Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                              Camp Pendleton in Springtime

                            Field Medical Service School, 1968


There was no warmth in our sleeping bags
Spring rain sluiced down the dark and through our tents
Decaying tents from the Second World War
The Corps would spend no money on tents or us

But we were young, and playing at war was fun
We kept our rifles dry but nothing else
And yarned throughout the cold and soggy nights
Long days and nights mud-fighting the VC

Sometimes an hour or two of soggy sleep
But in my pocket, warm words from my favorite poet

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

                                     Remembering Rod McKuen

But of course some are vituperative – they aren’t him
The young still read his books, discreetly now
Because he isn’t cool in this unhappy time
The old still read his books – he saved their youth

But of course some are vituperative – they aren’t you
The young will read your books someday and know
That you have captured on paper their lives
And they will give their hearts freely to you

I hear that you are thinking of giving up poetry
You shouldn’t, you know – because while it is true
That you have a gift, you should always remember
That you are a gift, and the young need you

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

                               Rod McKuen at a Garage Sale

We don’t know who Baby ****** and Tommie were
They sent each other notes and underlines
And colored slips of paper from page to page
In Someone’s Shadow (“Hardbacks 25 Cents”)

The exuberance of adolescent arcs
Reminds us of our long-ago callow youth
When we thought we had discovered something
In secretly sharing free verse in home room

And we had – indulging in forbidden lines
Is still good therapy for being sixteen