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Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


                 Barney Fife! Thou Shouldst be Living at this Hour

                              -as William Wordsworth did not say

Police chiefs are costumed as admirals these days
Or as generals, with medals and eagles and stars
Peaked caps and polished boots, more Patton than Patton
In stern command of parking-lot plywood lecterns

Their trousers are crisply pressed, as are their frowns
And all their seams line up with military precision
Each gold and silver button polished as befits
Leaders formidable to civilization’s foes

And thus they appear, gloriously attired
Explaining to their people why they’ve just been fired


(I admire police - beat cops, the proper coppers - but the resume’ builders who rise to high office and dress up like Hohenzollern postal clerks are another matter.)
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                What I Found While Cleaning a Faeries’ Well

Perhaps it was because I cleared the vines
The ancient vines, with tools of iron, of steel
And traced the circles of the well’s lost lines
With my unhallowed hands, by touch and by feel

Or that I wore my boots, or forgot my prayers
To the White Lady said to haunt this place
Or whistled secular songs, careless airs
Until the dusk, when I came face-to-face…

I have lived to tell of this wildest of adventures
I found on the lichened stone – a set of dentures
Despite my disapproval of exposition:

Until we became Roman and respectable, my Celtic and English ancestors made offerings at sacred wells associated with pixies and fairies and a mysterious White Lady, or Sheela na Gig.

I regret that the old well in my yard, the surviving structure from an old farmstead, is probably not a sacred well, or at least no more than any other well. While I was cleaning away the English ivy (which in English folklore binds lovers), I found on the edge of a brick a denture plate from years ago.

When I have finished cleaning the well, covering it with a sturdy concrete disc for safety, and topping it with a wrought-iron arch, I will add a crucifix.

I hope the resident Sheela / White Lady won’t mind.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
A Loss of Vision

                      As we grow older we grow honester,
                      that's something.

                             -Yevtushenko, “Zima Junction”

I drove a friend to his ophthalmologist
When I walked him into the office
He could perceive only light and shadow
After we left, some four hours later

He could read the fine print on his McDonald's coffee cup

Miracle. Laser surgery. Miracle.

The McDonald's was our third place to try
For coffee; the first two chains were empty and wrecked
Lake Charles is still a mess after hurricane-curses
This summer, with wreckage everywhere, street signs gone

Houses blasted and empty, shops blasted and empty
Work crews along some streets, silence along others

Dear Leader never bothered to notice
The new Dear Leader won't bother to notice
They send our children overseas to bomb people
And build them new infrastructure and then

Bomb everything again

We are trying to be good Americans
Our golf-course presidents and
Keyboard-kommando generalissimos
And feeble Merovingian Congress

Fist-bump each other

Only my friend has his vision again
A poem is itself.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Doing the household laundry is rather fun
The old roundy-go-thump washing machine
Roundy-go-thumps in time to the dishwasher
While the electric dryer waits patiently

Someday I will have a clothesline again
And summer days and summer sun will love
My shirts and towels so sweetly dry that they
Will want to fly away on the summer breeze

And when the clothes have been folded away
The sun will want to come inside to play
A poem is itself
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Maps help us navigate the land
Charts help us navigate the sea
All of them, when drawn out by hand
Are works of art, as you well see
A poem is itself. Your life is yours.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               You Do Not Prune an Apple Tree

You do not prune an apple tree, oh, no
You must become one with the apple tree
With saw and loppers, not unlike a surgeon
An especially conscientious one

The intrusions of vines must be excised
And the cancerous ******* growths pulled away
Dead limbs must be diagnosed and sawn down
And the poor weeping ends tended with love

You tell the tree to take the winter off
And call you first thing in the coming spring
A poem is itself. So is an apple
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


                                    ­        Café’ Renee’

                      Listen very carefully; I shall say this only once.

                                    -Michelle of the Resistance

Café Renee’ is still open in Nouvion
Close to the coast, except when it isn’t
In a petit monde of possibilities
Even when the outside world is going wrong

Let us find a table close enough to hear
Lieutenant Geering and Colonel von Strom
Whispering conspiracies about paintings and plots
Until Madame Edith screeches out a song

Renee’ brings us a cognac as always
And we know the fun is about to begin
A poem is itself.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                            A Catechism of Brokenness

The celebrant breaks the Body in two
The Body is broken
The celebrant is broken
The communicant is broken

Only the Word is whole: “This is My Body…”

The celebrant breaks the Body in two
That it may be shared
Broken again
And shared further along

Only the Word is whole: “This is My Body…”

The Celebrant breaks the Body in two
That in the sequenced brokenness
In all the little broken Pieces
One-ness may come
A poem is itself.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                             The Geometry of Intersectionality

1. Crossroads

Intersections aren’t crossroads, you know
Where you can choose to stop a while and talk
With a man walking some other way in life
And learn something over a borrowed cigarette

2. Intersections

At intersections you never meet anyone
It’s all about obedience to lights and signs
And painted arrows in the road that seem
To point everywhere except where you want to go

3. Stop-for-awhile signs

There are stop signs in life. You have to stop
But then you go – a stop sign isn’t forever
A poem is itself. "Intersectional" is a cliche'.
Lawrence Hall Nov 2020
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                        What Went Ye into the Casino to See?

                              Shootings at a Las Vegas Casino

                                                 -news item

What went ye into the casino to see -
A numbered mandala spinning truth on red
A James Bond manque in a cartoon tee
A tatted Sylvia Trench wheezing a joint?

What went ye into the casino to see -
A clapped-out Toyota cruising the drag
Mysterious encounters behind the Denny’s
Getting lucky in the Lucky 7 Motel?

Does a man learn at last what life really means
Choking in blood among the slot machines?


Cf. St. Matthew 11:7
A poem is itself.
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