Orgiastic Screaming from Below - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Orgiastic Screaming from Below

 

Those who called for Nonsense will find that it comes

 

-C. S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength

 

We have seen Milton’s Pandaemonium

Choreographed on a wide palantir

Fallen angels praising the Great Fallen One

In a High Council of electrified lies

 

Great thunderings of fire and rolling smoke

Issuing from a shiny plastic throne of power

The Great Fallen One framed in Elvis lights

On the floor the lesser ones screaming in ecstasy

 

The Great Fallen One has a plan for us

After all the balloons, too, have fallen

[Allusions to C. S. Lewis' That Hideous Strength, Milton's Paradise Lost, and Tolkien's Lord of the Rings]

My Great Replacement Theory - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

My Great Replacement Theory

 

(or maybe just a lesser replacement theory)

 

Teenagers opened the doors for me at Mass

Which used to be my job, but they stepped up

And in stepping up they are replacing me

Which is good - I miss my youth but delight in theirs

 

A boy and a girl giggled and whispered

In a language I don’t know except that

Having once been young, I know it well -

A perfect translation was in their eyes

 

All languages come from Old Solar, Lewis says

And to Old Solar will someday return

We must all be replaced someday

For in Creation’s Great Dance that is a step

 

Teenagers opened the doors for me at Mass

And God will open another door afterward

The Mysterious World of Azalea - poem

  Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Mysterious World of Azalea

 

If I were a child, this would be a happy place

A hidden leaf-mould world, all darkly green

Summery green beneath the shaded sun

Between the roots, beneath the leaves, alone

 

If I were a child, this would be a happy place

A brand-new comic book, some army men

A Roy Rogers cap pistol without any caps

A plastic Tarzan leaping from branch to branch

 

If I were a child…but alas, I’m not -

I’m pruning back limbs and checking for rot

Who Gives a Fig? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Who Gives a Fig?

 

Some people say that they don’t a give a fig

Which we would never hear from a happy fig tree -

The one at the bottom of the garden gives its fruit

As a blessing to every passing animal

 

Squirrels and rabbits, sparrows and mockingbirds

Share in this sugary summer delight

I speed by on my riding lawnmower

And take a fig myself, only to give it away

 

Some people say that they don’t a give a fig

But I think we need more figs in our lives

 

(As Amanda Holmes did not exactly say)

How Many Moons Can You See? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

How Many Moons Can You See?

 

It was a full moon and, shining on all the snow,

it made everything almost as bright as day.

 

-C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe

 

When the subject of vision came up

(as it must with an ophthalmologist)

I told Dr. Talbot that I saw two moons

When only one of them would be sufficient

 

But which one?

 

After a gentle touch of surgery

I now see only one moon, which is nice

But I rather miss that other moon

And wonder if in her exile she misses me too

 

Where is she?

 

On whatever planet you happen to live

I don’t think you can have too many moons

For Bob Newhart of Happy , Happy Memory - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

For Bob Newhart of Happy, Happy Memory

 

 

“He will not refuse one who is so blithe to go to Him”

 

-Saint Thomas More in A Man for All Seasons

 

 

With just a telephone, a clipboard, and a stutter

He was a happy band of some of our best friends:

May we with him

At last approach that Inn where all are welcome

 

The joy he gave us proceeds before him

The angelic choirs soften their hum and throb

Because

That loving Voice we all most long to hear

Will gently say,

 

“Hi, Bob.”

Fire Ants Devouring the Corpses of Unhatched Wasps - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Fire Ants Devouring the Corpses of Unhatched Wasps

 

Nature does not, in the long run, favour life.

 

-C. S. Lewis, “On Living in an Atomic Age,” 1948

 

A formation of formicidae trekked north-northwest

Across a vast and lonely sunbeaten expanse

Their imperial quest a fallen wasps’ nest

Between a lawn chair and a potted plant

 

The ants greedily ripped open the paper shells

Like Christmas crackers for the goodies inside

The ghastly drippings of pupae in their jaws

Fragments of dead wasplings for their demanding queen

 

A formation of formicidae trekked east-southeast -

What, then, is the number of an unnumbered beast?