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

                       Poets Seldom Order Missile Attacks

         “Poets are the unacknowledged legislators of the world”

                     –Shelley, “A Defense of Poetry,” 1821

In truth

Poets are the acknowledged legislators
          of nothing
                    Let us thank God that it is so

Poets can be tiresome in their own ways
Among other shortcomings scribbling free verse
Without any consideration for meter
And failing to understand the rhythm of iambs

Poets can be tiresome in their own ways
Hogging for grants and television time
Some writing more for politics than for truth
Obsessing on the I instead of All

Poets can be tiresome in their own ways
But they seldom order missile attacks

Poets are the acknowledged legislators
          of nothing
                    Let us thank God that it is so

Saint Mary Magdalene’s Recycled Mobile ‘Phone

Her ‘phone was passed on to a parish priest
But they forgot to change the numbers and so
Her client-base kept telephoning him
At night, when the moon and the johns were full

“Confessions on Friday evening at seven”
Didn’t ring-a-ding anyone’s ding-ding
Maybe the lonely men in lonely rooms
Remembered then what their dear mamas said

And maybe they didn’t – life falls apart
Both in the street and at the Airport Inn

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

                                   The Day Internet Explorer Died

Our gadgets from the store, all shiny and new
The subjects of our brags and anecdotes
Are soon held together with Scotch tape and glue
And covered with coffee stains and sticky-notes

Codings and software must also decay
Metaphorical patches fall apart
They too enjoy only a limited day
Thus the limits of electronic art

To our own end, yes, we eventually toddle -
To be replaced by the latest model!

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim’s Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                       What WE Did in the War

                               For all those Keyboard Commandos
                               Who Can Quote Every Line in Patton

You talk about what WE did in World War Two -
Well, I wasn’t there, and neither were you

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

           A Run-Off Primary Election Between Two Inadequate Men

Prologue, Exposition, and Chekhov’s Ballot Box:

A wobbly old man complained to the judge
Who had found that he was ineligible to vote
“But the guy on the TV said I could vote,” he whined
“I have to obey the law,” replied the judge, “not the guy on TV”

Rising Action and Conflict:

I took my ballot and perused the names
Two names, the only names, of two bad men

Further Conflict:

I do not have to vote for the lesser of two evils
Because the lesser of two evils is still an evil

******:

I left the little bubbles for those little men blank
And pencilled into an empty space my choice:

                                                        ­   NO!

And underlined it twice

Denouement:

I drove away

Lawrence Hall, HSG

mhall46184@aol.comm

(from several years ago)

                                        Within the Octave of Christmas


                               For Eldon, Patron of Christmas Bonfires

The wan, weak winter sun has long since set
And on the edge of stars a merry fire
Sends sparks to play among the tinseled frost
That decorates the fields for Christmas-time.

Within this holy octave, happy men
Concelebrate with hops, cigars, and jokes,
This liturgy of needful merriment

Because

The Holy Child is safe in Mary’s arms,
Saint Joseph leans upon his staff and smiles,
The shepherds now have gone to watch their sheep,
And all are safe from Herod for a time.

Our Christmas duty now is to delight
In Him who gives us joy this happy night.

No One Ever Said the War was Over

No one ever said the war was over
They were honest in that one thing, at least
Since that which never began cannot end
Not for those in a war that never was
Some made fortunes, some got a bus ride home
Some shook it off, and made it out okay
And some stare vacantly in lonely rooms
Red, yellow, green – what did they ever mean?
“Thank you for your service” – what does that
mean?
No one ever said the war was over

A plastic fabric forest of oak leaves
Some blue, some white, almost abstract in shape
An anonymous professional hand
Through unheard signals draws them open, then closed

My friend will be okay: “just a precaution
Overnight for observation, then home
A little heartbeat irregularity
We’ll get you to a room, something to eat…”

Beyond the fabric forest of oak leaves
Other voices, always soft, always kind
Softer and kinder still: “if you will sign this
End-of-life care, DNR, who can we call…”

A moment alone: “Oh, Momma…Momma…”
Whispered out into Creation

                                                       ­        and heard

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

                             Picking up a Box at the Nursing Home

In a cardboard box: a Rosary, glasses
A change of clothes, a pair of shoes, some socks
The miscellaneous bits and bobs of life
At the end of it

The nurses’ aide says she will pray for him
And probably she will; she seems nice
And truly everyone has been nice but now
It’s time to go

Some of the staff are on a cigarette break
On picnic benches out front – life goes on

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                              Where Do Tariffs Go When They Die?


   “I have no window with which to look into another man’s soul.”

     Attributed to Saint Thomas More, Queen Elizabeth I, and others


And what do tariffs do while they are alive
If a Canadian cow ambles through a broken fence
And then gives birth on the south side of the wire
Can the calf claim birthright citizenship

                    (Did you hear about the bow-legged cowgirl
                    who couldn’t get her calves together?)

I have no window for looking into the soul of a cow
That is, if a cow can have a soul
Or aluminum / aluminium
Or pig iron (probably not made from real pigs)

                     (Or the clueless cowboy who wore a pig iron on his hip?)

We add 25% to this taxable cow
So that peace and justice return right now

                    (Just put down Canada and no one will get hurt)

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                    A Brief Christmas Truce

An evening of coffee and little gifts exchanged
The tension in the air suggests a ceasefire
A ceasefire called moments before we arrived
Everyone commanded to hold their positions

A wounded husband bleeds out near the eggnog
His wife sharpens her bayonet by the creche
Eager for the bugle to sound once again
For an advance all along the battle line

A child stares sullenly into his video game
It is the only Christmas peace he’s going to get

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                     Mr. Biden and Mr. Trump Schedule a Debate

                   “No, sir, I do not bite my dentures at you, sir;
                     but I bite my dentures, sir.”

               -as a brawler in Romeo and Juliet I.i.57 does not say

Neither man is a coherent talker -
This might end as combat by walker

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

                         Cavafy’s Slight Angle to the Universe

          “…a Greek gentleman in a straw hat, standing absolutely
          motionless at a slight angle to the universe.”

      -C. S. Forster re C. P. Cavafy, quoted by Daniel Mendelsohn
            in C. P. Cavafy: Poems, Everyman’s Library Pocket Poets

Maybe Cavafy stands at an angle to the world
The universe presumably built aright
In order serviceable, as Milton says,
All of creation as a liturgy

We all stand at an angle to the world
Which wobbles in its orbit more than it ought
We altar servers tripping more than we ought
When we forget the angle of Consecration

Oh, yes, Cavafy stands at an angle to the world
And he is right to do so –
                                                   and so are we

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim’s Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                A London That Never Was

The London of Boswell never truly was
And yet it is the truest London of all:
Coffee at The Turk’s Head, beer at The Mitre
Not much minding either bishops or Turks

A pipe and a pint with Johnson and the greats:
Oliver Goldsmith, Reynolds and Garrick
Hester Thrale, and Boswell, of course
Books and papers and arguments and poems

If we are going to visit London someday
We had better visit Boswell and Johnson first

Lawrence Hall 2d
Negotiating Toilet Paper
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim’s Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Fellowship & Fairydust (fellowshipandfairydust.com)
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                    N­egotiating Toilet Paper

The escort carried three rolls of toilet paper
As she walked me to the classroom area
One each for Dorm A, Dorm B, and the guards
Some fellows walked casually along the path

“And you guys know how to walk single-file”

“Yes, ma’am”

“Yes, ma’am”

“Sure thing, ma’am”

And thus in silence they formed that single-file

“One roll of toilet paper per prisoner per week
Sometimes it’s just not enough,” she said
“We had a meeting on it; I told the guys
Sometimes administration just doesn’t get it”

Dignity, like treaties, can be broken
In many ways

Written by
Lawrence Hall

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

                 A Brief and Self-Indulgent Morning Offering

Dear Lord,

Thank you for this day
I ask you that I may
Pray it
Play it
And
Work it
Most to your pleasure
To the pleasure of those whom I love
To the pleasure of everyone I meet today
Rather more for me that you did yesterday
(but we’ll say nothing more about that)
And nothing for Satan
‘Cause he’s an ***

Saint Joseph in a dreary winter night
Took to himself a newborn not his own,
Who yet is always his, the Child of Light
Whose crib Saint Joseph knew to be a throne

Saint Joseph shows men truth: each child is ours,
Adopted by each good man upon birth;
True fatherhood ordained in starlit hours
And ratified in Heaven and on earth.

Saint Joseph is the man who looked into
The eyes of Mary in her happy youth;
This strong man looked into her eyes and knew
She bore within her all eternal Truth.

Our witness is Saint Joseph, ever just:
God calls each man to take each child in trust.

A Pilgrim Out of Time

A frail old man bent with the weight of his pack -
He seemed to be carrying a long-dead world
From around 1967 or so
Or maybe he was still looking for truth

Slowly, slowly along the diagonal
Beneath the traffic lights where eight lanes cross
But his strange trail led through another world
And of our reverence for him we paused for him

His journey was his own, his own, alone
That frail old man bent with the weight of his past

A Laughing Springtime Child

Her locker was just outside the classroom door
And sometimes during class change I called out
Confusing numbers as she worked and turned
The combination lock: “12...32...”

Ashley indulged her teacher’s feeble attempts
At humor, twirled the dial exactly right,
Popped open the locker, and laughed:
“Ya can’t fool me, Mr. Hall; I am good!”

And indeed you were, and are, and will be forever,
Forever our happy, laughing springtime child

“And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”
-- Hamlet, V.ii.371

I don’t want to take the pulse of the American people

                                                 Only yours

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

                                    Warriors and a Warrior-Princess

Jason and his Argonauts fitted out a ship
And sought and fought for the Golden Fleece

Beowulf and his warriors fitted out a ship
And sought and fought for the glory of the Geats

Odysseus and his warriors fitted out a ship
And sought and fought for the glory of Greece

Aeneas and his warriors fitted out a ship
And sought and fought for the glory of Rome

My daughter and I fitted out some floaties
And conquered the backyard swimming pool

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                         Those Who Straddle the Temple Walls


                    “Choose you this day whom you will serve”

                                               -Joshua 24:15


For those who are desperate to be accepted as cool –

You cannot straddle the walls of the holy Temple
You cannot straddle the barbed wire of Auschwitz
You cannot straddle the banks of the Red Sea
You cannot choose two sides and call them one

Since the ****** time there have not been two sides

You cannot wear both the tallit and the snakeskin
You cannot break bread with your grinning executioners
You cannot dance to circled drums and bullhorn chants
You cannot forswear your family murdered in the gas chambers

Since the burning time there have not been two sides

He who chooses the fashionable, the clever, the cool
Chooses to be a kapo, a funktionshaftling
His people will despise him, so too his masters
                    (Who in the end will **** him in his shame)
And his memory will be a curse, not a blessing

But you –

Choose bravely so that your name will be written in The Book
And written in the hearts of your proud descendants

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

       “FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack”

                                         -Associated Press

          “…we need to put all of the mechanisms in place
           to thoroughly vet these men and women…”

                              -Army Secretary Ryan McCarthy

Men of Destiny always make a mess
Of life, of death, of shabby governance
And from the safety of their bunkers
Polish their medals and send in the young

“These men and women” – “these” – he sneers the word
As if privates and corporals try to block votes -
His predecessors, trusting budgets, bullets, and bombs
Didn’t trust us one bit in Viet-Nam

It is the Pentagon’s original sin:
When they ** up they blame the enlisted men


FBI vetting Guard troops in DC amid fears of insider attack (apnews.com)

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.c­om
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com

                                              On the Consumption of Art

An artist writes about the consumption of art
As if a painting, a poem, a video
A statue in the lobby of the medical center
Were a tin of meatballs and spaghetti

But we do not consume a work of art
Sometimes we almost seem to marry it
Joining art in a sacrament of love
Beyond the velvet ropes of ownership

That which can be possessed can be consumed
But neither art nor love is a commodity

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

              To God, Who Still Gives Joy to Our Youth


                       Introibo ad altare Dei

                      Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutam meum


Missals calendaring the liturgical year
Mantillas in reverent rows marked out by children
Children as rosary beads sorting out the Aves
And men in this-is-choking-me suits and ties

Candles in colored glass in reverent rows
Decades of prayers, centuries incensed with prayers
Corinthian columns in reverent rows of awe
Or perhaps the humble Doric, upholding Heaven

Fiddleback chasubles in liturgical colors
Sequenced by seasons in prismatic reverent rows
Sewn long ago by loving reverent hands
Each stitch enriched with a Latin prayer

Fidgety altar boys in their Sunday shoes
The processional cross their grandfathers knew
Nonnas, Nanas, MeeMaws in reverent rows
The occasional bead-bang of a rosary against a pew

The occasional knee-pinch to a squirming child
Latin responses in sequenced reverent rows
Latin, which later we were told we didn’t understand
Quia putabant nos stulti essemus

And on the Altar the eternal Sacrifice
Which no tyranny can ever take away

*Sed fuit, est, erit

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                           Time to Walk Away


            Sometimes I think people were meant to be strangers

                               -Rod McKuen, Stanyan Street


V: I don’t know who you are

R: You know.

V: Not enough.

R: Enough.

V: Who are you?

R: I will miss you.

V: Are you going away?

R: Yes.

V: Why?

R: You asked me who I am.

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

                          Anti-Tarnish Silverware Container

                         “Anti-Tarnish Silverware Container”

                                  -a sticker inside the box

A cheap wooden box nailed together long ago
All scratched and patched with mismatched nails and screws
And lined inside with stained, decaying felt
With slots for long lost knives and forks and spoons

Part of someone’s treasure in the Depression time
A dollar or two a month on a layaway plan
At Montgomery Ward or Penney’s or Sears
The “good” silver for Thanksgiving and Christmas

The silverplate has been garage-saled and lost
But there was love, and somehow love remains

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

    Elon Musk Invites Us Down for Chips and Dip and Destruction

                They have pulled down Deep Heaven on their Heads

                             -C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength

He’s implanted a chip, says Mr. Musk
Into the brain (certainly not the hip)
Of some poor patient who’s now just a husk
A talking head, a thing, a radar blip

And what could go wrong with this poor android
A man now fitted with an electric brain
Adjusted and programmed and tweaked and toyed -
A failed experiment thrashing in pain?

And if he fails, this humanoid chip
Musk might use him for guacamole dip

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

                                   Ode on a Flintstones Tumbler

                        John Keats helped with this but refused
                        to take any credit. He must be modest

Thou still unmoving car of wood and stone
Forever carrying the Flintstones and the Rubbles
Off to the movies – Rock Hudson to be shown?
And a childhood half-hour of comic troubles

Heard yabba-dabbas are sweet, but those unheard
We’ll have to speak ourselves over milk and cereal
Wilma, of course, always has the last word
But we’ll contribute to the writers’ material

Fred’s feet are truth, not beauty, - but off they go
Taking us with them – so on with the show!

“One of the Only”

Why do men write of “one of the only”
Since one is only, and only is one
A singular figure, alone and lonely
“One of the only?” Oh, let it be done
                 With.

Until today I have never re-posted someone else's work on my modest site. This is brilliant:

W. K. Kortas
JUNE 22, 2021

ON WATCHING “DOCTOR ZHIVAGO” WITH THE SOUND OFF

On Watching “Doctor Zhivago” With The Sound Off
There is a certain shock, not from the silence itself
But of its revelations, the laying bare
Of the utter superfluence of language
In all which unfolds before us, the testament mute
But imbued with all the power of an orchestra
In full-throated fortissimo
Delivered through the panorama of the vast steppes,
The bounty of their Junes,
The desolation of their Januarys
The visage of the doomed Strelnikov,
The darting glances of the chameleonesque Komarovsky,
His eyes scuttling to and fro like dark cockroaches,
And most of all by the unquiet, not-of-this world gaze
Of Yuri Andreyevich, a stare which tells tales
Of how fleeting this world’s happiness will be,
How final and inescapable its sadness,
And as he stumbles and falls in his mad, final pursuit
Of a grail which is unheeding, unseeing,
Always just a step out of reach,
The dialogue is not a necessity,
For we have a trove of our own words and experience
To attest to the veracity of the scene in question.

(AUTHOR’S NOTE–as I would be justly castigated by my good friend Lawrence Hall if I failed to do so, I made a point of adding the good Yuri’s patronymic .)

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Logosophiamag.c­om
Hellopoetry.com
Fellowshipandfairydust.com

                  ­            The Pastor Who Pinched my Walkman

He was on television receiving an award
Community service to marginalized youth
And chairman of a committee of community pastors
For the promotion of community somethings

I remembered him from the fifth period
He was a funny kid when term began
By May his eyes had narrowed and his smile was gone
So was my Walkman, but I wished him well

When after a few more years he was sentenced to prison
It wasn’t for pinching somebody’s Walkman

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                     Pushkin the Poetic Cat

Long, lean, and lanky, he slithers like a snake
In blue-grey fur; he makes the mousies quake

But I haven’t seen him in several days
He roams the woods and fields, he hunts, he strays

He’s proud and brave, my handsome Russian Blue -
Did he cross claws with a treacherous Chartreux?

Did they exchange hisses at just ten paces
Does his little corpse lie in wild snowy spaces?

I hope his life hasn’t ended like that
For I very much miss my dear little cat

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

          One Judge, Two Sheriff’s Deputies, and Five Police Officers
                                 Take on a 98-Year-Old Woman

                                         “Try that in a small town”

The 11th of August was neither the beginning nor the end
Of sheltering the Constitution from thugs
Some in judicial robes, some in dark uniforms
When Joan Meyer stood
                    between them and us

A newsroom pillaged by judicial fiat
Private homes looted by armed bully-boys
Ordered by a heartless magistrate
When Joan Meyer stood
                    between them and us

When Joan Meyer died
                    between them and us

Raid on Kansas newspaper is an intolerable overreach by police | Editorial (yahoo.com)

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

                                     Rachel Weeping for her Children

This is spring

There should be inattention in class:
Summer plans for camping and for play
When each sunny day is a barefoot day
Splashing in the stock pond, annoying the cows

Instead of

Chain-link fencing, sagging gates, gunfire
Black rifles, screams, ambulances in lines
Yellow plastic tape, detailed narratives
Telephoto camera lenses, MePhones

And tiny little bodies plastic-wrapped
Carried one by one to refrigerated vaults


(Hey, stud, preach to them about your Second Amendment)

We must forever grateful be that Dog
Ages ago domesticated man

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office


                        Will There be Coffee after the Crucifixion?

                    Everything’s going to be discovered
                    And understood in the course of time,
                    Only we have to go on thinking

                                    -Yevtushenko, “Zima Junction”

Not all are crucified, but all are wounded
We bring our gifts to the Altar; they fall apart
In secretly clinging to them for ourselves
Our claims to be defined by an era
But rotting corpses in a tangled wood
The celebrant elevates the Host
We lift unfocused eyes in grave pretense
Inattentive at the Wedding of worlds

The Mass is the central Act in Creation -
Not all are crucified, but all are wounded

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


                                    Thanksgiving Dinner
               with Generous Helpings of Biological Functions

Would you please pass the bowel-movement stories
Gosh, this lab-test casserole sure looks great
I love the well-steamed vasectomy glories
And a helping of dentistry on my plate

This year I fried the potassium levels
They taste as yummy as a cancer scare
And here’s heart surgery with our revels
For Christmas I’m getting a new ***** chair

The kids have gone outside, oh what a fuss -
Why don’t they want to have dinner with us?

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                                  The Synod on Synodality

  “There are to be forty interlocking committees sitting every day…”

                    - C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength, p. 36

                    One reads the words of the committees:

The grammar of synodality our times the time journeying together breaking molds inclusion experts facilitators process delegation the people totality sense of the faithful organize discussion opening remarks challenges continental stage novelties dynamic legitimize interrelation common discernment modules instrumentum laboris synthesis report road map response paradigm preparation planning natural vision human planning expectations narrative of radical change shifting models of synodality conciliarity emblematic expression methodology dubia divine discourse adjudicate delineating areas of consensus specific situational analyses media framing reinterpreting confidentiality requirements module serenity of the discernment in common implementation phase inclusive ecclesial process participatory ways of exercising responsibility social dialogue regenerating relationships initiate the processes practicing synodality a double dynamic of conversion articulations of synodality ten thematic nuclei to be explored synodal dialogue the potential of synodal engagement national synthesis document consultative sessions what it means to be church social media template an operative notion national synthesis of the people of God contextualize diocesan phase of the synodal process enduring wounds needs-friendly steps for discerning ongoing formation for mission…

                    Brushing aside this choking fog of words
                    The reader ceases to read, for he sees
                    A silent, sandal-shod saint in a raggedy cloak
                    Having fed the chickens now telling his beads

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

                  A Violation of the First Law of Thermodynamics

A day so hot that ordinary tasks
Exhaust the body and the soul; to grasp
The handle of a water tap wearies the mind
To grasp a simple thought eludes one’s will

The day is in violation of childhood summers
When little bare feet scampered across the grass
Those days have in adulthood have been stolen
The victims lie abandoned in the dust

Who will lay these charges, and against whom?
And in what court should this strange case be placed?

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

    It’s Not Really an Assault Rifle ‘Cause It’s only Semi-Automatic

Once upon a time there was a silly boy
He was seventeen. Someone gave him a gun
His mumsy drove him to another state
So he could hunt other people with his gun

See the boy hunt. Hunt, hunt, hunt

And he did. Be very quiet. He’s hunting Commies
But bullies wanted to take away his gun
And he was sad. So he shot the meanies
Bang, bang, bang. Take that, you rascally Liberals

Empowered, empowered, empowered

He had to go to court. He began to cry
Because they took away his big bang-bang

And his mumsy cried.
                                       But the dead can’t cry

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

                         Hitchhikers May Be Escaping Inmates

                                 A Sign Along a Texas Road

Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates

Newton is one way, and Jasper the other
Along the two-lane blacktop between the fields
A farmer in chambray blue cultivates his corn
And lads in prison whites cultivate the state’s

Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates

The passerby wonders if the hitchhikers
Are escaping from inmates or if
The hitchhikers are the inmates who choose
Not to be inmates at the moment

Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates

And then there’s the difference between “may” and “might”
Hitchhikers and inmates, soon out of sight

Maybe we’re all trying to escape something

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

  WHITE BREAD! I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE!

                            Pancake House on Crack Street II
        With a Chorus of One Cook in Need of Some White Bread

A cold and dreary morning along Easy Street
The comforts of coffee and cholesterol
The Senior Special two fresh eggs your way
Farm fresh bacon or sausages your way

I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE! WHITE BREAD!

Down-home hash brown potatoes your way
Whole wheat toast with farm fresh butter your way
Fresh brewed Colombian coffee your way
“I’ll be with you in a minute, honey, okay?”

OVER HERE! I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE!

There aren’t any newspapers anymore
“In a minute!” So I studied my MePhone

WHITE BREAD! I NEED SOME WHITE BREAD OVER HERE!

I don’t think the cook was yelling about me
I don’t know, of course

The beggar at the door shivered quietly

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                   For English Pick Up the Anglophone

For English pick up the Anglophone
For French the Francophone
For others in Canada the Allophone
(“‘Allo! ‘Allo!”)
For Mandarin or Cantonese the Sinophone
For Portugal the Lusophone
In Deutschland perhaps the Deutschesphone
(or perhaps not)
And in Russia the Russophone

Please phone in, everyone

Because isn’t it wonderful -
So many phones, and each with a direct line to God

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

               A Sure Way to Be Banned from a Political Website

Is to ask a critic, by way of correction:
If he voted in his last school board election


                A Sure Way to Be Banned from a Catholic Website

Is to ask a radtrad priest just why he must
Promote his fantasies about others’ lust

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                         When We Re-Read Our Childhood Books

When we re-read our childhood books, we are
Children again, barefoot children, we are
Roaming Sherwood with Robin Hood, we are
Standing watch on the Hispaniola, we are

Stalking deer in the forest primeval, we are
Walking with Aslan in Narnia, we are
Studying with Anne in Avonlea, we are
Coursing stars with Podkayne of Mars, we are

Dancing with princes and princesses, we are
Because when we re-read our childhood books

We are

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                               A New Medication and its Cautions

One of the side-effects of my new med is death
Along with garbled speech and all the reth
Right here on this enclosure; that’s what it saith -
And when I read of death I lost my breath!