Epiphany Moved and Improved - The Magi Must Re-Schedule Their Arrival Time

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Epiphany Moved and Improved –

The Magi Must Re-Schedule Their Arrival Time

 

Whatever committee decides these things

Has chosen to shift ancient feasts about

For the convenience of the modern world

In scheduling meetings and interviews

 

Magi following a smart watch in the sky

The ostler wants the stable cleared by ten

King Herod tapping massacres on an app

Plough Monday must be reset to Tuesday next

 

Whatever committee decides these things

Is stricken deaf when the sacring bell rings

Why Do They Say He was Tragically Murdered? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Why Do They Say He was Tragically Murdered?

 

Was anyone ever joyfully murdered?

Happily murdered?

Humorously murdered?

Gloriously murdered?

 

When at dusk a mist begins to rise

A sinister mist from across the fields

And you seem to perceive a malevolent being

Peering at you from the tree line dark

 

Yes, something is watching you

 

It is not God-banished Grendel from Beowulf

Nor is it Nesferatu creeping up to you

Or a Haunt arising from a long-lost grave

It is something even more grotesque and obscene:

 

                                            An Adverb

The Presumption in Wake-Up Calls - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Presumption in Wake-Up Calls

 

A wake-up call is but a manifesto

Retro 1968 but less literate

Demanding that the world pay attention

To the temper-tantrums of some middle-aged guy

 

Who knows all about guns ‘n’ bombs ‘n’ stuff

While the rest of us know all about raising our kids

Working 12-hour shifts, paying our bills

Building our lives, and taking care of each other

 

The rest of us have grown-up things to do

    The presumptuous waker-upper

Should ditch his childish ego and wake up himself

Activate Your Card Now! It's Easy! - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Activate Your Card Now! It’s Easy!

 

‘Enry ‘Iggins, Tiffany in Calcutta, and my Cousins Down the Road

 

There even are places where English completely disappears -

Why, in America they haven't used it for years!

 

-Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

 

California and council flats, aye, there’s the nexus

Great Britain taught the world English right and proper

But in hearing my cousins from Caney Head, Texas

I conclude that the Empire has come a cropper!

This Unit Not Labeled for Retail Sale - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

This Unit Not Labeled for Retail Sale

 

You can’t break me apart, she said to me

This unit is not labeled for retail sale

And if you think that you like what you see

You can post your money for the emotional bail

 

A Christmas candy said “The Unit Not Labeled for Retail Sale” so I had a little fun with that.

So This is the New Year - poem

  

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

So This is the New Year

 

 

The road goes ever on and on…

 

-from at least three variations of a song in The Lord of the Rings

 

 

About this new year – it doesn’t look so new

A metaphorical kick of the tires suggests

It’s been down many roads before

But then, so have we

 

About this new year – it doesn’t look so new

But the first sunlight in the bare oak trees

And upon last summer’s ground-shoaling leaves

Lead me to pull on my boots and step outside

 

Frost, sky, sunlight, cardinals, squirrels, life

About this new year – it looks pretty good now

The Last American Westclox Baby Ben - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

The Last American Westclox Baby Ben

 

(Maybe)

 

 

It ticked into my heart at the Goodwill store

Two dollars’ worth of Americana

A charmer in a battered metal shell

Hiding behind a tired plastic face

 

The tick, the tock, the talk of Peru, Illinois

The clock that woke America each dawn

For work and study, and to meet the Chicago train

For a century until time ran out

 

It clicks and clanks and ticks and tocks and talks

 

All-day dutiful hands, a jangling bell -

How long will this old clock last?

 

Only time will tell

Hanukkah is a Light That Always Gets In - poem

  

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 screw 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.

A Porch of Worms on the Feast of St. Stephen - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Porch of Worms on the Feast of St. Stephen

 

These winter squalls are almost springtime rains

Warm days, cool nights, and windblown showers at dawn

And on the porch appear some curious stains

Dark squirming squiggles progressing up from the lawn

 

Up from the lawn, up from their earthen beds

In desperate trails of iridescent slime

As peristaltic tubes with wavery heads

Rhythmically marking out their march in time

 

But all too brief their escape, alas -

A feast for robins who will not let them pass

Did You Enjoy Your Christmas? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Did You Enjoy Your Christmas?

 

 

Christmas Night

 

 

That merry little Christmas that they sing about –

Did you open your gifts around a tree

Tinsel and ornaments and a brilliant star

Pajamas and cocoa and merriment

 

Did you enjoy a dinner with someone special

Or with happy children and a few friends

Then coffee and cake and quiet memories

Everyone free from telescreens and devices

 

And now with a fire and soft candlelight

Is this another gentle silent night?

 

I hope it is so, dear friend

O Little Front Line of Bethlehem - for Christmas Eve

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

O Little Front Line of Bethlehem

 

Stopped and questioned multiple checkpoints

A search of their persons and their vehicle

And a stern warning from the local patrol:

“You are not permitted to draw on public funds”

 

The Holy Family arrives at last at a no-tell inn

“I need to see two forms of identification

And a major credit card from any on this list

Fresh linens are extra; the ice machine is broken”

 

Surly men in grubby camouflage smoke cigarettes

Occasional gunfire lights up the noisy night

Last Christmas I Gave You my Pancreas - a wheeze

 (from The Saint Tibbs' Day Songbook)

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Last Christmas I Gave You my Pancreas

 

I thought there was an idea here

But maybe not

                             Just a few questions, ma’am

About the guy who received your heart and gave it away

Did he drop it off at a re-sale shop?

 

Giving a body part at Christmas is sing-able

Because

“Last Septuagesima Sunday I gave you my heart”

Is not something you can dance to easily

Especially if you have no cardio-pulmonary functions

 

I thought there was an idea here

Maybe it’s those Nyquil dreams again…

For Two Dear Children on Christmas - couplet

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

For Cate and Jack

 

Or Jack and Cate?

 

On Christmas

 

 

Certain joys about Christmas are always true

For among the season’s constant blessings

                                                          Are you!

Do Dogs Have Souls? Do We? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Do Dogs Have Souls?

 

“Behold, I make all things new.”

 

Revelations 21:3-5

 

Do dogs have souls?

Oh, how can one look into those big brown eyes

And not know the answer

Our Dear Leader in His Jet Pilot Sunglasses - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Our Dear Leader in His Jet Pilot Sunglasses

 

Democracy is dead, a memory, a husk

Selected, not elected: President Musk

By Reading This Content You Agree to OUR Privacy Policy - poem

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

By Reading This Content You Agree to Our Privacy Policy

 

 

It was terribly dangerous to let your thoughts wander

when you were…within range of a telescreen.

 

-Orwell, 1984

 

 

But your privacy? Nah; deal with it, you see

Baked beans, magazines and mountain scenes

Vacation trips and handy houseware tips -

They see you, they know you, they hunt you

 

Podcasts, partisan views, gossipy news

Engine parts, how-to vids, and funny kids

Treating head lice, tax advice, dancing mice

They see you, they know you, they hunt you

 

Through your made-in-Shanghai Palantir

Adverts will forever make you fear,

My Precious

 

(“Palantir” is here an allusion to Tolkien’s genius, not to the software people.)

The O Antiphons, the Star, and Us - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The O Antiphons, the Star, and Us

 

Solstice is not a time when the sun stands still

But rather a season when the sun stands aside

That we may better know the mysteries of deep night

In darkness just before deep Light returns

 

Out in the cold, and warmly wrapped in hope

We pray the O antiphons as we scan the sky

For the prophetic Star we long to see

The Star that guides us in our wanderings

 

Solstice is that season when the sun stands aside

So that eternal Dawn may then abide

 

You (Formerly Known as You) - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

You (Formerly Known as You)

 

X, formerly known as Twitter

And then there is you

Formerly known as you

 

Go read a book

Go get a job

Go get a life

Go get a clue

Work in the yard

Volunteer at the school

Wash the dishes

Clean up the house

Raise your children

Be positive

Be a role model

Be a real mensch

Be a real friend

Be a neighbor

By the Grace of God

Be truly you

 

You are no one’s glassy-eyed parasite -

Go out into the world and do yourself proud

Camp Pendleton in Springtime - poem

 

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

A Brief Not-Exactly-a-Review of Elie Wiesel's NIGHT

Lawrence Hall

mhall46184@aol.com

Night, Elie Wiesel

My father (602 Tank Destroyer Battalion) was one of the liberators of Ohrdruf / Buchenwald and then Dachau.  When I was a child he talked on a G-rated level about his time in the army, the usual recruit training stories, his buddies, his time in England, Normandy, the Bulge, and where he was (Zwickau) when the war in Europe ended but without detailing the horrors. When I returned home from Viet-Nam we did talk about these things. He told me WHAT HE WITNESSED, WHAT HE SAW, WHAT HE SMELLED in the death camps.  He said that someday people would deny the reality of the death camps and the genocide against Jews and others. I thought that that he was being pessimistic, that surely the world would never deny what we humans are capable of and that Jews would never again be persecuted.

But he knew.

To our great shame, and to our judgement before God, anti-Semitism is not only tolerated but is now fashionable. Through an obscene moral failing in blaming victims,  Elie Wiesel, Viktor Frankl, Charles Coward, and other survivors and witnesses are now accused of lying and their accounts denied. The blood-libel the people Israel is back.

There is much talk of transparency just now, but that is irrelevant if we blithely accept the facile bleatings on the InterGossip and campus beer-parties instead of reading the primary sources left to us, the written and recorded testimonies and the visual records made both by the Nazis, who were proud of their satanic death-cult, and by the liberators.

NIGHT, written shortly after the liberation in terse, tight, clear, unadorned language is a place to begin.