From Shakespeare: My Spirit is Thine, the Better Part of Me - poem

  

 

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

From Shakespeare: My Spirit is Thine, the Better Part of Me

 

Cf. Shakespeare’s Sonnet 74

 

No kinsman could offer comfort there,
To a soul left drowning in desolation.

 

-“The Seafarer,” trans. Burton Raffel

 

When we die, our little things disappear:

Hairbrushes and pocketknives, fountain pens

Car keys, spare change, books, clothes, unopened mail

A souvenir coffee cup from Canada

 

An old uniform, a pistol from the war

A clock, a crucifix, Topsider shoes

Family pictures, a graduation ring

A magnifying glass, a radio

 

Bits and bobs, all sorts of trivial stuff

And a poem for you – it’s not enough

 

Book Removal Training - poem

 

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Book Removal Training

 

The orange flames waved at the crowd as paper and print dissolved inside them. Burning words were torn from their sentences.

 

-The Book Thief, p. 112

 

And now burning words must be torn from free people

For if people read they might think about things:

Why does the Party’s Jesus hate everyone

And why are weapons superior to ideas

 

Can a hangperson’s noose teach us to love

Burning crosses comfort a frightened child

Do the cult’s censors fly our flag upside down

While stealing books from our children’s hands

 

A state that trains people to purge library books

Is a slave state

 

 

Florida revises school library book removal training after public outcry

Story by Douglas Soule, USA TODAY NETWORK

 

Florida revises school library book removal training after public outcry (msn.com)

A Congressssssinal Hearing - poem

  

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

 

A Congressssssional Hearing

 

 

“But hiss for hiss return’d with forked tongue”

 

-Paradise Lost, X.518

 

 

Men in nice suits meet in air-conditioned luxury

Ties perfectly knotted, Cain’s mark on their lapels

Enthroned behind paneled tables of polished oak

Where by the magic of a secular oath, all are honorables

 

There is a chair, who is a man, not a chair

Who wields an oaken gavel of authority

As he smiles benignly and modestly

An ‘umble adornment to the Republic

 

Then “bash!” goes the gavel, and yelling begins

And no one seems to know why

The God of Children and Blueberries - poem

 

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The God of Children and Blueberries

 

For Theo (who is three today) and Nora (who is more than three)

 

“It is eaten, and renewed, every day.”

 

-Ramandu’s daughter in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

 

God is prodigal with his seasons and feasts -

This is the season of blueberries, each day a feast

Great clouds of fat blue globes hang upon the little trees

Water and sky shading into Prussian blue

 

This is a table-tree, all are invited

To stand with buckets and thirsty lips

To pick and take, to take and eat, each day

The feast magically renewed each dawn

 

Mockingbirds, robins, sparrows, rabbits, and squirrels

 

And children

 

Picking, pecking, plucking, nibbling, biting

 

All at Aslan’s Table, and all at peace

A D-Day Reminder to Every Neo-Nazi Oaf, Including Members of Congress and Justices of the Supreme Court

  

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A D-Day Reminder to Every Neo-Nazi Oaf

 

Including Members of Congress

And Justices of the Supreme Court

 

There is poetry in this:

Our flag was not flown upside-down at Normandy

Shakespeare: Behold a Man - poem

 

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Behold a Man

 

Cf. Shakespeare’s Sonnets 67 & 68

 

He is a man who needs no oils or scents

The arts of makeup, filters on a lens

A touch of blush upon his honest chin

A photographer’s vanity lights placed just so

 

He is a man who is his own manly self

Washed, shaved, and combed by his own rugged hands

Hands that know shovel, hammer, ax, and saw

A businessman’s hands, a protective father’s hands

 

He is a man who needs no frippery

For he is clean and honest and just, you see

The Doorkeeper of Notre Dame - doggerel

  

Lawrence Hall HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Doorkeeper of Notre Dame

 

“I pray you remember the porter”

 

-Macbeth II.iii.22

 

“‘Tis my limited service” on Sundays to mind the door

To open it to the faithful with cheerful greetings

This is pretty much my skill-level, this modest chore

Such is the ancient custom for Sunday meetings

 

A family of long acquaintance approached, almost late

They live some miles away and had a long drive

Their youngest son held his hand out at the holy gate

I thought his intent was a youthful high five

 

But with only one finger he greeted me!

And that was my lesson in humility

 

As for the boy

 

While the servers rang the welcoming bell

His momma yanked him outside and gave him (peace)