Nora, Theo, and Pushkin-the-Rescue-Cat - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Nora, Theo, and Pushkin-the-Rescue-Cat

 

After rough adventures Pushkin has found his way home

The children celebrate with him his happy new life

By crowning their purring prince with vines and flowers

And he is pleased to accept their adoration and love

 

Too soon children must leave their merriments

And rebuild civilization among the wreckages

In a time of hatreds and ideologies

When all seem to have forgotten the way to Jerusalem

 

And so for now

 

May children enjoy the springtime of their lives

For they (and the cat) remind us of our appointed path

Porta Coeli - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Porta Coeli

 

“I pray you, sir, remember the porter”

 

-Macbeth II.iii.20ff

 

We are all porters; we open doors for others

Sometimes we open them for ourselves

If we close a door, it is against the rain and cold

And not against each other

 

(Yes, in Macbeth the Porter is drunk and inept, and when he says “remember the porter” he is asking for a tip in spite of his incompetence. I put the line in anyway because we are all porters.)

The Most Embarrassed Young Father in All of Christendom - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Most Embarrassed Young Father in All of Christendom

 

I will go in to the Altar of God.

To God who giveth joy to my youth.

 

The Roman Missal, 1962

 

The processional had hardly ended

With each minister and server in place

Each knee for a moment respectfully bended

In acknowledgement of God’s gentle Grace

 

When came to our ears a frightening assault

Of sirens and horns, and then flashing lights

Beneath the sanctuary’s sacred vault

A catalogue of wild electronic frights

 

To the narthex door a father rushed

Awkwardly in the sight of God and man

His handsome manly face was deeply flushed

His son’s toy helicopter was clutched in his hands

 

He carried the noisy gadget far away -

(A true helicopter parent we may say!)

We delight in our children; for them we pray

And thank God for all families this Sabbath day

 

I will go in to the Altar of God.

To God who giveth youthful joy to old age.

 

-Parenting 1301

The Sunday Evening News in a Time of Elections - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

The Sunday Evening News in a Time of Elections

 

“Good things of day begin to droop and drowse”

 

-Macbeth III.ii.58

 

Suddenly the yellowing afternoon is still

For Indian Summer breezes have slipped away

While clouds of silent midges swirl against the sun

For reasons of nature known only to themselves

 

The treeline is blue as evening comes on

But the hayfields glow golden for a little while

Until Old Sol falls asleep at last

And the firstling stars come out to play

 

A rabbit shyly nibbles at the dewing grass –

The day is over; we have to let it pass

A Plumber's Assistant, a Nazi, and an Artificial Tree - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

A Plumber’s Assistant, a Nazi, and an Artificial Tree

 

Nazi Rally in Madison Square Garden, 10 February 1939

 

Isadore Greenbaum wanted to punch a Nazi

And so he charged – he didn’t get very far

And was beaten up by Real Americans (cough)

          (It took only four or five of ‘em)

And arrested by the New York City Police

 

One Nazi stopped kicking Greenbaum to set aright

An artificial tree that was about to fall

Which is a curiosity – what remnant of good

Was in that man that he kept a decoration in place?

 

Greenbaum is a hero in our nation’s history -

The tidy Nazi remains a mystery

I Hear America Whining - doggerel

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

I Hear America Whining

 

The world’s fattest people, packin’ the pounds

Driving in to McDonald’s whenever struck by the mood

And then to the beer joint, drinking in rounds

While complaining about the price of food

Torah is Written with Flames - poem

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Torah is Written with Flames

 

English letters are as orderly as a battle line

But Hebrew letters are flames in their shining shapes

Even on a printed page they dance in light

And with Light comes Truth; you can see God in them

 

For Hebrew letters are the Burning Bush

The fires of Mount Horeb, the Temple sacrifice

The light of a Talmud scholar’s study lamp

The light of Torah upon civilization

 

We don’t know our letters as well as we should

But God has written them upon our hearts