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Lawrence Hall Nov 2018
…These men are worth your tears:
You are not worth their merriment.

-Wilfred Owen, “Apologia Pro Poemate Meo”

When that loudmouth on the wireless machine
Alludes to Western Civilization
What does he mean? Paradise Lost? Probably not
Nor Saint Paul speaking on the Field of Mars

The Kalevala, Hagia Sophia
With its pendentives lifting up our prayers
Horatius fighting to defend his bridge
And Wilfred Owen dying bravely on his

Lord Tennyson and Idylls of the King
Chapultepec, Henry V, Becket
The paratroops at Arnhem, Saint Thomas More,
His King’s loyal servant, but God’s first

The Stray Dog poets of Saint Petersburg
The brave last stand of Roland at Roncesvalles
Lewis and Tolkien and glasses of beer
Montcalm and Wolfe on the Plains of Abraham

Hildegard von Bingen, Siegfried and the Rhine
Magna Carta, HMS Hood, the Thames
The Grove of Daphne, “The Old Rugged Cross”
Beatrix Potter and her little pet rabbit

El Cid, Anne Frank, John Keats, Saint Benedict
“I Have a Dream,” Dostoyevsky, and Greene
Viktor Frankl, Dag Hammarkskjold, and Proust
Good Chaucer’s naughty pilgrims telling tales

The Gettysburg Address, Willie and Joe
Stern Saint Augustine of North Africa
Wodehouse writing a jolly bit of fun
Saint Corbinian and Bavaria

The ancient glories of Byzantium
Pius XII contra the bombs and lies
The 602nd TD Battalion
Saint Joan, the Prado, and Robert Frost

And far, far more.

When that loudmouth on the wireless machine
Alludes to Western Civilization
What does he mean?
Of your mercy please pray for the repose of the soul of Wilfred Owen who was killed in action on 4 November 1918, one week before the Armistice.
Lawrence Hall Feb 2017
Something a wise Benedictine said reminded this scribbler of the poor man to whom Becket gives a blanket in the 1964 film:

Poor man: "Thank you."

Becket: "You're welcome.  It will keep you warm."

Prissy cathedral canon: "He'll only sell it for drink."

Becket: "Then* that will keep him warm."

Compline in an Alley

Oh, let the poor man cling to his bottle
It’s his, isn’t it?  It’s his own free choice
The only thing he owns. Not even the space
Behind the dumpsters is reserved for him

Some bigger guy might take it away tonight
And his blankets too, and maybe his shoes
But with his bottle he is a worthy man
And he will drink to his own worthiness

Hard-earned, hard-fought, hard-drunk, ‘til dead
And kissing no one’s feet or hands or *ss
Lawrence Hall Jan 2018
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 Sep 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

      On Teaching Jean Anouilh’s Becket to High School Seniors

Beginning with the film

1st student young person on the roll sheet: “Is that th' pope?”
2nd student young person on the roll sheet: “I’d like to shoot that old pope.”

We have a lot of work ahead of us
"Let it be a challenge to you."

-Admiral *** to Sylvia in UP THE DOWN STAIRCASE
Lawrence Hall Dec 2016
The Beggar at Canterbury Gate

The beggar sits at Canterbury Gate,
Thin, pale, unshaven, sad.  His little dog
Sits patiently as a Benedictine
At Vespers, pondering eternity.
Not that rat terriers are permitted
To make solemn vows.  Still, the pup appears
To take his own vocation seriously,
As so few humans do.  For, after all,
Dogs demonstrate for us the duties of
Poverty, stability, obedience,
In choir, perhaps; among the garbage, yes,
So that perhaps we too might live aright.

The good dog’s human plays his tin whistle
Beneath usurper Henry’s1 offering-arch
For Kings, as beggars do, must drag their sins
And lay them before the Altar of God:
The beggar drinks and drugs and smokes, and so
His penance is to sit and suffer shame;
The King’s foul murders stain his honorable soul;
His penance is a stone-carved famous name
Our beggar, then, is a happier man,
Begging for bread at Canterbury Gate;
Tho’ stones are scripted not with his poor fame,
His little dog will plead his cause to God.

1Henry VII, who built the Cathedral Gate in 1517, long after the time of Henry II and St. Thomas Becket
“Space, the final frontier…”
Click.
“Dun da da da dum…”
Click.
“…own lifetime, Doctor Sam Becket…”
Click.
“Toll of hurricane sandy…”
Click.
“Hook elementary…”
Click.
“It’s like a towel, it’s like a shammy, it’s like a spon…”
Click.
“…ons. To boldly go where no one has gone before.”

I un-boldly went full circle, and today the world is supposed to end…
(12/21/12)
To the artist I love
to the voice of God
the divinity of sound
the divinity of motion

My higher being
my motion to the stars
for music if my companion
and my sweet drunken friend
is my relief

We slumber in hallways
as Van Gothy gets his ear sliced
in a ****** brawl nasty
a free for all knife fight

People wonder why Becket died
I say. … are you surprised
do you think a Poet is safe
in wicked cities we live


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Who killed Thomas Becket?
Canterbury I ask
He laid down to rest
The cathedral
Humbled at his death
The Tempest
A joyful tomorrow
King Edward
I hear your majesty
Send him a message
Th demise of Thomas Becket
Canterbury I ask

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson
The poem depicts the death of Thomas Becket in the book ****** In The Cathedral.
johnny solstice Jun 2019
At ringend on june sixteenth nineteen hundred and four
                                                                     Molly opens her door
and Literate Leopold plonks his kosher black pudding into her hand
                                                                                        Isn't it grand
                                                                 to be remembered this way?
Walking the streets and ******* the teats of the sow that eats its children
Searching for meat on O'Connel streeet that has the tang of scented *****
The well known literate degenerates
long to have  their hot-dogs stroked by baaaaaaaaaarnacles
whilst sellin' knick-nack Paddywackery of dear old ***** dumpling
                     How do they walk with her sausages
                                  and inner organs  of beasts and fowls?
their shanks ****** dry of whuskey on Denny's big breakfast show
                Well **** your ****! With a flame-grilled
                                                                       samuel
                                                                                 becket burger
                                                                             and a side order
                                                                       of oscar wilde fries

"warmth showered gently over him, cowing his flesh. Flesh yeilded amid rumpled clothes.
Whites of eyes swooning up. His nostrils arched themselves for prey. Melting breast ointments.
Armpits oniony sweat .
Fishgluey slime.
Feel!
Press!
Crushed!
Sulphur dung of lions
Young!  Young!

                 In the petri-
                               Pish
                               Pish
                               Pish
                               Dish
spitoon culture
           the illiteraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaati
                                      hold a party
                  
                "I'm a tiny tiny thing
                     Ever flying in the spring
                       Round and round a ringaring
                                                  Long ago I was king
                                        Now I do this kind of thing
                                     On the wing, onnnnnnnn the wing!"
                                                    Bing!

Professor Latelate Lateshow Late review
Was talking to ME……..        about yew
What do yew think of that aesthetic crew?
                                  The opal hush poets?
                                   The master mystiks?
The wanz thit
       *** to me
          in the sma' oors
               o the mournin'
                    tae ask aboot
                       plains o consciousness?

They're all Barbers, says he, from the Black Country that would hang their own fathers for five quid down and travelling expenses!

In Dublin's fine city
Where the wine bars are pretty
You can't find an ashtray
You must smoke alone.

                                                                                  Isn't it grand
                                                               To be remembered this way
Walking the streets and ******* the teats of the sow that eats its children?
Lawrence Hall Jun 2017
Prologue to The Canterbury Downloads

There is a pilgrimage which no one plans
For youth and age, across a room, a poem
Sending each other ordinary English words
One by email, the other by Pony Express

Some journey to Canterbury to pray
To God at good Saint Thomas Becket’s shrine
Some to the Burgate for a coffee shop
And texting over a mocha “The droghte of March”

One asks about the rising middle class
Of a lad who hasn’t a date for the prom
Student / teacher generational differences
Ryan Aug 2023
vices, vices
for some it's devices
you ask what the price is
think of time cut into slices
hindsight, life wasted
dragon, you chased it
pepperoni allocated
alabaster brain created
power washing neurons, water
from Lake Huron, sought her a crack pipe
till he fought back on the hard life
now we heard through the grapevine
come round to Becket and you can get
the finest joint rolled by a priest from Sarasota
at the highest point on I-90 east of South Dakota
longer than i could remember, this king (who still rules) invited excited spenders.

once drawbridge got let down, the floodgates of humanity poured into the city to snap up bargains.
  
no sooner than vendors set out merchandise, a swarm of fingers grabbed goodies.

wallets bulged with wads of cash itching to be spent by buyers swept up via mania.

like an organic being, a pandemonium prevailed infecting shoppers with feverish frenzy to stock bags with paraphernalia.

atop high perch, matthew felt ecstatic at what appeared as one swollen black shifting grounded cloud that swallowed shelves of wares.

Where can my family receive a little boost er shot of cash? just a small *** (about $1000.00) would be a welcome respite from my bankrupt account. 
-------------------------------------------------------­--

u fill in the expletive colorful bleep
per that i yam not a lurch ching Munster creep
juiced a harmless troll bait rent asunder tabula rasa
boot angst of penury doth penny tr8 real deep

dark cyber sea inundated with other earth-linked yahoos
lying amongst in a ur i ah heap
since bin ages since oye goot a peep
***** riotously footing ogling wealth to reap

wool lee ya be generous
fur shear lee Yukon give me legal tender
   ta help me sleep
oft times unable to suppress
   the unstoppable force to weep.
---------------------------------------------------------
P­OST SCRIPT NUMBER 891212:

hashed out about 123456789 hours ago
when i felt the bottom fell out - per no dough
helplessness ringing clangorously - no where 2 go
except...where many a G. I.

(which initials
  by the way mean galvanized iron) joe
so i rage against penurious
   dime men shuns of no mo'
- nope not even a red cent -

   filthy lucre, thus find ma self a po'
papa pressed withiN perdition of poverty,
where psyche under a ******>slash burn - argh - only i can rid this monetary
   impotence akin to TiVo
clearing application
   to blitz krieg commercials - thus woe....

angst begot from money woes.
ah...the glorious thought,
   whence never again
to cull demise and forever hibernate

feeling crushed by the egregious atrocious,
heinous, and nemesis, poor ring in of late
and thus this obituary epitaph of sorts
(no matter,
   he will opt for cremation) finds frenzied
strychnine, poison

   or hemlock appear savory to this pate
a chance pair of perusing eyes
may find this blurb unable 2 eke quate
this plea sprung

   from plethora of purse son hull wreck - i rate
anxiety sweeps across me
   mental nada so healthy state
which panic wrought from poverty
per prone nouns mints

   uber viz zit with undertaker tete a tete
of decades long bout with a psyche riddled
angst sh...us lee
   waiting for Godot - Becket ting

this papa, who **** courting escape from posse aye
misty eyed in midst of his own financial catastrophe
he loathes resorting to pan handling to help him get free
of pauperism, which haint no joke,

   and would find a scabrous reply
ample reason to still his life,
   though ma lovely daughters  
suffered psychic injury
and forever be psychologically marred

   if aye did merrily
row me figurative boat over the abyss prithee
and hope for instant death of mine aura,
charisma, and karma see?

tis probably pointless n frivolous
to expect presume salvation 4 this mw male
yet nothing ventured....
could do no worse as my psyche doth quail
for being nearly penniless

   (in this cornucopia of plenti), and rail
ling against fate may bring derision
   per an unpredictable scale
argh - doth hardly shed light
   on my penurious travail

cuz thy current checking account gasps
with a death rattle does wail...
boot juiced....maybe lady luck shall draw
the gaze of one philanthropic facebook peeper
(at least enough largesse

   to stave off self destruction of spouse)
welcome mat would willingly
   be laid out for grim reaper
to whisk me away -
  so i kin become an eternal sleeper
though each surviving loved one,
   would be inconsolable weeper.
Lawrence Hall Jan 2021
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                 Coffee Shop Darwinians

          “We’ll set a fine, new, well-oiled machine in place
            of the old one and this time we’ll put the Normans
            into it instead. That’s what justice means, isn’t it?”

                                        -Saxon Monk in Becket

No, of course it didn’t have to happen
We’re not campus coffee shop Darwinians
Determined that five innocents needed to die
Within the gears of our new, well-oiled machine

And that more should come, chanting “O Machine!” 1
“Follow the Science!” and “Learn. To. Code!”
As they sacrifice themselves to a Tweeter-sanctioned
Infestation of Manifest Destiny

And I’ve got a feeling, as you might agree:
No one on either side quotes Dostoyevsky


1 “The Machine Stops,” E. M. Forster
A poem is itself.
Lawrence Hall Dec 2017
The Beggar at Canterbury Gate

The beggar sits at Canterbury Gate,
Thin, pale, unshaven, sad.  His little dog
Sits patiently as a Benedictine
At Vespers, pondering eternity.
Not that rat terriers are permitted
To make solemn vows.  Still, the pup appears
To take his own vocation seriously,
As so few humans do.  For, after all,
Dogs demonstrate for us the duties of
Poverty, stability, obedience,
In choir, perhaps; among the garbage, yes,
So that perhaps we too might live aright.

The good dog’s human plays his tin whistle
Beneath usurper Henry’s1 offering-arch
For Kings, as beggars do, must drag their sins
And lay them before the Altar of God:
The beggar drinks and drugs and smokes, and so
His penance is to sit and suffer shame;
The King’s foul murders stain his honorable soul;
His penance is a stone-carved famous name
Our beggar, then, is a happier man,
Begging for bread at Canterbury Gate;
Tho’ stones are scripted not with his poor fame,
His little dog will plead his cause to God.

1 *Henry VII, who built the Cathedral Gate in 1517, long after the time of Henry II and St. Thomas Becket
Lawrence Hall Feb 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                     ­        Shouting Out Disease

                                     “I want no more thinking!”

                                     -Henry II to his barons in Becket

Soap for washing hands is not Republican
Eyeglasses never claim to be Democrat
Toothbrushes cannot be Communist plots
Antibiotics are not **** schemes

A pressure bandage has no Socialist leanings
Shampoo is not an expression of Fascism
Antihistamines never speak of the Falange
And nose drops never sing “The East is Red”

But when the topic of the Covid comes up
The flags are unfurled and the chanting begins
Shouting Out Disease
Walter Alter Aug 2023
big Yawn Productions presents
the daytime drama Living Therapeutically
as others live randomly or habitually
you'll need a supply of 3-D glasses
and I know just the guy
a trailer park Samuel Becket
cheeks rosy like Mr. Stalin
sweeping up inside the dustbin of history
a loafer researching activity
with plenty of typos under his airbrush
did we mention the amnesia
mind like a document shredder
but as the italicized print will indicate
Big Yawn will take you back to a time when
we used facts to be stupid with
trained and armed to the arm pits
for the great battle between
the grunting instincts of ownership
and the suicidal embrace of empaths
cadavers of man and animal everywhere
though the limbless victims of the empaths
were more carefully arranged in rows
we had to take sides to survive
galley slaves of the world unite
oh yeah you're already united
chained to your oars and all
well then don't let the trolley
to the asylum leave without you
the inmates are management again
I banged my cage door for an eternity
Tex Lester the cowboy yodeler
came to my rescue somewhat
Tex once played 8 ball with the Devil
had to let the Devil win of course
swear to God for what it's worth
municipal records will prove my case
they have been weaving the world
back together since the first pencil
over a thousand murky generations
starting from the premise
that life is an unbridled miracle
yes logic is ardently anti-coercive
or is it vice versa where are my bifocals
one tends to go in the direction he's looking
intention being a common denominator
of some concentrated influence
Samuel's DOA toe tag read
tried to die with a smile on his lips
left only a cartoon grimace
had it most of his life
so it was hard to tell
if he was actually dead

From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Ryan O'Leary Jul 2018
It is a special wing at
Trinity College where
Joyce Shaw Becket and
went Wilde because he
was too Swift and over
Keane to ****** Edna
O' Brien.
Ryan O'Leary Jun 2018
Things are looking up
according to Becket

How our perceptions
have been changed

Stargazing is a thing of
the past since Sputnik

But Orwell had a dream
on the island of Jura

Circa 1948 when the
aurora borealis of his

Vision shone daylight on
pyramid's of the Proles

Where Annuit Coeptis at
the apex, was a Drone.
Lawrence Hall Aug 2022
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                          .553 / Free to Be / Dead, You See

                     "Sheathe your sword, Morville,
                     before you impale your soul upon it."

                              -Richard Burton as Becket

When this weapon blows a child’s head off
Don’t worry about that trifle
For the AR technically
Is not an assault rifle
"Sheathe your sword, Morville, before you impale your soul upon it."

                                      -Richard Burton as Becket
Ryan O'Leary Mar 2019
AM
Bram Stroker was not a
Brexiter, but he was an
early riser, a West Brit,
meaning, he was born
behind The Pale, not to
be confused with a stake
of which his main character
was somewhat partial to,
no, not a steak and by no
means garlic, though he
was a carnivore who by
all accounts totally ignored
Lent and the Catholic fast
from Ash Wednesday to
Trinity Sunday which has
nothing to do with the college
of the same name in Dublin
where Shaw Joyce Becket
went and Wilde too by all
accounts, though not the CEO
of Ryan Air who went but was
expelled from Clongoes Wood
but sure what harm did it do
didn't he do better than any of
them, squeeze blood out of a
Turnip he would, sharp as a pin
no flies on Michael O'Leary, oh,
boy, he's a lad, smart as they come
but not a Dub, no he is a Corkman,
not far at all from where I am now,
he was born, but I am after rambling
from my original story about Brexit
and Br-am Stroker who wrote Dracula.

— The End —