dear friend
I was so glad to hear from him…until
Unhappy remembrance – he’s dead and still
And my stitches were torn open again

Some Nazgul program had encountered his name
And mine, and smashed them together to see
If some foul poison could be sold to me
Through a counterfeit, the cruelest game

But in faith my friend lives, as we have read -
It is the Nazgul who are truly dead

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

              The Rural Electric Co-Op’s Giant Christmas Tree

Christmas trees are a delight to a child
On the farm, situational poverty
In muck and filth, old coat against the cold
Finishing the milking long hours after dark

But to the east a Christmas tree, a hope
The electric co-op’s radio mast
Its guy wires strung with multi-colored lights
The North Pole must be something like that

Christmas trees are a delight to a child
And even more when the child becomes a man

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                            The Advent of Our Discontent

                             -As Shakespeare did not say

Everyone accuses everyone else
Of treason; they’d call each other Quislings
If they had any history, but they don’t
Only Hochhuth and Unferth on the air

But you and I have wood to split and stack
The garden to level and put to sleep
Cows to get up for the milking at dusk
And in the evening, a cozy fire to watch

Oh, listen to the migrating geese, up high!
Unlike us humans, they never learned to lie

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                             We Are Afraid for Each Other

We do not wear our masks against car keys
Or coffee cups or clocks or coins or books
Nor yet again in fear of paper clips
Or pocketknives or fountain pens or socks

We do not wear our masks against the sun
Or moon or stars or air or trees or flowers
Nor yet again in fear of autumn leaves
Or gentle rain or evening mist or dreams

We wear our masks because we are afraid
Of being humans, of loving each other

NB: This is NOT a plea for unmasking.  The fear is of hurting others. Wear your mask. Wearing a mask protects others. Wearing a mask is love. It's not about you; it's about protecting MeeMaw.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                      A Midnight Appointment of Shame

                 “Where greed is an ape and pride is an ***”

                 -Chesterton, The Ballad of the White Horse

You poor man –

You are not the first to use Truth as a *****
With which to dig for yourself mouth-honors and wealth
A tyrant piped, and now you dance for him
His toy, his poppet, his puppet, his pet

You poor man –

Who pottage-messed stout honesty for toys
To descend in a brazen elevator
To an evil that didn’t even have to try
For you were so eager to go to it

You poor man –

You poor, poor man: the **** will not crow for you -
You have betrayed only your wretched self


https:///www.whitehouse.gov/presidential-actions/President Donald J. Trump Announces Intent to Appoint the Following Individuals to Key Administration Posts | The White House-120320/

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                             The Man Who Delivered the Movies

The Saturday afternoon matinee
Outside the Palace Theatre in a line
Impatient for the hour, the man, John Wayne
Air-conditioning, popcorn, Coca-Cola, escape

Then riding to the rescue of the ranch
The man who delivered the reels of fun
Running up the steps with a big grey case
Of Rio Bravo – he brought us our dreams

And did he know, speeding to little towns
That he too was a hero of the Golden West?

Let There be Barbies

          Let the children have their night of fun and laughter.
          Let the gifts of Father Christmas delight their play.

                   -Churchill, Christmas Eve radio address, 1941

Some young mothers ban Barbies and Santa Claus
And all such trinkets and dolls and mummeries
Sacrificing childhood to fashionable gossip -
In obedience to the Holy Internet

A toy Cochise must never ride again
Or little plastic soldiers defend their forts
Or Maid Marian roam with Robin Hood –
Barbie must never be dressed for success

Little children can now sit on the floor
On Christmas morn to play with ideologies

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                DaddyPaw’s Letters from the CCC Camp

           For George (“DaddyPaw”) Hargrove, Hebo Ogden Hall,
And all Who Served in the Civilian Conservation Corps, 1933 - 1942

He found his DaddyPaw’s young adulthood
In a box of letters from New Mexico
About fighting forest fires and building fence
To the stockyards at Magdalena

“The peas must be coming in by now,” he writes
“Are yall getting enough to eat? How’s my dog?
I’ve got swell friends but I sure wish I was home.
And did yall get the five dollars I sent?”

We stand in reverence of a generation
Who almost never had enough to eat

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

                    Hospital Waiting Room in Advent

          “How could I bear a crown of gold when the Lord  
                bears a crown of thorns? And bears it for me!”

                          -Heilige Elisabeth von Thuringen


The pre-dawn parking-lot is crowded enough,
And almost pretty with the high orange-ish light
Reflecting nicely on the rainy pavement.
The cold wind blows a lonely paper cup along

Among the puddles and the lonely cars
With the more-than-one-family-members
Dozing or reading their MePhones - it seems
as if the world itself is a waiting room for now

In the lobby a queue forms, everyone standing
Six feet away from each other as ordered by
Plastic signs on the floors. A cheerful-enough
Volunteer aims a little plastic gun

At each human head as it passes,
And asks each owner of a head
DO YOU HAVE ANY SYMPTOMS DO YOU HAVE
A SORE THROAT HAVE YOU BEEN AROUND ANYONE

WITH THE CORONAVIRUS
HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF STATE RECENTLY

Does Louisiana count?

Pass, friend.

A cold and fashionable Christmas tree obscures
An image of Saint Elizabeth of Thuringen
Next to the row of elevators marked ‘B’
Along a covid-silent corridor

A visitor with his mask and his pass
Can hear his footsteps echoing-echoing
As he passes through the silences,
And reads signs announcing activities

Scheduled long ago that were canceled
Long ago because of the lockdowns.
Only rarely will he see a masked and gowned figure
Seemingly scuttling into hiding

While carrying a tray of lab specimens
Or pushing a cart or whispering into
An official glowing screen. Doors that used to be
Open are secured with NO ENTRY

Or STAFF ONLY signs, and former passages
Are blocked with new plywood panels
Or panes of clear plastic in this unclear time.
The cardiovascular ICU waiting room

Is empty – ONE FAMILY MEMBER ONLY,
Reads a sign scotch-taped to a door, and
NO COFFEE BECAUSE OF THE CORONAVIRUS
YOU WILL FIND COFFEE IN THE CAFETERIA

Announces another. Some seats are marked off-limits
With yellow crime-scene-ish tape even though
There is no one in the room to be made off-limits.
The television is dark and silent,

The floors and plastic chairs are clean-upon-clean
From repeated daily wipings and scrubbings
And sprayings although almost no one
Ever goes into that room now. There are no people,

No magazines, no bottles of water,
Nothing in the litter baskets. It’s like
A scene from one of those Star Trek episodes
In which an away-team beams down

To a deserted space ship, a deserted city,
Or a deserted planet, only there is no
Thematic background music in the hospital.
This is the block of floors and space given over

To cardiac care and surgery;
The areas where CV patients are treated
Are hidden behind doors and walls and faces
Of appropriate secrecy and discretion.

Behind those doors and walls life and death
Are worked out through the work and thought and education
And brilliance and industry and love
Of so very many ministers of grace,

From physicians to the nice fellow with
The bucket and mop, and through the mysteries

Of God and His saints.

As for our visitor, he can do nothing but take a seat –
One without the yellow crime-scene-ish tape – and wait
In silent prayer for one he loves.

Saint Elizabeth, pray for us

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

      Video Mass in Lockdown - Jesus and the 502 Bad Gateway

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Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                Charm­ing Murderers

I have met murderers of wit and charm
And saints who were crude and ****** and coarse
I feared the saints would do me greater harm -
I don’t know what any of this means, of course

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         They are Disinfecting Venice

          I have been trying to find out; no one will tell me the truth;
          they are disinfecting Venice. Do you know why?

                                    -Death in Venice

We live on islands in the virus-time
Shored in by disease and uncertainty
Waves of uncertainty, rumor, and fear
The deaths of friends bumping against us at night

Delivery trucks are our vaporetti
Ferrying our supplies across the Styx
That separates our then away from now
With imaginings outsourced from Lethe.com

They are burning stimulus checks in the streets
To disinfect us against reality

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                         Farewell to an Old Comrade

                    He yaf not of that text a pulled hen
                    That seith that hunters ben nat hooly men

                           -Chaucer, Prologue, 177-178

A man visits his pal in the hospice room
Two great old pals, best friends from boyhood
In school and in the Army together
Best men at each other’s weddings long ago

Hunting trips, laughter, campfires, and coffee
They tramped the woods and fields into old age
Until the arthritis house-bound them at last
But, peace:
A good man whispers farewell to his dying friend:

“I remember our tramps through the mists on the moors –
And can I have that fine old Purdey of yours?”