Liturgy in Time of War

I will go to the altar of God
To God who gives joy to my youth

ENTRANCE ANTIPHON

The dawn (evening) is coming, another hot, filthy, wet dawn (evening).  Let us arise, soaked in sweat, exhausted, to speak with sour, saliva-caked mouths, to meet the deaths of this day (night).

GREETING

In the name of Peace in Our Time,
For the Hearts and Minds of The People,
For the Land of the Big PX
For round eye and white (black) (brown) thigh,
I greet you, brothers.

PENITENTIAL RITE

All:

I confess to almighty God
And to you my brothers
That I have sinned through my fault
In my thoughts and in my words
In what I have done
And in what I have failed to do,
And I ask Blessed Mary…

But how can I ask Her anything now?

My brothers,
Pray for me to…

But how?
Priest: (But there is no priest)

KYRIE

Lord, have mercy
Christ, have mercy
Lord, Lord, have mercy on us now

Have mercy, Lord, on a generation
That sits smugly in college lecture halls
And protests endlessly in coffee shops
The war they hear, see, on T.V., for free
Justice and peace by the semester hour
Like, y’know, peace, love, Amerika sux
Play the guitar, ****, apply to law school

Have mercy on us
Who crouch behind sand bags
And clean our weapons
And protest nothing
And **** in the heat
And die in the hear
And throw ham and lima beans away

GLORIA

Glory to God in the highest
how many bodies yesterday?
And peace to His people on earth
Vietnamese? Or us?
Lord God, heavenly King, almighty God and Father
ham and lima beans?
We worship you, we give you thanks, we praise you for your glory
Doc, I can’t go home to my wife with this clap
Lord Jesus Christ, only Son of the Father
cigarette, canteen cup of instant coffee
Lord God, Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world
******* magazine
Have mercy on us
relief behind the sand bags
You are seated at the right hand of the Father
i rot
Receive our prayer
i want to be clean and dry
For You alone are the Holy One
clean and dry.  just once.
You alone are the Lord
why do they chew that?
You alone are the most high
you mean the betel nut?
Jesus Christ, with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father
incoming!
Amen


PRAYER

A

Father, you make this day holy.
Let us be thankful for
The many little joys of
This day, for life, for
The chance to worship
You.  In the end, bring
Us to you, so that we
May be cleansed of mud
And sweat and filth and
Guilt, and live with you
In peace forever.

B

Father, just get me through
Another day of this mess.

LITURGY OF THE WORD –

FIRST READING

From the Intensive Care Unit, NSA DaNang

A twilight world
Of neither peace nor battle
And of both

A man world
Embracing life and the grim death
Both

Peering into infected wounds
Night building shiver
Down from the black sky flares float

Broken bodies from the war somewhere
Eyes of a shattered nineteen-year-old Marine
Staring at the door to Yokosuka

PSALM

A Song of Descents

I cast down my eyes
Into the mud
Into the blood
It seems cleaner than death and drugs and casual ***
Drink Coca-Cola

I turned my eyes away from you, O Lord
And made this
Build this
Came to this
Samantha and Darren on Bewitched

Have mercy on…but how can we ask?  How dare we ask?

SECOND READING

Old Man, Viet Nam

Old man, a dog is barking at your heels
Old man, with the tired, weathered face
Are you afraid to turn around and deal
This dog a kick, to put him in his place?

Or is it, old man, that you’re just too tired?
Just too tired to turn and show anger
Just too tired to have your temper fired
Beaten by years of contempt and danger

Where are you going, trudging so slowly?
What are you thinking, behind those tired eyes?

Probably not about ham and lima beans

GOSPEL

In the Cold White Mist

After an all-night run on the river
Our boats arrive in the village at dawn
Dawn is never cold along that rive
Along that steaming, green, hell-hot river
But the mist is cold, the grey-green dawn mist
And after the engines are cut – stillness
Foul brown water laps at the mudding bank
Sloshing softly with fertile, smelly death

In the cold white mist

The boats are secured, and watches posted
We step off the boats and onto wet land
And follow the track into the deep mist
It becomes the street of a little town
A dairy lane along which cows slopped home
And where dogs and chickens and children
      played
Bounded by carefully swept little yards
And little wooden houses with tin roofs

In the cold white mist

But some of the houses are burnt.  The smoke
Still hangs heavily in the whitening mist
The lane is littered with debris.  A lump
Resolves itself into a torn, dead child
Across a smaller lump, a smaller child
Their pup has been flung against the fence, its
Guts early morning breakfast for the morning
      flies
We smoke cigarettes against the death-smells

In the cold white mist

Beneath a farm tractor rots a dead man.
When they – they – had come at sunset
He had hidden there.  And they shot him there
A man with bare feet and work-calloused
      hands
His hair is black; his teeth need cleaning
They shot him beneath the village tractor
His blackening blood clots into the mud
And our lungs choke in the white mist of death

In the cold white mist

White mist.  The path disappears into it
Smoky skeletons of little houses
In which there will be no tea this morning
No breakfasts of hot tea and steaming rice
No old widows to smile in betel-nut
No children to mock-march alongside us
Pointing at our ******* boots, and laughing
At us, for wearing shoes in the summer

In the cold white mist

They are dead and rotting in the white mist
On the edge of the jungle on the edge
Of the world, here along the Vam Co Tay
And the people pour out of their houses
To greet us on the fine summer morning
A corpse across a doorway, another
******-doubled across a window sill
Still another strewn down the garden path

In the cold white mist

The other patrol doubles back to us
And they tell us that the Ruff-Puff outpost
Must have been overrun the night before
He had heard their radioed pleas, and had
Run the river at night to get to them
And the ARVNs had fled through the village
And the VC had stormed in behind them
And it was knife-and-gun-club night in town

In the cold white mist

A little girl is the lone survivor
She looks may six.  Cute, except for the
Bubbling, *******, bayoneted chest wound
We patch her, and tube her, and use suction
Sort of like fixing a bicycle tire
And in the wet, gasping heat take her back
With us downriver, where a charity
Hospital leaves her on the steps to die

In the cold white mist

It will be our turn again tomorrow
Not a one of us died today.  Today.
But a village is gone, burnt and rotting,
Soon to disappear into the jungle
Along the green Cambodian border
Up some obscure river.  Up there.  Somewhere.
A few hundred people.  Their ancestors’ graves
Will fade with them untended, forgotten

In the cold white mist

Radio Hanoi might blame it on us.
But maybe not.  We made our report and
Nobody really noticed; no one cared
The talk is of the VC battalion
And where it has gone, and where it might go –
Maybe into death under an air strike
“And you guys better get in some sack time,”
Says the C.O. as he turns to his maps.

In the cold white mist

HOMILY

I’m scared, and I want to go home.  I don’t care any more about justice or fighting Communism or winning the hearts and minds of the people.  I can’t think about all that right now, because I’m scared, and I want to go home.
I don’t care about truth or loyalty or bravery or honor.  If Miss March were here she wouldn’t get cold, but she sure would get sunburnt.  And in a few days her skin would start rotting.  Then nobody would want to see her in the **** anymore.  
I’m scared, and I want to go home.
Up the Vam Co Tay, everyone is scared, everyone is tired, everyone is sick, everyone could die: sailor, soldier, officer, priest, farmer, fisherman.  Everyone rots in the wet heat.  The skin bubbles and flakes and peels, and is pink again, to bubble and flake and peel again.  
I’m scared, and I want to go home.
I’m Doc.  I’m a scared, stupid kid with an aid bag and a few months’ training.  But I’m Doc.  I’ve got to fake it.  I’ve got to be cool and calm because this other kid with his guts hanging out will probably make it if I don’t ***** up and if the dust-off from Saigon can get out here now.
I have an old dog at home, and my folks write and tell me she sleeps outside my window at night, waiting for me to come home.  Someday we’re going to run and play in the woods and fields again.  She’ll bark and run wide circles, and dare me to catch her.  I will laugh under the autumn leaves.  But now my nights are glaring darkness, fits of sweat-soaked half-sleep, then sirens and falling glares and falling mortars, and then the Godawful racket of all our engines of destruction.  There isn’t any use in all this.
I’m scared, and I want to go home.

And I don’t want any ham and lima beans.

CREED

We believe in the Land of the Big PX
In presidents in suits, and generals,
In makers of economic strategies
We believe in flak jackets and .45s and peace

We believe in swing ships and dust-offs, yes
In the dark, green omnipresent Huey
Eternally begotten of technology
Blades to rotor, windscreen to machine guns
Made, not begotten, one in being with us
Through it all things are transported to us
For us men and our hunger and our hope
It comes down from the skies
By the high power of technology
It was born of the long assembly line

For whose sake are we crucified today?
Who suffers, and who dies and is baggied?
And on the third will arrive back home
To be neatly packaged in stainless steel

But not in ham and lima beans

LITURGY OF THE EUCHARIST

Preparation of the Gifts

Celebrant:

Blessed are you, Lord, God of all creation.
Through your goodness we have this cheap Algerian wine to offer,
Fruit of the vine and work of human hands.
It will become anaesthesia for our souls.

People:

Blessed be…we just don’t know

Celebrant:

Pray, brothers, that our sacrifice may be acceptable to God, the almighty Father, to somebody.  Maybe.

People:

May the Lord, or the baggies, accept the sacrifice we offer with
our own burnt hands
For the praise and glory of…of what?
For our good, and the good of all His Church.

PRAYER OVER THE GITS

Little green cans, and I don’t care
Little green cans, and I don’t care
Little green cans, and I don’t care
Air cover’s gone away.

EUCHARISTIC PRAYER

Preface for the Monsoon Season:

Father, all-powerful
And ever-living God,
We do well always and everywhere
To give You thanks
Through Jesus God our Lord
Even with diarrhea
thanks
When the mail doesn’t come
thanks
When we rot
thanks
When the heat ***** at our brains
thanks
When the mud ***** at our boots
thanks
When the horror ***** at our souls
thanks
We’re alive
thanks

SANCTUS

Holy, holy, holy, Lord, God of power and might
The bunkers are full of blood and death.
Hosanna in the mud.  Blessed is he who comes with the mail.  Hosanna in the mud.

EUCHARISTIC PRAYER

The Kien Tuong Province Canon:

A sailor is silhouetted against the dawn
Along a steamy river
Mostly helmet and flak jacket
Above dark plastic gunwales

The sailor has lost his New Testament
But there’s a ******* around somewhere
Naked, willing women –
Miss March wants to be an actress

He also carries an old plastic Rosary
To touch occasionally
While whispering a hurried Hail Mary
He hopes She understands

Those who in bell-bottoms and head-bands
Fight Fascism
In Sociology 201
Will never forgive him

A sailor is silhouetted against the dawn
This day he is to be elevated
His body broken and his blood shed
For you and for all men

OUR FATHER

Our Father, who art in Heaven
this ain’t it
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
this ain’t it
On earth as it is in Heaven.
Give us this day…
not ham and lima beans
And forgive us our trespasses
as we shoot them that trespass against us
And lead us not into ambush
But deliver us from evil

SIGN OF PEACE

Peace on you.

AGNUS DEI

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy on us.

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: have mercy….

Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world: grant us peace.

Priest:

(But there is no priest)

People:  

Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,
But only say the word and I shall be killed.

COMMUNION ANTIPHON

They ate, and were not satisfied
They killed, and were not without fear.

PRAYER AFTER COMMUNION

Lord,
If we do not get out of this
Make some sense of it to those who remain
May we go home.  Home.  Or if not,
Take us unto you, in mercy.
Home.  Where you reign, for you are Lord
Forever and ever.  Amen

BLESSING

May you walk on grass that does not explode
May you sleep without rot
Without fear
May you never see or smell ham and lima beans again.
May you live
May you play with puppies
May you find forgetfulness
May you find peace
In the Name of Him who took your death for you

DISMISSAL

This is to certify that____is Honorably Discharged from the____on theday of____.  This certificate is awarded as a testimonial of Honest and Faithful Service.

CLOSING HYMN

Old men, smoking in the sunshine
Exiled outside the doors of life
Old uniforms, old pajamas
The chrome of wheelchairs, shiny, bright

Inside, polished wooden handrails
Line the hot, polished passages
Something to cling to on the way
To the lab, to x-ray, to death

And more old men, shuffling along
In a querulous route-step march
From Normandy, from The Cho-sen,
From the Vam Co Tay, from the deserts,
Past the A.I.D.S. ward and the union signs
On waxed floors to eternity

Portions previous published:

“Closing Hymn” is from “Outpatient Surgery – Veterans’ Hospital,” Juried Award, Houston Poetry Fest 1993

“In the Cold White Mist” is a Juried Award, Houston Poetry Fest 1991

“Old Man, Viet-Nam,” was published in Pulse, Lamar University, 1982

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

                                    I­ndochine - An Anniversary of Sorts

On the 26th of October 1970 I returned from 18th months in Viet-Nam and a brief side-trip into Cambodia. I was literally just a boy off the farm when I went, and was still quite young when I wrote the following artless lines, with their conventional allusions, forced rhymes, and usage errors, on the 2nd, 3rd, and 4th anniversaries. Perhaps there is one from the 1st anniversary, but I can’t find it. Well, we are all are looking for something most days: a poem, truth, meaning, or some other trifle.


…the war – the frights…the smell of h.e., the horribly smashed men still moving like half-crushed beetles, the…corpses…all this shows rarely and faintly in memory…and often seems to have happened to someone else.

        -C. S. Lewis, “Guns and Good Company,” Surprised by Joy


                                        26 October 1972

The pecans are falling now
Onto the court-house lawn
Geese fly overhead, southbound
Misty dusk and chilly dawn

Two year from Viet-Nam
Two eternities from the Vam Co Tay
Elections now, and speeches
And I guess I’ll have my say

But the finality briefly denied me
Found many another man
And they’re not here for elections
And Autumn on the land

                                            26 October 1973

I sit and smoke my pipe and think
Of things that I have seen
Easter seals and steering wheels
And jungle hot and green

I sit and smoke my pipe and ponder
The imponderable of God and man
The evening star over a flare-lit war
And souls as grains of sand

I sit and smoke my pipe and mourn
For the murdered

Many miles, and three years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

                                         26 October 1974

Many miles
And four years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

All the death-hurt eases
And dreams are quieter now
But the hurting never ceases
And I can’t see when it will, or how

Four Octobers
Four Autumns today
From rain drizzling on the slimy banks
Of the Van Co Tay

“Go and make the world safe for democracy –
Like we did in 1917,” my aged ancestor said
Dear old man, he never lived to know
That sort of thing is dead

Grim memories
Of flare-lit nights and steaming days
Of men dying screaming
On the Vam Co Tay

The finality briefly denied me
Found many another man
And they’re not seeing the wild geese flying
Or Autumn on the land

Many miles
And four years today
From the muddy, ****** waters
Of the Vam Co Tay

Pomrčina…
Samo se belasaju razigrane kozice,
vetrić dlaku im njiše.
Njihov miris
fajta moj njuh u noći,
tražim čizme rudarske
moje,
al’ nema ih ni za lek!
A ja u pomrčini osećam vaš strah,
vaš veseli strah
i čujem vaše slabašno brečanje,
o, kozice moje, cupkate ko mlada,
čujem kako vam nožice po
vlažnom tlu žudno biju.
Da utehu nađem,
boli da me minu,
kad nežno se protegne niz dolinu
meeeeeee…
S praskozorjem bi vam se prikrao,
al’ čizama mi nema!
Ah, moja najgrđa mora
u sutonu htenja,
ništa moje večno bilo nije,
ni za Novu godinu pihtije!

Najsrećnija razdoblja u 2018:

1.1. – 17.1. Mars u Škorpiji budi strast, Venera u Jarcu daruje vam šarm i lepotu. Nekome ćete zapeti za oko. Pravo je vreme za ljubavna uzbuđenja.

31.3. - 23.4. Venera u vašem znaku daruje vam snagu privlačnosti, zato privucite u svoj život ono što vam je potrebno. Stižu materijalni i ljubavni dobici.

p.s. Nazalost ovaj prvi period je propusten ali ne brini uskoro ce najsrecniji dani ponovo doci.

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com

           An American Legion Meeting

O let us sit, our coffee cups to hand
And discharge half-remembered boot camp yarns
As ragged volleys of camaraderie
Blasted through well-defended hearing aids

O let us not raise funds for this or that
Through weekend fish-fries in a parking lot
Or catalogue good deeds inflicted on

Those

For whom our kindness is a border breached

O let us sit, our coffee cups to hand
And remember again the Vam Co Tay

gospodo
molim vas vratite mi moje oči
moje lepe okrugle crne oči
oči koje su ponekad
nemirno znale da pogledaju vaše kćeri oči koje osmeh da sakriju nisu znale
i dok su treptale na kapke tajne pisale su
oči moje nesvakidašnje
gospodo
preklinjem vas vratite mi moje oči
putem njih vi ništa nećete videti
nećete moći da ih otvorite
jer ni ne slutite koliko srce vam je za to potrebno
znam vi imate nož ali meni nećete njime nauditi
kćeri vaše će on blistavošću svojom oslepiti
stoga gospodo
molim vas vratite mi moje oči

“…the war…often seems to have happened to someone else.”

-C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy

A pickup truck beside a Navajo road
Tables of souvenirs, a Thermos of coffee
Clotheslines of dreamcatchers catching the sun
For now; the dreams must wait for sleepless hours

“You were in Viet-Nam,” the old man said
To another old man. No mystery;
He simply took a chance to make a sale
And did, for both had known the Vam Co Tay

Old men along the road, catchers of dreams
Who burned their chances in the long ago

Vaša intuicija će danas biti veoma jaka. Ako se pitate kako da postupite po pitanju osobe do koje vam je stalo i da li da joj se približite ili da i dalje držite distancu, zvezde vam savetuju da se više ne ustručavate. Možda bi upravo sada bila dobra prilika da je pozovete na večeru, a nakon toga vaša intuicija će vam reći šta dalje treba da uradite.

Something About Life

                                      “Live.  Just live.”

                               -Yuri in Doctor Zhivago

The plane lifted, and the cheering was wild
And then pretty quickly the pilot said
“We are now clear of Vietnamese
Territorial waters.”  There was joy,
Even wilder cheering for most, and quiet
Joy for a few.  For me, Karamazov
To hand, peace, and infinite gratitude.
“I’m alive,” I said to myself and to God,
“Alive.  I will live, after all.”  To read, to write,
Simply to live.  Not for revolution,
Whose smoke poisons the air, not for the war,
Not to withdraw into that crippling self-pity
Which is the most evil lotus of all,
But to live.  To read, to write.
                                            But death comes,
Then up the Vam Co Tay, or now in bed,
Or bleeding in a frozen February ditch;
Death comes, scorning our frail, feeble, failing flesh,
But silent then at the edge of the grave,
For all graves will be empty, not in the end,
But in the very beginning of all.

Memorial Day III: Something about Life

“Live.  Just live.”

-Yuri in Doctor Zhivago

The plane lifted, and the cheering was wild
And then pretty quickly the pilot said
“We are now clear of Vietnamese
Territorial waters.”  There was joy,
Even wilder cheering for most, and quiet
Joy for a few.  For one, Karamazov
To hand, peace, and infinite gratitude.
“I’m alive,” he said to himself and to God,
“Alive.  I will live, after all.”  To read, to write,
Simply to live.  Not for revolution,
Whose smoke poisons the air, not for the war,
Not to withdraw into that crippling self-pity
Which is the most evil lotus of all,
But to live.  To read, to write.
                                            But death does come,
Then on the Vam Co Tay, or now in bed,
Or bleeding in a frozen February ditch;
Death comes, scorning our frail, feeble, failing flesh,
But silent then at the edge of the grave,
For all graves will be empty, not in the end,
But in the very beginning of all.

I read lots of Russian lit (in translation, of course) while in Viet-Nam

I understood poor, young Raskolnikov
And read all I found by Anton Chekhov
Remembered nothing about Bulgakhov
Heard naughty whispers about Nabokov
Thrilled to the Cossacks in old Sholokov
And then I learned about Kalashnikov –
This, I decided, is where I get off!



Moc Hoa (pronounced something like “mock wah”) is a now-prosperous town on the Song Vam Co Tay near the border with Cambodia.  In 1970 it was rather down at the heels and was a center of military activity, including mercenaries presumably controlled by the C.I.A*.

Remembrance Day / Veterans' Day - 3

Bad Morning, Viet-Nam

No music calls a teenager to war;
There is no American Bandstand of death,
No bugles sound a glorious John Wayne charge
For corpses floating down the Vam Co Tay

No rockin’ sounds for all the bodies bagged
No “Gerry Owen” to accompany
Obscene screams in the hot, rain-rotting night.
Bullets do not ****.  Mortars do not crump.

There is no rattle of musketry.
The racket and the horror are concussive.
Men – boys, really – do not choose to die,
“Willingly sacrifice their lives,” that lie;

They just writhe in blood, on a gunboat deck
Painted to Navy specifications.

Bad Morning, Viet-Nam

No music calls a teenager to war;
There is no American Bandstand of death,
No bugles sound a glorious John Wayne charge
For corpses floating down the Vam Co Tay

No rockin’ sounds for all the bodies bagged
No “Gerry Owen” to accompany
Obscene screams in the hot, rain-rotting night.
Bullets do not ****.  Mortars do not crump.

There is no thin rattle of musketry.
The racket and the horror are concussive.
Men – boys, really – do not choose to die,
“Willingly sacrifice their lives,” that lie;

They just writhe in blood, on a gunboat deck
Painted to Navy specifications.

Veem vam voom
Tricka Lica loom
Ha ta tume!
Vim vam voom

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                         It Wasn’t the Fourth of July

                 That we may wander o’er this ****** field
                 To book our dead, and then to bury them

                                 -Henry V IV.vii.75-76

It wasn’t the fourth of July, but it was about then
Near the Cambodian border, on the Vam Co Tay
Searching for two American airman whose machine had gone down
Down, down into the steaming green Vam Co Tay

Bloated and floating, quite still when we saw them
The sloshy prop wash bumped them about a bit
Empty eye sockets, mouths open in silent screams
We poncho-linered their bodies aboard the boat

Cigarettes of despair against the stench and rot
This was not what we sang about in school

Vacc/nate All Americans
      ˚
With The Gates of Wrath

                  Bill

Danas ćete, sudeći po položaju planeta, verovatno upoznati osobu svojih snova. Na prvi pogled vam se neće učiniti tako, ali razgovarajući sa njom ćete otkriti da imate mnogo toga zajedničkog. To će biti osoba neverovatnog šarma i intelekta, kojoj nećete moći da odolite.

Kao primer uzmimo zenu koja ima potrebu da zadovolji svoje primarne potrebe, da bude srecna i zadovoljna.
I zamislimo takvu ispunjenu zenu koja se u drustvu deklarise kao "nicija" da je krenula u potragu za osobom koja bi zadovoljila njenu primarnu potrebu.
Prvo pitanje do koga dolazimo jeste, koga ona zapravo trazi?
Logicno bi bilo da ona prvo trazi one slicne sebi "nicije"ali razmotrimo i druge opcije.

Recimo da joj u oci upadne  prvo osoba koja je "necija" i da dodje do zadovoljenje potrebe. Obratimo paznju kako "nicija" zena sad nije vise u prvom planu, nego sta se desava uz prisustvo glasovnih promena gde "ne" prelazi u "sva", da, da, kako osoba "necija" samim cinom prelazi u "svacija". Neko bi rekao "jedna, manje-vise" nije to za " "svacija" za svacija je veci broj kao ono kad se do 5 kaze 3 coveka, 4 coveka, a od 5, 5 ljudi ili 5 svacijih, to je to, to je isto.

Pogledajmo sada opciju 2, zapravo kada dodje do spajanja dve "nicije" osobe, ali pogledajmo iz jednog blizeg, intimnijeg ugla. Da bi zadovoljenje bilo dovedeno do vrhunca, da podsetim opet, da ovde pricamo o srecnoj I zadovoljnoj zeni,  neophodno je da obe nicije osobe, drugu osobu dozive kao svoju teritoriju, kao deo sebe, ne bi li se prepustile I uzele sve ono sto im treba, sve ono sto ih dovodi do vrhunca. Vec vidim da su vam jasne I ovde glasovne promene I da “nicija zena” mora da u ovakvim trenucima postane “necija”

Razmotrimo sad I situaciju 3 da “nicija zena”  trazi zadovoljenje od osobe koje je “svacija” , Na prvu loptu reklo bi se da je ovde u pitanju neko savrsenstvo prisutno, gde “nicija zena” nije ljubomorna sto svaciji imaju I druge, ne zavidi im, nego bezuslovno voli I velika je podrska svima na tom putu slobode pa I samoj sebi.

Ali nemojmo se zavaravati  to je samo za posebne , recimo Isus Hrist, on I ako nije vise ziv I dalje je svaciji, pruza ljubav svima,  a I dovodi mase do vrhunca, ima ono desavanje kad svake godine ulazi svestenik u njegov grob, zatvore ga, pritom on nema  nista cime bi upalio svecu, nego desi se cudo I sveca se sama upali sama I kad svestenik izadje svi navale na njega ne bi li dobili plamen, pitam se sta rade sa svecama kada se plamen ugasi?

Zakljucak iz ovog bi bio da “nicija zena“ moze postojati jedino kao nezadovoljna, nesrecna zena, ona kojoj vise nisu bitne njene potrebe, ona koja ne dopusta sebi da uzme sta joj treba, ona koja odustaje od sebe, ona kojoj je tesko da poveruje da ipak moze biti necija I srecna, i da je to ok,  I da zbog toga ne mora da postane debela i umre pre vremena.

mh 2017

Neke od najboljih ljudi možete upoznati preko prijatelja. Da li ste im rekli šta tražite i šta vam je potrebno? Ili, možda vi možete pomoći nekome ko traži partnera? Ove nedelje imajte širom otvorene oči za razne ljubavne prilike, za sebe i druge. Možda neko ko nije za vas, može biti sjajna prilika za vašu prijateljicu-prijatelja. Ukoliko vam se neko sviđa onda morate biti sigurni da je on-ona to što želite – jer neko daleko uzbudljivi može biti samo malo dalje. Tokom vikenda obaviće vas talas samopouzdanja. Obucite se tako da impresionirate sve oko sebe i da pokažete svu svoju moć

Something About Life


Strelnikov: “What will you do in Varykino?”
Yuri: “Live.  Just live.”

-Doctor Zhivago

The plane lifted, and the cheering was wild
And at that happy moment the pilot said
“We are now clear of Vietnamese
Territorial waters.”  There was joy,
Even wilder cheering for most, and quiet
Joy for a few.  For one, Karamazov
To hand, peace, and infinite gratitude.
“I’m alive,” he said to himself and to God,
“Alive.  I will live, after all.”  To read, to write,
Simply to live.  Not for revolution,
Whose smoke poisons the air, not for the war,
Not to withdraw into that crippling self-pity
Which is the most evil lotus of all,
But to live.  To read, to write.
                                            But death comes,
Then up the Vam Co Tay, or now in bed,
Or bleeding in a frozen February ditch;
Death comes, scorning our frail, feeble, failing
      flesh,
But silent then at the edge of the grave,
For all graves will be empty, not in the end,
But in the very beginning of all.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                  Are We All Prisoners of War?

My great-grandfather was a tailor, they say
Stern of mien, impeccable in his dress
I have one picture of him, from 1912
White-bearded, thin, resting on the family porch

My great-grandfather was made a prisoner of war
At Sailor’s Creek, for he had found the wrong side
And the government found his children for other wars
The Aisne in 1918, Zwickau in 1945, the Vam Co Tay in 1970

There are few tailors now, but lots of soldiers -
Maybe we are all prisoners of war

Cf. Sailor’s Creek / Sayler’s Creek / Saylor’s Creek, 6 April 1865.

...Ali četvrti deo, pod nazivom "O čovekovom robovanju", posvećen je drugom delu čovekove prirode – strastima.
Sa strastima se sve komplikuje. Ali baz njih ništa ne vredi.
To je ono kad razum kaže "ne" – ali uzalud.
Kad imate osećaj da srljate u neminovnu propast, ali ne možete ništa da sprečite.
Mnogo je greha, bola i zla na tom putu, mnogo je povređenih i nesrećnih.
Ljubav? Da li ljubav iskupljuje? Da li se možete opravdati ljubavlju, makar pred svojom savešću?
KOS je priča o nemogućoj i nedopustivoj ljubavi.
Naravno, sve ima svoju drugu stranu. Opravdanja su kratkog dometa, i ne kažem da ne treba suditi. Ne kažem ni da treba oprostiti.
U pozorištu, u drami, jednostavno imate tu privilegiju da ne morate zauzeti konačan stav. Možete se samo prepustiti tom svima poznatom osećaju kad Vas osećanja snažno vuku u vrtlog iz kojeg nema izlaza. Kad Vas najdublji unutrašnji osećaj istovremeno svom snagom vuče u dva suprotna smera.
Konačno, svi smo tu, na istom mestu, svi smo zajedno uhvaćeni u istu klopku sadašnjosti, zaglavljeni u istom tesnacu stvarnosti, sa svojim okrutnim žudnjama, i svojim smešnim nemogućim snovima.
KOS je priča o ljubavi koja je otišla u nemogućem smeru, a JESENJA SONATA je pričao o uzaludnoj ljubavi. Izuzetnost, slava i uspeh često ne donesu sreću. Naprotiv: čak i obična svakodnevno neophodna ljudska toplina može postati nedostupna i nedohvatljiva. Možete biti sasvim drago i pristojno ljudsko biće. Konačno, ima li iko pravo da zahteva više od nas? I možete imati sasvim ljudska topla osećanja vezanosti za nekoga, i želeti mu sreću, i raditi sve što je u Vašoj moći. I onda ćete se neminovno susresti sa saznanjem koliko je sve to beznadežno nedovoljno, i kako nikad nećete uspeti da onome ko Vam je sve, Vi budete makar nešto...
Suočiti se sa izvesnošću da je sve uzalud, i da nikad ništa neće biti dovoljno, a pri tom ne podleći gorčini, osvetoljubivosti ni pakosti, nego ostati jednostavna, topla i susretljiva ljudska priroda – to je neprimetna uzvišenost neprimetnog malog čoveka.
A niko od nas nije dovoljno velik da bi imao pravo na bezdušnost.
Zato ponavljam, ne kažem da ne treba suditi, ne kažem da se mora oprostiti. Samo preporučujem da bez kalkulacija zaronimo u te uzburkane vode ljudskih osećanja, i da prepoznamo sebe u drugom i drugog u sebi.
Neće škoditi, a možda poneko od nas stvarno postane bolji, veći i lepši iznutra.

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

                                     ­   Antihistamine Dreams

My night-time sneezing, cold, and ‘flu medicine -
It flew me back to Viet-Nam last night
Not on a battlefield or Ye Olde Veterans’ tour
But with a mixed group younger than any war

From a tour bus I pointed out scenes of my youth
To people who wisely were not interested
Who with their Leicas took pictures of fields
And the languid flow of the Vam Co Tay

And there were no hard feelings anywhere
Until someone shot me from a window

Obucite se najlepše što imate i pripremite se na uživanje. Planete vas ohrabruju da na ostanete kod kuće ukoliko budete imali poziv na neki društveni događaj. Bez obzira što ste neraspoloženi i što vam neko nedostaje, provešćete se sjajno. Krajnje vreme je da se posvetite sebi i opustite. Nova vrata vam se otvaraju.

I shall trust in the Lord, because he is faithful.
He has never let his people down here before.
So I shall, trust him with an complete heart.
For he has always proven to me his goodness.
Taste that which is good for that is his goodness.
So I shall stand upon his truths and trust in him.
The Lord has always reveal to me his faithfulness.
I really should be dead long ago yet here I vam alive.

bik
U svakoj ljubavnoj vezi ima i teških momenata. Konstantno se morate boriti za tu svoju srećnu oazu. Takav je život. Naravno, daleko je lakše boriti se zajedno. Danas pokušajte da razgovarate sa partnerom o tome i dajte sve od sebe da saslušate njegovo viđenje. Otvara vam se sasvim novo poglavlje u ljubavnom životu, nemojte to prevideti.

Bik

Trudite se da budete dobrog raspoloženja i da ne prenosite na partnera svoje brige, posebno ako ste opterećeni poslom. Verujete da možete da se pomirite sa nekim ko vam je veoma drag ili sa kim možete da radite i na nekom zajedničkom projektu.

BIK - Danas će vam zvezde omogućiti da napokon objasnite svoja osećanja. Iako je vama inače teško da razgovarate o tome, danas ćete biti sposobni da se izrazite bez problema. Ako primetite da se vaš partner zbunio, pokušajte da budete nežni i polako objasnite ono što mislite i osećate. U suprotnom, moglo bi doći do još veće zabune.

mh

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

       Veterans’ Day / Remembrance Day - An Old G.I. Belt Buckle


        For Storekeeper Third Class Thomas of Knoxville, Tennessee

                                 “What he believed, he did.”

                                          -Laurence Binyon,
                              “In Memory of George Calderon”


An old belt buckle in the back of a shelf
Greening brass on a belt now much too short
Maybe the same one I wore on the Vam Co Tay
Scattered thoughts shift to Thomas; I don’t know why

A good man with a clipboard and a fifty-cal
Sitting on the edge of a bunk feeding a child
Spooning c-rats and making the kid laugh
“One for meeee…and one for youuuu!”

I wonder whatever happened to good ‘ol Thomas
I wonder whatever happened to the child

I wonder whatever happened to all of us

BIK

Reč februara za vas je eksperimentisanje. Obavezno probajte nešto što niste nikad ranije, slobodno u to uključite i igračke. Ne razmišljajte o posledicama, samo uradite to za čime žudite već dugo. Sredina meseca delovaće vam nekako dosadno, ali ne dajte da vas to zavara - februar će za vas na polju seksa biti posebno uzbudljiv mesec.

:)