Atheist Chaplains Forging Mixed Metaphors - poem (of a sort)

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Atheist Chaplains Forging Mixed Metaphors

 

“Atheist chaplains are forging a new path in a changing world”

 

-CNN 7 November 2024

 

One seldom thinks of chaplains at a forge

Work-weary, work-stained from hours of smoke and sweat

With mighty hammer strokes bending hot iron

To the will of the artisan in useful things

 

Some writers forge nothing but metaphors tired

From overuse, and mixed as verbal soup

In music, art, literature, and life paths can be

 

Cleared

Paved

Traveled

Surveyed

explored

Followed

Noted

Marked

Mapped

Found

 

But it is not in the nature of paths to be forged

 

Atheist chaplains and metaphor soup

Are nothing more than an ouroborosian loop

 

(Look upon this fresh metaphor and neologism

And despair)

Vice-President Kamala Harris’ Speech of Gratitude and Farewell to Her Faithful Followers in the Early Hours of 6 November 2024

 

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Vice-President Kamala Harris’ Speech of Gratitude and Farewell to Her Faithful Followers in the Early Hours of 6 November 2024

Election Night 2024: Dry Bones - poem

  

Lawrence Hall, HSG

Mhall46184@aol.com

 

Election Night 2024: Dry Bones

 

 

“All we are, basically, are monkeys with car keys”

 

-Grandma Woody in Northern Exposure, “Animals R Us,” 1991

 

 

An early dusk falls under clouds from the Gulf

Yellow houselights wink on as daylight winks off

Supper in greasy bags from fast-fooderies

That everyone argues they can’t afford

 

Then like the lozenge in A Space Odyssey

A screen appears and dominates all

And family groupings center themselves around it

In excited cavortings before the images

 

Of brightly-colored cultic election scores

As fists swinging dry bones crush enemy skulls

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