Tuesday, March 26, 2019

Morning Courage - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

Morning Courage

Some have said that the bravest thing we do
Is to get up each morning and face the dawn
It may be so. The light is grey and cold
There seem to be no reasons to go on

And yet - the morning sun begins to kiss
The sensitive, delicate springtime leaves
Turning their own hopes to the morning sun
Stretching their chloroplasts awake to life

So even as sunlight embraces the tree
So maybe there will be kisses - we’ll see!

Monday, March 25, 2019

A Hasty Partisan Response to the Mueller Report - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Hasty Partisan Response to the Mueller Report

“And art made tongue-tied by authority”

-Sonnet 66, often quoted by Pasternak

The Russian reports on my desk include:

Selected Poems, Yevtushenko
The Possessed, Dostoyevsky
The Zhivago Affair, Finn and Couvee
The Complete Poems of Anna Ahkmatova
August 1914, Solzhenitsyn


And some of them unread, some of them read
And better read than red, so someone said
Some of them shelved (We and The House of the Dead)
But now I’m going to work the flower bed

And what century is it outside? 1


1 Pasternak

Sunday, March 24, 2019

A Sidewalk Artist Who Knows Who You Were - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Sidewalk Artist Who Knows Who You Were

“He is a dreamer; let us leave him – pass.” Julius Caesar I.ii.24

Strident philosophers at Hyde Park Corner
Poor buskers at Queen Victoria’s feet
Chalk artists remaking the pavement as Rome
A Seventh Sister with her folk guitar

These are not dreamers passive in their beds
Or supplicants awaiting permission:
They are the worker bees; they know of pain
And sweat, and sunstroke in the fields - and truth

When a sidewalk artist notes that the Ides
Have come, Caesar indeed should turn to hear

Saturday, March 23, 2019

A Moment of Byronic Arrogance - rhyming triplet

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Moment of Byronic Arrogance

Whether I am on the right side of history
Is a fantasy and an irrelevancy -
History had better be on the right side of me

Friday, March 22, 2019

Across the Cemetery Fence - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com


Across the Cemetery Fence

Hart-Bevil Cemetery, Tyler County, Texas


From service as Companions of the Conqueror
To the democracy of death and dust


This was family land in the long ago
Now alienated from the living
Accessible through permissions and locks
But we and the ghosts are okay with that

They say that only four of them were hanged
The dealer in false deeds died of old age
Some possibly were saints; hard to believe
For after all, we are de Beauville’s kin

From Normandy, and then green Chesterton
And then dispersed to the colonies
At the convenience of His Majesty
De Beauvilles and Bevilles and then Bevils

And some are buried on this lonely knoll
Dim mossy bones and stones among the pines
Across the fence a little heap of glass
Broken flower vases from the dime store


Now the democracy of dust and death
But once
                     Companions of the Conqueror

Thursday, March 21, 2019

The Select Committee for Something or Other Meets in Market Basket #3 - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

The Select Committee for Something or Other
Meets in Market Basket #3

We have no fine old paneling of oak
No ancient silver on a sideboard new
When Charles the First still wore his handsome head
We have no Latin, we may not smoke, but still -

Between the cinder blocks and coffee urn
Dining upon the finest plastic foam
We laugh at yarns that Saint Augustine thought
Well out of date when Africa lost Rome

We have no fine old paneling of oak
But every day we share a fine old joke

Wednesday, March 20, 2019

A Young Wasp in Spring - Appropriate Respect for Life Forms - poem

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com

A Young Wasp in Spring

The spring morning was chill when from its nest
A young wasp fell, helpless and young
Upon the ground, needing the warmth of the sun
To spread its tiny dragon’s wings into new life

A creature of God, needing only an hour
To gain its strength, and so to live the life
Destined for it, its appointed mission
In the unknowable Plan of Creation

It seemed to beg for mercy with each desperate breath
And so with great care I crushed it to death