The wind that blows is all that anyone knows

                                                          ­  -Thoreau

“She hit me!” “She did not!” “He hit her first!”
“You can ask anyone – I hit the mike!”
“No, no, she hit me!” “No, he is the worst!”
“No, not at all, that’s not what it was like!”

“The president’s a meany!” “The press is rude!”
“This is unprecedented!” “You’re a fake!”
“Take away his pass; I’m not in the mood!”
“It’s unacceptable!” “Well, you’re a snake!”

As the nation crumbles in violence and smoke
The press and president are one bad joke

Greeting Card Verse

There is nothing wrong with greeting card verse:
Noses are red, some types of whales are blue
Two woods diverged in a yellow road, so what
Is any of that to me or to you?

A man must find a verse that fits his needs -
Archly obscure thick homilies preening
To poly spec for the cause of the day
Couched in cool cant neither pretty nor true

Are but ISBN numbers on file

And

Sometimes ya want to smile, crocodile!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                          Grooving in Area 52

Maybe…

The Beatles got it wrong back-then-ago
When groovy discs through grooves grooved out our songs -
For we now groove in an Area 52
Not in a groovy screen-door submarine  

Certainly…

We groove and grok in ******* behind chain-links
Where elderly men ****** their guitars
And middle-aged women dressed as majorettes
Jiggle duct tape and weight-loss medications

Maybe…

The Beatles grooved it right ago-back-then -
Old grooves, dull mediocrity still lock us in

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

                                       The Graveyard Shift

At two in the morning everything is old
The hours, the work, the fluorescent lights
The air, the night, flickering computer screens
Even the freshly-made coffee in the break room

At two in the morning everything is old
The way the new guy snuffles his dripping nose
The cleaning lady’s mop bucket and its rattling roll
The snoopervisor’s totally fake good cheer

At two in the morning everything is old
“You’ll love the fellowship on graveyards,” I was told

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

                           Guarding the Borders Against Criminals


                    In any case we are not attacking them at all.
                    We are offering them incalculable benefits.

                      ― T.H. White, The Once and Future King


They began settling here a long time ago
At first they were welcome, but they developed a ‘tude
We need their charity - they tell us so!
But their intentions are obvious and crude

With insolence, edict, and a heavy political hand
They’ve come to save us from ourselves; that’s what they say
Here in our beloved, Canada, our home and native land –

Oh, won’t the Americans just go away!

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

               Guilted to the Cemetery Next to the Sewage Plant

                          The dead with charity enclosed in clay

                                             -Henry V IV.viii.121

I did not want to go to the cemetery today
And do things with Hobby Lobby flowers
Made in China plastic $8.95
And floral foam in chemical green blocks

The streets of my youth are rubble and weeds
The woods of my youth are now trailer parks
The church of my youth is a hollerin’ place
For even they have lost all dignity

The soft wind sighs over our people’s graves
The stench from the sewage plant sweeps in waves

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

                                              Guns ‘N’ Babies

Racks of guns and shelves of ammunition
But almost no formula for our babies’ nutrition

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

           Guy Fawkes Day - an App Payment for the Guy?

Remember, remember a good fifth of plonk
Elections, tantrums, and plot
I see no reason
This autumn season
Why this year should not be forgot!

Remember, remember the Fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason, and plot!
I see no reason
Why gunpowder treason…
Wait – dude, is there an app for that?

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

                               Guy Fawkes’ Last Tweet

Remember, remember, the tweets of November
Corporate greed and rot
I see no purpose
Why declaring workers surplus
Should ever be forgot

Habakkuk on a Letter Jacket

We’ve yet to see a quote from Habakkuk
Glittered and glued onto a run-through sign
Or embroidered on a letter jacket -
1:11 comes to mind, or 2:7

How curious it is to write some lines
of scripture to be trampled into scraps
of paper and glitter and glue near to
the concession stand and the marching band

Or wear them as a fashion accessory

And

We’ve yet to see that quote from Habakkuk

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

                                      My Daughter at The Last Supper

And whilst they were at supper, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and broke: and gave to his disciples, and said: Take ye, and eat. This is my body…”

          -Saint Matthew 26:26-29, Douay-Rheims 1899 American
           Edition via Bible Gateway

And my daughter said unto our Lord,
“Excuse me…excuse me, Sir, but is this matzoh fresh?
Did you check the expiration date?
Is it really kosher?  Is it from a fair-trade source?”

Amen or oymen?

Judas has left the building.

Dentistry is being
Waterboarded by Morlocks
Who keep saying “Relax”

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

                                   Haircut Appointment with Connie

The year’s at the spring,
And day ’s at the morn;
0400 with thunderstorms
The fields are dew-pearl'd;
Scotty-the-cop makes his traffic busts
And Connie her usual fuss
God ’s in His heaven—
All ’s right with the world!

                                -as Robert Browning did not say

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

                                      Half-Awake in Moonlight

No one is fully awake in this strange moonlight
The magic won’t work if we think of it
Pirate ships can’t fly if there’s logic about
And lovers would never touch hands

For lovers and pirates are always stealing something
Kisses and treasures and sometimes hearts
And we have all been lovers and pirates at times
And even now when moonlight magics our dreams

And we are richer than a treasure’s worth
When our silver kisses flutter over the earth

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

                          Halftime Show – A James Bond Medley

          Arrangement by Cliff Clash, B.A., M.Ed,
          Choreography by Cliff Clash, B.A., M.Ed,
          And Ms. Feather Dream Jones-Clash, B.A.

In a dinner jacket from the theatre club
A sophomore spy-dances among the twirlers
Along the fifty-yard line all sodden with
The stench of muck and summer-sodden heat

The sodium lights cast a wicked glare
Upon the field and the concession stand
Where snackers in cartoon tees ignore
The blat of the tubas, the boom of the drums

The polyester uniforms now march away
While James Bond coughs in clouds of mosquito spray

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

                                          Hallowed be Thy App

               “…that unmistakable English church-going pace…
               holding, bound in black lamb-skin and white celluloid,
               the liturgies of a half dozen conflicting sects…”

                                -Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

One sees a Bible only occasionally
Even more rarely a Sunday missal
Which, with coat and tie and the mantilla
Are relics of a courtlier, more dignified time

The faithful now carry the scriptures as apps
The rosary the same (maybe next to Candy Crush)
An electronic conscience funded by an investment firm
And available at a low introductory price

A talking box - it must be Godly and true
And just as eternal as the Apple II

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                       Hanukkah is a Light That Always Gets In


                            There is a crack in everything.
                            That’s how the light gets in.

                               -Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”


Eight candles of the mind, then, of the soul
In a time of hooded pursuivants
Seeking for truth so that it might be suppressed
Seeking for light that it might be extinguished

There mustn’t be any candles, then, in the windows now
In this Abomination of Desolation
Where wrapped in reptilian rags from Amazon
Sullen illiterates ***** their eyes against the light

If you are somewhat broken, read from the scroll
Beneath the lights of Hanukkah
Eight candles of the mind and of the soul



Note on the quotation: Babblings on the InterGossip led me to verify the above quote, which is from the poem “Anthem” published in Leonard Cohen, ed. Robert Faggen, Everyman’s Pocket Poetry series.

Happy Nonsense Rhymes for V.B.

A tuppence for your hopes and dreams
A florin for flowers for your hair
A sixpence for some seven sunbeams
A half-crown for a comfy fireside chair

Ive been to the dentist

She gave ma a happy pill ME a happy pill, not Ma a happy pill

Tree frogs are my favotire amphibians there so cute ya wanna buy them an ice cream but there aint no bug ice scream

Yes I’m fine than k you

Gosh this is still fun

And they gave me a new toothbrush although I use the super-golly-gee-****-quadro-toothbrush-thing-that-lights-up-and-s­tuff

Yes the pill is wearing off sure
wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Why do they all put their hands in my mouth at the same time

Lets see thats four hands

And then they yell at me to relax

But yeah I got a pill qnd I am sooooooooooooooooooo relaxed

My teeth are fine

My teeth are green no wait my teeth or clean because if they were green they wouldn’t be clean

Dr. Joyce is the best

There’s still something to be said for tree frogs

Yes I can walk to the car whoops

Yes I can opine the passenger door

Yes I can belt my seat fashion

Or somethingthis has been fun

Thank you yes six monyhsts…

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

                                        Happy to be Bourgeoisie

All cozy in my clichéd’ atmosphere
With a hammock beneath a backyard tree
And my riding lawnmower and a can of beer:
I am happy to be bourgeoisie, you see

I love few things better than a cup of tea
But with that advert – shouldn’t they pay me?

Since 1922

When roaches sense the coming winter
Into your palace, house, or flat they enter

Remember this, as each critter encroaches:
If you have a clean house you’ll have clean roaches

But…

They’ll eat your books, your food, your shoes, your clothes
Give them a chance and they’ll bite off your nose!

They’ll eat your cat, your hat, your baby brother -
They are even pleased to eat each other!

Unless you give them a taste of the Harris
Roaches – oh, ick! - might devour all of Paris

So serve them with Harris, and watch them die
With their quivering feet straight up to the sky

It’s up to you…

No queen, no king, no president, no pope
Need ever think about some cockroach dope

But you do



(I have no connection with the fine folks of Harris Famous Roach Tablets; however, my short-lived household roaches do.)

Harvest Time in the Fens

St. Michael’s Church, Chesterton

A calendar knows little of a day,
Of any day; its arbitrary squares
Mark seasons as they amble on their way
From holy Advent ‘til the harvest fairs,

When summer’s crops, all red and gold and blue,
Along with piglets, ducks, some well-fed hens,
Are carted squeaking, squealing, creaking to
Saint Michael’s fields in the Anglian fens.

Old Father William lifts a pint (no less!)
With farmers selling cows and chicks and corn,
For he is merry too, and quick to bless
The laboring marsh-folk on this autumn morn.

Earth, sky, and air mark seasons as they fall,
And now comes Martinmas, joyfully, for all.

A calendar knows little of a day,
Of any day; its arbitrary squares
Mark seasons as they amble on their way
From holy Advent ‘til the harvest fairs

When summer’s crops, all red and gold and blue
Along with piglets, ducks, some well-fed hens
Are carted squeaking, squealing, creaking to
Saint Michael’s fields in the Anglian fens

Old Father William lifts a pint (no less!)
With farmers selling cows and chicks and corn
For he is merry too, and quick to bless
The laboring marsh-folk on this autumn morn

Earth, sky, and air mark seasons as they fall,
And soon comes Martinmas, joyfully, for all

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

                       Has All the Gold Been Stolen from Fort Knox?

                     Elon Musk encouraged to crack open Fort Knox
                     and audit the gold reserves

                           -New York Post, 16 February 2025

President Musk will now make an audit
Of the gold in Fort Knox, down to the dime
But all he will find (he may have already caught it)
Is the missing TP from the covid time!

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

         Hate Has No Veto Over Love – Two Thoughts on the Matter

Some people say that
Hate has no veto over love
Some people say that

Some people say that
Hate has no veto over love
And we say that too

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                  Have You Got a License for That Concealed Truth?

                                      Thanks to Traveler and Donall

Don’t point truth or books at anyone unless you mean to bless him
Always open-carry truth and books
Always know what is behind truth and your book
There is no such thing as an unloaded truth or book
Once truth leaves the page you can’t call it back –
                                                   nor would you want to do so
Don’t rely on a book-banner’s safety
Know how to think about truth and books carefully
Store truth and books so that they can be accessed
                                                   by unauthorized persons
You can’t judge a cover by its book




(The “him” in the first line is gender-neutral as it always has been and always will be.)

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

                               Cockroaches and Cold-Callers

We honor life as part of God’s creation
Its good is an objective reality
Cruelty to animals is an abomination
(Though a cockroach we flush with fiendish glee)

                    “Hi, this is Heather; we’re taking a survey…”

There are variations on this Leaden Rule
For if you haven’t sent a cockroach down the loo
(This practice should be taught in every school)
An telephone cold-caller will certainly do

                    “Good morning! We’re giving away free siding…”

Thus you may WOOOOSH! a swindler or a roach
Completely free of any self-reproach

                    “This isn’t a sales call; we only want to ask…”

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

                                  Hav­e You Read All These Books?

“Have you read all these books?”

“No, nor have I seen every dawn.”

No, I was in the play.  I didn’t like it.
The plot, setting, and characterization
Were all wrong, and the clumsy denouement  
Was poorly written and acted.
                                                           “Macbeth.”

War profiteers from John Wayne to Ken Burns
Have claimed my illegal war for their own
"Hell hath no fury like a non-combatant"  
Beyond that, the VA is ashamed of me

So, thanks, but no. I'm good.  Bitter, but good
For I was in the play.  I didn’t like it.

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

                                            Having Lost Our Way


                     Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heav’n

                                 -Satan in Paradise Lost I.263


Like Gollum we hug our ancient hatreds to ourselves
Clinging to every offense, real or perceived
Chanting with Macbeth’s witches as we stir
Each sullen resentment into the ***

We wish neither to forgive nor to be forgiven
A hand offered in friendship will be eaten
Faith is a bitcoin of unreality
And love is just an excuse for abuse

Like Gollum we hug our ancient hatreds to our deaths
Hissing vituperatives with our very last breaths

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                    Hazmat Unit Rushes to Donald Jr’s Florida Home

                                    -Daily Mail Online

At the first whiff of a white powder leak
The New Order lifts its skirts and cries “Eek!”

Heat Advisory – But Whom Does the Heat Advise?

“Heat advisory issued as temps expected to reach triple digits”

-Houston Chronicle, 29 July 2017

Hey, temps, you’ve been reaching for those digits
For centuries.  Always you reach, sometimes
you grasp, those urged indoor activities
while counting up to three in Fahrenheit

And not in that ungodly Celsius
Which is simply not our kind of measure
We need no Frenchified logic like that
For the Bible is free of decimals

Hey, temps, you’ve been reaching for those digits -
Now cuddle up with an air-conditioner

Heaves of Gas

I sing the bodiless electronic
Manly working man blank verse flannel shirt
All gone now
Pajamas and video games
Cupcake competitions instead of schoolyard tug-o’-war
A gap-toothed grilled-cheese sandwich singing under the sea
Bi-polar bears alt.yawn Revolutionary Proletarian Art with    
      Selfie  Sticks
Banana Daiquiri Republic
Must be nice to be a thinker all great
Adored by all, and subsidized by the state
Made in Nicaragua by free-range artisans, I think
Re-Presentation
Rhinestone tattoo flipflopped knee-pantsies and a cartoon tee
Die, Webinar, Die
Up the Revolution you can’t make me clean my room
Machine against the rage on the cosmic app
Renewable green sanctions
Double-double boil and bubble a froth’ed mocha decaf with a
      tinkling of Cinnamon
We are the drones we have been waiting for

He Has it All - 1

An entire floor of a building he owns
The Great Room illuminated by soft lights
A perfect fireplace row of red oak flames
Beneath a mantel of carven German work

One wall is paneled with leatherbound great books
The seatings are a find from Finland last year
Champagne is set out in Romanov crystal flutes
His guests in evening wear wait silently

And as he is rolled away in funeral home wraps
His family are scrambling for the scraps


He Has it All - 2

An entire bunk in a shabby rented room
Illuminated by a dangling bare bulb
His plastic coffee mug, a sink full of dishes
Beneath a dusty window on the alley

A plywood shelf bears a television for cheap
From Goodwill, illegally wired to the cable
After pocketing his pal’s pocketknife
His roommate waits silently, and weeps

A pack of cigarettes, a Bic, a comb
And angels vying for the honor of bearing him Home

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

                       He Just Walked in Front of the Train

He just walked in front of the train, they say
Off in the woods, the lonely woods, the night
The rails as screaming horror in his wild death
Blue jeans, yellow shirt, no identification

He just walked in front of the train, they say
The black-box cameras will show something of it
But not the emptiness that chased him there
Blue jeans, yellow shirt, no identification

He just walked in front of the train, they say
Blue jeans, yellow shirt, no identification

He’ll beat her up
She’ll call the police
Tearful reconciliation
He’ll beat her up
She’ll call the police
Tearful reconciliation
Maybe counseling
He’ll beat her up
She’ll call the police

Or maybe there will be stuffed toys tied to a chain-link fence
And a hearse passing slowly through the gates
Some discount-store candles lined up along the curb
Gas-station flowers
Journalists will write “makeshift shrine” and “icon”
Someone will write a song
                    (“You people just don’t understand”)
Someone will write a book
                    (“You people just don’t understand”)
And The People will buy posters and tee-shirts

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

                           He Never Met a Phor He Didn’t Like

He never met a phor he didn’t like
Where the dead are always spinning in their graves
A discarded cup looks like a war zone
And poems are unpacked instead of read

Or hyperbole ‘WAY OVER THE TOP!!!!!!!!!!!!
***! ***! ***! OH!!!!!!!!
MY LIFE HAS BEEN CHANGED FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!
NO ONE HAS EVER SUFFERED AS MUCH AS I!!!!!!!!

And freighted his lines with adverbs in rank
Until they really actually literally sank

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

        Henry Kissinger Has Left His Multi-Million-Dollar Apartment

The bodyguards, the security details
The long black cars, the cooing movie stars
The expensive dinner jackets tailored just so
The best cigars, the rarest of champagnes
The jeweled watches and those golden cufflinks
The many underlings awaiting his call
The fawning bishops at the Al Smith dinners
The publishers eager to print his latest screeds
The voice that commanded armies and fleets
And left presidents quivering in fear

The millions of corpses rotting in the sun




I live in the Managerial Age, in a world of "Admin." The greatest evil is not now done in those sordid "dens of crime" that Dickens loved to paint. It is not done even in concentration camps and labour camps. In those we see its final result. But it is conceived and ordered (moved, seconded, carried, and minuted) in clean, carpeted, warmed, and well-lighted offices, by quiet men with white collars and cut fingernails and smooth-shaven cheeks who do not need to raise their voice. Hence, naturally enough, my symbol for Hell is something like the bureaucracy of a police state or the offices of a thoroughly nasty business concern.

              -C. S. Lewis, Preface to *The Screwtape Letters

King Henry V...

                                  Henry V II.i.47ff

For supper Lord Cambridge was given a chop
The very meal Lord Masham was dreading
Northumberland was carved in that very same shop -
What Norman doesn’t enjoy a lovely beheading?

The nectar of youth from which the hummingbirds fed
In the joyful sweetness of their morning flights
Now sullies and sours the afternoon hours
Through bitter infestations and corruptions

Its former clarity corrupted now
Trapped in a tube of stagnation and rot
And scavenged by a malevolent wasp
Her batlike wings pulsing malignantly

But there is always hope: new songs, new words
In the morning’s return of sweet hummingbirds

Her Brief Candle

                                       “Do we all holy rites…”

                                          -Henry V, IV.viii.118

Her candle was too brief

But she was here
And she gave us joy

Conventionalities are no good now:
We are all stricken in the loss of a child
A happy child, in whom we are forever blessed
Today and forever, in happy remembrance

But still, it hurts
She’s not here now

Are we asking too much
That she should be?

No

Because if she were here
She would give meaning to our feeble words

“Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and make perpetual Light to shine upon her.”

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                      Here May You See the Tyrant

                     And live to be the show and gaze o’ th’ time.
                     We’ll have thee, as our rarer monsters are,
                     Painted upon a pole, and underwrit
                    “Here may you see the tyrant.”

                                        -Macbeth V.viii.28-31

Once upon a time he strutted across the stage
Peering into a cauldron presented to him
And stirring it about for a viler taste
Soul-sickness for sale from a poisoned chalice

But now he lurks in his dime-store Dunsinane
Conjuring magic baubles that do not exist
Comic-book ikons of himself for sale
To sucker the intellectually innocent

He cannot admit that his life was a lie
A non-fungible token to its end

Cicadas contribute to the silence
With their impious reproductive racket
A cloud of whistles, whirrs, buzzes, and clicks
In the otherwise still and stiller noon

An old man rests his shovel and himself
And sits in the flickering shade awhile
To think of nothing while sweet incense rises
Up from the sacred bowl of his Peterson’s pipe

The Eternal breathes silently over all
(Them cicadas sure is noisy, though)

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

               He Took a Photograph of a Forbidden Number!


                     “Tear him to pieces; he is a conspirator!”

                       -First Plebeian, Julius Caesar III.iii.28


Can I avoid death threats if I simply say
I wish Mr. Trump would go away
To a luxurious golf course there to play
And peace on him may we safely pray

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

                  He was Hollerin’ Jesus on Nowhere Street

               The madman shouted in the market place. No one
               stopped to answer him. Thus it was confirmed that his
                thesis was incontrovertible.

                  -Dag Hammarskjold, Markings, 12.22.57

He was hollerin’ Jesus on Nowhere Street
At the Corner of Life and Death, ‘way gone
Where there was a grocery store when we was kids
Next to a soda fountain with pinball machines

He was hollerin’ – sinners can’t hear, I guess
And beatin’ on his Bible and dancin’ about
Like a man with a devil in his soul
And that ol’ devil was wearin’ him down

He was hollerin’ among the ruins, a shame
When he looked at me
                    and hollered my name

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

              He Won’t Even Notice - a Bitter Couplet for the Coup

They cry that he is anointed of Jesus, that he saves
(His limousine will rumble over their poor graves)

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                 Hey! Hey! **! **! Mindless Chants Have Got to Go!

One seeks in vain for a “Hey! Hey! **! **!”
In the Bible, the Torah, the Bhagavad Gita
In Tolkien, Lewis, Frankl, or Yevtushenko
In any declaration of the rights of man

The Greek philosophers never barked “Hey! Hey! **! **!”
Phillis Wheatley would have rebuked that vulgarity
Lincoln yapped no such drivel at Gettysburg
Elizabeth Bishop argued with wit and grace

“Hey! Hey! **! **!” is boorish and ineffectual
And would never be spoken by a true intellectual