Ash Wednesday in Libya, 2012

For Anthony Germain

The wisdom of the desert is dispersed
Among the industrial monuments
To mechanized ******, wireless chaos,
And war-**** for touch-screen degenerates.
On this Ash Wednesday night while smoky flares
Obscure, with false, flickering fumes, the stars
God sent to dance above those ancient lands.
You choke and weep among the ashes of
More victims of pale Herod’s shopping trips.
So of your kindness grant that we, your friends,
May wear your ashes for you on this night,
And for the weary innocents who flee
The ashes of their burnt and blasted world.

“He is a dreamer; let us leave him – pass.” Julius Caesar I.ii.24

Strident philosophers at Hyde Park Corner
Poor buskers at Queen Victoria’s feet
Chalk artists remaking the pavement as Rome
A Seventh Sister with her folk guitar

These are not dreamers passive in their beds
Or supplicants awaiting permission:
They are the worker bees; they know of pain
And sweat, and sunstroke in the fields - and truth

When a sidewalk artist notes that the Ides
Have come, Caesar indeed should turn to hear

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

                                  A Single Tear from a Child

                               “I respectfully return my ticket”

                              -Ivan in The Brothers Karamazov

Children

Are ill-prepared to fall into this world
Naked and cold and wet at birth, and then
Flung into a series of awkward situations
Many of them involving pain and fear

Children

Are ill-prepared to live within this world
Isolated from the stars and each other
Trying to fit mythologies in place
Maybe it’s that old Garden of Eden thing

Children

Are ill-prepared to leave this shadowy world
Unlike Ivan, though, they have kept their tickets

Respectfully

A Small Boy to His Pencil

O, Ticonderoga, my magic wand –
I wave you, and I am an engineer
Speeding a silver passenger train
From Texas to California, and back

I wave you once again; I am Robin Hood
Drawing my bow against a bishop fat:
“I invite you, Your Grace, to a great feast
in Sherwood Forest, at your own expense!”

I wave you yet again - and Old Miz Grouch
Fusses at me: “Do your sums! And don’t slouch!”

A Small Man Orders His War

Proud carrier fleets roam the murmuring world
As Hannibal’s elephants trod Italy –
Grey monsters in search of an enemy
Not yet declared, but with hubris unfurled

In decadence, ruled by smooth ganymedes,      
Courtier-generals in their airy cars
Wage resumes’ high above their wars –
So strong in single-malt, so weak in deeds

In his softly-lit bunker the war-god smiles;
His bony hand upon a plastic screen
Commands strange engines, obscure and obscene,
To make a peace through smoking, ashy piles

But empires in the end must die, atone
Their sins, perhaps as trunkless legs of stone.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                             A Small-Minded Man

Oh, yes, I am a very small-minded man
Whose horizon stops at the apple trees
Whose vision is much upon the little things:
A tiny snail upon a pepper-plant leaf

A placid rabbit nibbling at the lawn
A squirrel feasting on his daily grains and seeds
A bluebird shyly hiding among the oaks
A mockingbird mocking all the rest of us

No grand visions for me; I will not leave
Small villages of dead bodies and wicked smoke
The rotting bodies of children and animals
Cratered cities of bomb-blackened ruins and stench

I promote no world-changing master plan -
Deo Gratias, I am a very small-minded man

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

                               The Brilliance of Propaganda

   “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it”

                                           -Lady Macbeth

We have seen vituperation beautifully expressed
In the most elegant meter and rhyme
Wild shriekings crafted with an artist’s skill
And as neatly packaged as a letter-bomb

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

                            A Snow Globe and a Discarded Child

A dreaming child peers into a little glass dome
Where snow falls upon a tiny world:
A mountain, a forest, a tunnel, a village, a train
A kingdom where there is safety and love

He cradles it in his hand lest it be lost
Among the emotional wreckage of lying adults
Cold pizza, unexplained screams from the other room
300 channels of satellite tv

A beaten child peers into that magic dome
And wishes that somehow it might be his home

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

                     A Soft-Pop-Rock-Country Song from the 1960s

He wrote a song and swore he’d come back to her
And he did
He wrote a song and swore he’d marry her
And he did
Then he divorced her and married someone else
And he didn’t write a song about that
And then he divorced her
And then he died
And no one wrote a song

A Soldier Smoking a Cigarette

A soldier lay beside a railway line
Smoking a cigarette, not thinking of much
Among some hundreds of other conscript lads
Upon a grassy glacis above the fields

The boxcars waited in the stilly heat
The soldiers waited like young summer wheat
Occasionally stirred about by winds unseen
And finally stirred about by orders unheard

They rippled into the cars, and were taken away -
A shadow lay beside a railway line

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

                         A Somewhat Whiny Morning Prayer

If only the day
Will live up to the promise
Of this golden dawn

Grandfather’s Saint George medal – hide it first
The ikon of Saint Seraphim – that’s next
Babushka’s crucifix – O, how she loved it
The picture of the Czar – away! Away!

Do not betray your thoughts – a careless word
A smile not authorized, a memory
A fragment from a cheerful Christmas song:
These do not advance The Revolution

Beneath our Brave Red Star they must lie hidden
While our dear comrades love and watch us all

(What Would Woody Guthrie Say?)

My stuff is my stuff, your stuff is my stuff
From your post-hole diggers to that nice pry bar
From your leaf blower to your garden rake
Your stuff – it now belongs to me

While I was climbing
Your backyard fence
I saw your bolt-cutters
Don’t take offense

But you are rich
(You’ve got a job)
I’m sharing your wealth
(I don’t really rob)

My stuff is my stuff, your stuff is my stuff
From the real long power cord to that full tool box
From your brand new shovel to your socket set
Your stuff – it now belongs to me

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

                        Aspirin as One of the Basic Food Groups

An inhaler for each wheezery lung
Aspirin for the pain that has gone to my head
Gargle for the gunk that’s coating my tongue
Green slime by the cup when I go to bed

Whatever it’s all from – dust, must, or mold
I just wanna be rid of this miserable cold!

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

                                             Assault Speeches

Demanding answers speeches outrage speeches
Taping stuffed toys to chain-link fences speeches
Candles speeches makeshift shrines speeches sermons
Speeches asking questions speeches antisocial media

Postings speeches yelling speeches no words
Speeches just no words speeches beyond
An open letter to speeches horrific speeches
No gun zone speeches AR-15 style

Speeches legally speeches well-regulated
Speeches why didn’t someone speeches assault rifle
Speeches it’s not an assault rifle speeches
Assault rifle speeches it’s not an assault rifle

Speeches assault rifle speeches it’s not
An assault rifle speeches speeches speeches

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                    Assembling a Metal Lawn Chair with Great Care
                                   (and a Ball-Peen Hammer)

A friend gave me a lawn chair in tangerine
Bright tangerine, with instructions in English
Which I followed most assiduously
Which parts of the chair most surely did not

The instructions did not mention a ball-Peen hammer
With brutality and words which must not be spoken
(Think of Vulcan and his mighty strokes)
I finally assembled the chair to my satisfaction

And then I sat down

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

                  ­            “Remarkably Like Any Other Place”

                                                     For Tod

                                        Who is in assisted living
                                        Assisting others in living

Rich: This is an awful place.

More: Except it’s keeping me from you, my dears, it’s not so bad. Remarkably like any other place.

Alice: It drips!

More: Yes. Too near the river.

                         -Robert Bolt, A Man for All Seasons

Life is a pilgrimage from cell to cell:
The bedroom of one’s childhood, the college dorm
The noisy barracks, merry in spite of all
Eighty conscript soldiers bunked out in rows

The marriage home set forth among trees and grass
A comfortable chair with a lamp and books
The office with its official desks and files
And Sunday liturgies in an accustomed pew

All these are now condensed into a cell
Where God has chosen to live and wait with you

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

                 Assorted Broken Saints, Some with Parts Missing

               to Saint John Marie-Baptiste Vianney - a petition

After doing some time in this fallen world
We all are broken, and missing a few of our parts
Having lost some hopes and strengths along the way
But we keep chooglin’ along, making it work

And shoveling (life) with us, our parish priest
Just as Chaucer wrote, beginning at dawn
Five of six cylinders from church to church
Ignored by the bishop and unknown to Rome

Our daily saint in his well-worn chasuble
His old shoes squeaking to the Altar of God

*Saint John Vianney, pray for our laborers

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

                           A Station Stop for the Hummingbird Express

Hummingbirds buzz the sugar water buffet
At this junction for the connection to Mexico
I feel I should be wearing a white apron and cap
Refills for everyone – and will that be to go?

No ideological baggage, no bumper stickers
Their maps all drawn for them by an invisible Hand
Their simple duties a transcendent joy
An ancient mission through divine command

Hummingbirds buzz the sugar water buffet
Then with a goodbye to summer they wing away

Against the patriarchal construct they
Rally in a corner booth at Big Linda’s
MePhones, sody-dranks, a full-up ash tray
Tabled as if these were the agendas

And uniformed in uniforms they sit
In conclave all unanimous to judge
Their boss to be: a sorry piece of (stuff)
A drab, a dork, a doof, a dolt, a drudge

A slime, a slob, a slug, a ****, a schlo -
Oh, wait! We’re late! The time! We’d better go!

A Straw Man Accessorized with Exclamation Marks from the Eighth Grade (Rainbow Brite™ © Glitter Optional)

I heard it, dude; it’s part of the nexus!
A floating island as big as Texas!
All made of straws, there in the Pacific!
It’s on the ‘Net, dude, it’s there, specific!

It’s a Russian plot, sponsored by Putin!
It’s on the ‘Net, dude, sure as shootin’!
Them plastic straws will soon bring down the grid!
They **** the whales; they even got a squid!

The science is settled; let’s make some laws:
The source of all evil is them plastic straws!!!!!!!

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

               A Student Does Not Repose in a Passive State of Being

A student is not in a passive state of being
But is rather a soul-probing projectile
Penetrating the wisdom of centuries
And coming out on the other side

Still curious, but a meteor now

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

                        A Student Walkout with Hissy-Chants

But

I heard of one student who refused to go
Who bravely thought for herself, and so said no
And she’s the one student I want to know

Raggedy barefoot children in the five and dime
With a Saturday morning quarter each
Plastic toy soldiers, Nazis and Yanks
Or a wind-up car – but that’s a dollar

Whitman adventure books for fifty cents
If nothing this week, then maybe the next
The Call of the Wild, with noble dog Buck
But what about marbles in a little net bag?

Tables of treasures at the variety store
Aladdin’s Cave (with a swept wooden floor)

Kingsville, Texas, 1955

A loaf of bread from the Piggly Wiggly
A quart of milk because MawMaw forgot
A Coke and a Mickey Mouse funnybook
A water pistol and Eskimo Pies

A pack of PawPaw’s brand of cigarettes
So he can watch his Yankees this afternoon
On the Sylvania with the rabbit ears
In gloriously static-y black-and-white

Plays called by Dizzy Dean and PeeWee Reese
In our childhood world, forever at peace

Old chairs just anyhow across the lawn
This morning mown by a grass-proud old man
Who with his book and chair and pipe and dog
Rules his demesne with glasses of iced tea

In this an afternoon of indolence
And as the shadows shift to mark the hours
Even Poirot relaxes his little grey cells
And merely strolls to apprehend the thief

Oh, happy summer, tea or lemonade,
And lazy hours just dreaming in the shade

When streaming rain obscures your window pane
You want to be alone, among your thoughts
And no one knows exactly why that’s so
But yes, you are at peace this afternoon

They say the falling barometric pressure
Makes you sleepy, but the rain knows better
The drowsing rain, it wants to sing to you
And tuck you softly into a dream of love

So close your eyes, and as the little book slips
Onto your lap, the rain sighs with your lips

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


                                      Asymm­etrical Peacefare


                                       The centre cannot hold

                              -W.B. Yeats, “The Second Coming”


But now there is no center to be held
Everywhere the ceremony of guilt backlights a cult
A cult of power where the powerful forgive each other
And where the powerless will never be forgiven

There is no center; only orbits in bellowing decay
Honors and offices pinned to hollow souls
A cult of power where the powerful discard each other
And where the powerless are still unforgiven

A bell, a knell, a slow-rolling toll, a shoal
Where an angel writes of us on a curious scroll

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                  A Synod on Synodality -
                                   What does that mean?


                    This Synod is intended as a Synodal Process. The aim of
                    this synodal process is not to provide a temporary or
                    one-time experience of synodality, but rather to provide
                    an opportunity for the entire People of God to discern
                    together how to move forward on the path towards
                    being a more synodal Church in the long-term.

                -https://www.synod.va/en/the-synod-on-synodality/what-
                 is-the-synod-about.htm


And let the people say: Huh?

Prelates and prince-prelates and princesses
Whose names are prefaced with gilded adjectives
Attend their meetings and cloud the ecclesiastical air
With catalogues of obscure polysyllables

But somewhere – somewhere in a little parish
Fading into a forest far from the highways
Or in an underfunded religious house
Along some decaying steel town’s crumbling streets
Poor brothers and sisters catch the morning bus
To nursing homes and migrant shelters and jails
To serve the drunks, the druggies, the ne’er-do-wells
The abandoned and lonely children of God

Because everywhere – the faithless and the faithful
Tangle with Satan in physical and emotional pain
In the ******, soul-shrieking hells of war
In petitioning faceless functionaries
For even a little help, a doctor’s appointment
A job, a meal, a bit of dignity
In the shadow of bishops flying first-class
And taking selfies in their playbox dressups

Prelates and prince-prelates and princesses
Exchange lecture notes and witty bon mots -
An outcast bypassed on the pavement dies
A knotted rosary tangled in her aged hands

Perhaps her last words were of synodality

A Take Away from the Take Away Steak Fingers

King Henry II: Forks?

Thomas Becket: Yes, from Florence. New little invention. It's for pronging meat and carrying it to the mouth. It saves you dirtying your fingers.

King Henry II: But then you ***** the fork.

Thomas Becket: Yes, but it's washable.

King Henry II: So are your fingers. I don't see the point.

-Becket, 1964

Encapsulated in bivalves of foam
As bottom feeders in the fast-food chain
Small fragments of a poor dead cow, chopped, shaped
And formed into cow fingers that are not

For it behooves the diner thus to know
That cows haven’t any fingers at all
But the dear diner does, and digitally
Renders the cow fingers as nutrition

And that is all there is about cow fingers -
Not a topic on which the gourmet lingers

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                            A Tattered ****

                                   Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 2

Scene i: a lawn chair beneath a shady oak

Okay, sure, sometimes I feel like a tattered ****
After my morning’s work, creaking into my chair
And reaching for my iced tea and a book
Sipping on both for a vision of youth

My Hercule Poirot body is made almost young again
By strolling through Arden with Rosalind and Orlando
(Only for a while; they would much rather be alone…)
And then the iced tea tells me of Ceylon

Okay, sure, sometimes I feel like a tattered ****
But sometimes - forever young

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

                       At Dawn: Unremembered Dreams

The Temple veil is torn
And I no longer see

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

                              A Texas Ranger on the Trail

                                 For Ranger Brandon Bess

His steely eyes stare into the microscope
Following a ****** track of DNA
Across the scrubby badlands of the lab
And into computer analysis

His gun hand targets matching saliva swabs
With a hair-trigger spectrophotometer
Double-loaded with HLA-DQalpha
Against Minifiler STR at high noon

Say, pardner –

If you commit a crime in Texas, then you had best
Beware the Ranger with a Teichman test

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

                                     ­       a;th4fiothei545’

S
sT

orhpenm

n
e
e
c
y           ­                                       a;th4fiothei545’

meaningyhreoimviyrwoerhjmierpowhmteiwohtrccwor’­jwexkrper;wkcy’pvky’pteykv’retyvtr;eykw;kwy’erw c’ljrxwdhxucjf4t5ingj0tr9jvh8gcbiudwunio4jot4wernfcnipdwo’4cntgi?­????????

Poetryecahe5io;w yhvj’6re6jueru v6
Shapes234rgv ,frpvw,ujt3r[v
Chaos-09iuyhgfcdx
Into23wertgyhjk,./wertghjk,l.oikjhgvcxyhblkjhgfdsa
Meaning6trdsxz9ijhbv,mnhgfdew.,k­jhytrnbgfdewcxsaq

Poetry forms erfghygnmgponiytpm==[‘;/.pl[[[

Poetry forms chaos wedfvbrtghjm,yypoiuytrewsdfghjkl;.,mjhgfdxs

Poetry forms chaos into 1qaz2wsx3edc4rfv5tgb6yhn7ujm8ik,9ol.0p;/

A poem formsdwf4eyudby8gkjouiyugoimioip,o[p]\

0oikjn98iujhbgv8uygvc7ytg­fcx6trfdxz5redsz4esaz3wa1qwsdxcvfde33rfgbbgtr5tyhnmnjhyt5tyhjm,mj­ujk,kiuiklo90opoiuyhgfdvfrty6yujytgbfghjhgbcoffee


             ­         Poet and poem form chaos into meaning

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         Atheist Chaplains Forging Mixed Metaphors

         “Atheist chaplains are forging a new path in a changing world”

                                    -CNN 7 November 2024

One seldom thinks of chaplains at a forge
Work-weary, work-stained from hours of smoke and sweat
With mighty hammer strokes bending hot iron
To the will of the artisan in useful things

Some writers forge nothing but metaphors tired
From overuse, and mixed as verbal soup
In music, art, literature, and life paths can be

Cleared
Paved
Traveled
Surveyed
explored
Followed
Noted
Marke­d
Mapped
Found

But it is not in the nature of paths to be forged

Atheist chaplains and metaphor soup
Are nothing more than an ouroborosian loop

(Look upon this fresh metaphor and neologism
And despair)

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

                              A Theological Wristwatch

At bedtime my watch suggests to me
That I should meditate with gratitude
For someone who is important in my life
Who gives a deeper meaning to each day

And so I stare at the lava-lamp effect
On the face of my watch, as if it were
An artifact from McGoohan’s The Village
Wanting information, not meditation

And I am grateful; it’s just that the watch
Suggests only For What, and not To Whom

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                A Third Couplet for the Coup

The president’s son humiliated our representatives -
They're as useless as gas-station pregnancy preventatives

She was restless in Mass, a three-years’ child
And in her patient father’s loving arms

She wriggled
She squiggled
She giggled

And then she lay ‘way back and looked ‘way up

What went she into the desert to see -
A light fixture? An air-conditioning vent?

Oh, no

Her eyes were large
Her lips were still
Her breaths were soft

- she saw much more

She was happy in Mass, a three-years’ child
And from her father’s arms something she saw…

What?

Who?

She smiled



(And of course she may have been delighted with the vision of an air-conditioning vent after all; a small child’s learning curve is more open to joy than ours)

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

                     A Time Capsule for our Noblest Soldier

                          “In war I do not like to take sides”

                                         -Sergeant Schultz

If there must be time capsules buried beneath
Statues of bold men wearing uniforms
As a remembrance of man’s noblest ideals
Let us have one for dear ol’ Sergeant Schultz

A recipe for Hans' apple strudel
A bottle of his favorite Pilsner beer
A Cuban cigar from Colonel Klink’s stash
And a menu from the Hofbrau House

But especially the strudel

If we must honor soldiers, as some assert
Then let us include their favorite dessert

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

                                           A Tiny Tinsel Star

                                                 For Sarah

While cleaning house I found a tinsel star
A tiny tinsel star from long ago
When once upon a time it shone so far
Above a Christmas scene in cotton snow

Or maybe for a little child’s birthday
Among the paper napkins and candled cake:
“And now you ****! each wishing-flame away
But keep it a secret, that wish you make!”

And in this star her little friends’ sweet cheers
Still sound throughout the house after all these years

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

                                       At Noon, After Mowing

I sat in the shade and mended a hose
A water hose whose fittings had parted ways
And on the grass some mockingbirds and jays
Argued and shrilled – but why? Nobody knows

I cut away the plastic (hecho en China)
And fitted brass (hecho en Mexico)
For repairs that is the best way to go
To make a hose secure – what could be finer?

And what could be finer than to sit a while
In the dreaming shade? Yes, that’s my style!

A yawning dawning clinging to the coffee cup
Dishwasher safe for your happy little home
You press the button for the magic screen
And the in-box presents  - a toe fungus cure

Huh?

You opened the mail hoping for happiness
An existential why to the sleepless night
Matins and Lauds now electronical
And a note from a dear friend far away

But with your first sip of coffee, what did you see?
An ad for a toe fungus remedy!

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

                                           A Tom Bombadil Day


                         “How bright your garden looks!”

                            -Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings, Book I


Tomato seedlings from the hardware store
Happy little things, six of ‘em to a pack
I sing to them as I drive them home
They seem amused: I am no Tom Bombadil!

I sing to them more nonsense songs
(If no sniffy old Lobelias are listening)
As I gently, gently transfer them
With a pat and a prayer into the earth

And I sing to them; you will understand
For you too have lived in the dear old Shire

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

                               A Toy Story by Donny Two Dolls

I want (while dressed up as a Pope; I’m wild)
To ration the toys you want to give your child

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                            ­      At Rao’s Bakery -
                 Coffee, Croissants, Children, and the Constitution

At dawn - hot coffee and a fresh croissant
A family grouping at the table next
And a little child whispering to her mother
The Preamble to the Constitution

I turned and said, “Oh, I want to hear that again”
Proudly the little girl stood beside her mom
And in a strong, clear voice began: “We the People…”


We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.


I can’t do that anymore. Can you?

The child certainly earned an ‘A’ today
This coffee / croissant / American day

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  A Treatise on the Burrowing Habits of Dachshunds


                                                   in memory of

                                     Astrid-the-Wonder-Dachshund

                six pounds of barking, yapping, demanding, and love


A dachshund will burrow under the garden fence
For every dachshund thinks she is a wolf
A fearsome apex predator with a squeaky toy -
This is in the nature of dachshunds

A dachshund will burrow into your tightly-closed hand
Nosing out the doggie treat you have hidden there
A fearsome apex predator and omnivore -
This is in the nature of dachshunds

A dachshund will burrow into your end-of-day lap
Watching both the television and the cats
A fearsome apex predator drooling on your book -
This is in the nature of dachshunds

A dachshund will burrow, borrow, beg, and bark
And in her foreshadowing of that better World to come
A dachshund will burrow deeply into your heart -
And love you forever

This is in the nature of dachshunds

And of you

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

                           A Tribute to Gussie Fink-Nottle

                From an idea suggested by W. K. Kortas

Now be ye all upstanding, and charge your drinks
And let us lift a glass of orange juice
To all inebriated newt fanciers
(And God bless Market Snodsbury Grammar School)

And of all inebriated new fanciers
None is fancier than Gussie Fink-Nottle
None better with the newts, none worse with the girls
(And God bless Market Snodsbury Grammar School)

God bless the newts in Trafalgar fountain and pool
(And God bless Market Snodsbury Grammar School)

A Trochee Christmas and its Several Interchangeable Anapests
                    Brought to You in Some Desperation
                   By Your Local Chamber of Commerce
                        (Second Trailer Past the Stoplight)

Christmas in the Park
Christmas on the Main
Christmas on the Lake
Christmas on the Strand
Christmas on the Square
Christmas on the Farm
Christmas on the Beach
Christmas on the Mall
Christmas in the Mall
Christmas on the Block
Christmas on the Coast
Christmas on the Gulf
Christmas on the Hill
Christmas in the Keys
Christmas on the Quay
Christmas on the Quad
Christmas on the Range
Christmas on the Ranch
Christmas in the Vale
And this year, Christmas at the 'Gras!

But no Christmas without anapests, ‘kay?

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

                                       At the Barracks Gate


                  “Underneath the lantern by the barracks gate”

                                                 -"Lili Marlene"


There were two lanterns at our barracks gate
After standing inspection for Cinderella Liberty
We passed beneath them to catch the Number 7 bus
Past Balboa’s eucalyptus trees, into downtown

Where sins of the flesh awaited our E-1 fantasies
But instead we went to Mass, found a coffee shop
Nervously walked along Lower Broadway
Tried desperately to look like old salts

Carefully stayed away from Lili Marlene
And ‘phoned our parents from the lobby of the U. S. Grant