Sometimes in Korea, Sometimes Not

He wears clean overalls, a nice new shirt
A collection of small tools in his pockets
A cap that reads “U.S. Army Retired”
And for some reason his Sunday go-to-church shoes

He mumbles his Mac-Something breakfast meal
A presentation in cellophane and foam
Organic-free or gluten-full or something
And seems to visit with someone long gone

A middle-aged woman in a Daewoo
Arrives to help him up and take him home

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                         Sometimes There are no Smaller Words


                                “It was all sea and islands now”

                       -C. S. Lewis on the death of his mother


In the end there was peace
The oxygen bubbled beyond him now
Past his greying skin and out into room

His earliest memory was set in his father’s store
Playing in front while young men dressed much alike
Carried supplies out to a waiting truck
They tousled his hair and said words he didn’t understand
Someone told him they were German prisoners of war
And what they said was, “what a nice little boy”

And his last memory – I hope it was of Father Michael
With an Orthodox blessing for the journey to come
Or Max and Dawn and Lori, for the journey that was

Once upon a time, and many times
We smoked our pipes on summer lawns
Or with our feet to a winter fire
And spoke of Lewis, Tolkien, and Milton

Whenever I lent him a book he returned it to me
With minuscule notes
Sometimes of great wisdom
Sometimes of wonderful wit

And I have the books and the notes

Whenever he spoke of a topic in Orthodoxy
In exasperation I asked him to use smaller words
Because I barely graduated from high school
And once he said, “Sometimes there are no smaller words”

The words keep getting smaller and smaller
But in the end there is peace


“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and make perpetual Light to shine upon him.”

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

            Somewhere in New Mexico I tipped a Waitress 25%

        NOT I - NOT ANYONE else, can travel that road for
        you.   You must travel it for yourself.

                                         -Walt Whitman

On a cool autumn morning in New Mexico
A greasy spoon along the interstate
Walt Whitman and I enjoyed breakfast together
Bacon and eggs, hash browns, coffee and toast

And it was very good – no heaves of gas
But Whitman found an errand in some other soul
And sang a different self to California
McKuen rode with me the rest of the way

Breakfast was ninety-five cents; I added a quarter
The waitress was happy, and so were we all

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                            Somewhere in Syria There is a You

Somewhere in Syria there is a you
Pondering all the existential questions:
What is the meaning of life? Is God real?
Can you get to your job without getting shot?

Your notebooks were hidden from the old regime
Your notebooks are now hidden from the new
Is there enough food for today, for tomorrow -
Rough men with guns are beating on your door

Somewhere in Syria there is a you
In the next few seconds – what will you do?

Some Year’s Day

What century is it outside?

-Boris Pasternak

It’s a fair question: what century is this?
There was fog in the morning, this first day
Of the new year, and later overcast
There was nothing new in any of that

The fat grey squirrel raided the bird-seed at dawn
Which is why he is fat, and dampness dripped
From the roof eaves onto the long-dead leaves
There was nothing new in that, either

The first cup of coffee, the same old news -
It’s a fair question, it is: what century?

So my Lawnmower Repair Guy...

                                   The wind that blows
                                Is all that anyone knows

                                  -Henry David Thoreau

And is the man all right? Nobody knows

And my lawnmower is hidden behind a fence
A chain-link fence, among mowers in rows
The owner lost a gunfight; he was taken hence
And what about the mowers? Nobody knows

And is the man all right? Nobody knows

UPS has left notes; the door is locked
There is no sound of man or machine
No one has answered when customers knocked
Only the guard-dogs (yep, they’re really mean)

And is the man all right? Nobody knows

Sergeant Schultz at the cop-shop - she knows nothink
She’s busy with her personal smartphone
Her eyes are fixed; they do not move or blink
And I am all alone in The Twilight Zone

And is the man all right? Nobody knows

So what really happened? Nobody knows

And is the man all right? Nobody knows

So who can I contact? Nobody knows

And is the man all right? Nobody knows


Only the wind...

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com


              So, Newsreaders on National Public Radio, So, Like

Dear NPR Newsreaders:

You don’t have to begin most stories with “So”
Nor the rest of the reports with “So, like”
You could begin with a useful noun, you know
And speak professionally into that open mike

From Le Chansons de Volga File Clerks Rouge
© 1962 by Les Chansons, Leningrad

O sing a song of reproduction
Accomplished by electrical induction
As workers’ hands insert the paper
Deep into the magic vapor
Chanting without a fuss or stink,
“Yo, **, ** and a bottle of ink!”
Ions charge the chemical toner
Unless there’s none, ‘cause it’s all goner
Or even worse – if there’s a jam
And then the worker yells out (“Goodness!”)
But with a wrench and a mighty shout
Like that ol’ Czar, the jam is OUT
The Committee decrees a Print Command
This is their red-star’red demand
And out comes the paper, newly free
Fresh from a cartridge in a… (There! See?)
By Good Comrade Worker, Ivan-on-the-Spot
Alas, the message is for him to be…

                                                            ­         shot

(In which good fellowship between Russians and Americans is probably not advanced)

Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – pull!

Where is my sunblock? Where!
Over by the sodas – there!

Start the Evinrude – pull!
It won’t start, Dad – %^&!

Where is my +^% phone? Where!
There by your fishing hat - There!

Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – pull!

Watch those tree stumps! Where?
&%#ing tree stumps! @#$!

Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – pull!

Drift to that cove, now – there!
Cut the engine, now – shhhh!

Where are them fish, then - $#@%!
They ain’t here, Dad – *&^%!

Start the Evinrude – pull!
Grandpa’s Evinrude – &#%&!

*(Chorus fades as the sun sets over Tovarisch Bubba’s Bait, Beer, ‘n’ Borscht)

Sorting Out Russian Poetry

Avant-garde post-modernism ego
Futurism symbolism acme
Ism constructivism cosmopol
Itanism formalism neo

Formalism futurism imag
Inism proletarian real
Ism absurdism maximalism

Socialist realism, nothingism -
Poetic beauty, in spite of the Isms

Avant-garde post-modernism ego
Futurism symbolism acme
Ism constructivism cosmopol
Itanism formalism neo

Formalism futurism imag
Inism proletarian real
Ism absurdism maximalism

Socialist realism, nothingism -
Poetic beauty, in spite of the Isms

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                        So This is the New Year


                               The road goes ever on and on…

    -from at least three variations of a song in The Lord of the Rings


About this new year – it doesn’t look so new
A metaphorical kick of the tires suggests
It’s been down many roads before
But then, so have we

About this new year – it doesn’t look so new
But the first sunlight in the bare oak trees
And upon last summer’s ground-shoaling leaves
Lead me to pull on my boots and step outside

Frost, sky, sunlight, cardinals, squirrels, life
About this new year – it looks pretty good now

In the end, they had to break into his room
He was dead in his chair, and quite alone
Self-exiled from his family for years
Alone in a shell, silent, and alone

The accidentals of life were cast away:
A coffee ***, a coat over a door
His schedule for the methadone clinic
A note to meet with his parole officer

But the pathology tox screen was clean -
Better than most of us, he went down fighting

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.

The Tempest III.ii.129-130


Be not
Afraid
Iambs
Are just
The way
We speak
They are
Our natch
Ural
Rhythm

Or:

Be not afraid; iambs are just the way
We speak; they are our natural rhythm 1

Sometimes they must be squashed a bit, and then
(Hear “natural” as two syllables, a pair

Othertimes “natural” is read as three) –
Be a skilled artist in your poetry!

1 “Rhythm” is a trochee, not an iamb
   But let it stay, that poor, little lost lamb

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.

     The Tempest III.ii.129-130


Be not
Afraid
Iambs
Are just
The way
We speak
They are
Our natch
Ural
Rhythm

Or:

Be not afraid; iambs are just the way
We speak; they are our natural rhythm 1

Sometimes they must be squashed a bit, and then
(Hear “natural” as two syllables, a pair

Othertimes “natural” is read as three) –
Be a skilled artist in your poetry!



1 “Rhythm” is a trochee, not an iamb
   But let it stay, that poor, little lost lamb

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]


                             Southern Belle Antiques ‘N’ Stuff

(Slow sibilant bathroom-slipper-shuffle)

“Oh, don’t close the door, honey, oh no
If the door is closed no one will know I’m open
English Romantics? Here’s an Edgar Allan Poe
I read lots of books myself; do you like westerns?”

(Dark narrow paths tunnel through dark moldy heaps)

“I paid fifty dollars for that bolt cutter
It’s almost new; I bought it for my daddy
My brother locked him out of his own house
You can have it for twenty; I live upstairs”

(The shambling slippers follow me to the door)

“It’s a shame that girls don’t play with dolls anymore
Come back anytime; I’m mostly open”

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                                      Southpaws of the Spirit

                        Upon reading Mary Oliver’s Devotions

My favorite poets write on the left side of the page
Which I hadn’t known, and didn’t need to know
“It’s not important how you write, but that you write”
As my dear friend Rod McKuen did not say

So You’re Still Wearing Your Old Boonie Hat?

The old man asked.  Old man.  Maybe my age
“The original is carefully put away;
This one I ordered off the amazon”
His wooden stick was leaned against the pew

His grown children glanced disapprovingly
At two old dudes whispering during Mass
After the Eucharist, before the hymn
And the “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord”

He said he burned his Marine Corps sea bag
when he got home, but somehow you could tell
          it hadn’t helped

Well, gosh, thank you for being here today
I am honored to be the conductor
Of this very special and awesome group
So let me introduce them one by one
To this special and awesome audience
It’s been an awesome season, and we’re glad
You could share this moment with us today
We’d like to give a special shout-out to
(Name and name) for making this wonderful space
Available to all of us today
As you know this is the last performance
Of the season, and the last here for (name)
Who is being transferred to Albuquerque
And we want to wish her well; she has been
A cornerstone-rock-heart of our little group
And also for (name) who is retiring
After thirty years with (name-name, inc)
And is looking forward to spending time
With his family and traveling about
With his awesome and patient wife (name-name)
And also with his awesome and patient dogs
Although of course he would never say that they
Are more awesome than his sweet wife ha-ha
You will notice that our program today
Features a diversity of pieces to appeal
To all sorts of tastes because the pieces
We have selected in their diversity
Are meant to appeal to all sorts of tastes
Oh, wait, did I say that already ha-ha
Because we all believe that music speaks
To the hearts of all in their special ways
Because music is the language of all
From Tchaikovsky and Wagner to Elvis
From the stuffiness of grand old Vienna
To ‘way-cool happenin’ New Orleans
Or as they like to say down there Naw-lins
Ha-ha music is the language of all
Because it is inclusive and diverse
And speaks to all our hearts with love
And, like, you know, stuff, so now we begin
With some traditional classic pieces
And then some popular tunes you can tap
Your toes along to, and then at the end
We will enjoy a good ol’ sing-along
And maybe some audience participation
Ha-ha but we’ll let that be a surprise
Our first piece now is by Paganini
Who was neither a pagan nor a *****
Ha-ha so let me give you’re a little background
On this piece…

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                               Spectrum Cable 2

                                                For 23 April 2025


Spectrum Notification Alerts: Welcome. Msg frequence based on account activity.  Text STOP to stop. Msg & data rates may apply.

Spectrum Service Alert: There is a service outage affecting you. Restoration estimated by 11:30 P.M. We apologize for the inconvenience.


It’s got its quirks; it jerks and twerks
And once in a while it sort of works

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                         Spectrum Cable 3

                                          For 24 April 2025

Spectrum stops working at the fall of a leaf
Such fragility! It beggars belief.

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                      Spectrum Cable 4

                                       For 1 May 2025

Spectrum is usually more dead than alive –
O! For a newspaper at the foot of the drive!

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                        Spectrum TV Takes Out the Main Water Line

For two days Spectrum to our surprise did fine
But today they ruptured the water line

(Can ya dig it?)

Speech of Freedom

I will listen – now tell me what you think
And tell me what you think, not what you feel
Not what you were commanded by bullhorns
Not chants beginning with “Hey! Hey!
     **! **!”

I will listen – now tell me that you think
You, not a crowd, a hive, a swarm, a shoal
You, not a mood, a whim, a committee
You, not a photocopied manifesto

Because I want to hear you – you, not echoes
I will listen – now tell me what you think

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                                             Spilling the Tea

A friend and I were sitting at the table
The kitchen table, with the stove as reredos
To that Altar of rural celebrations
Of breakfast, crosswords, cigarettes, secrets, and life

“Okay, now spill the tea,” she whispered to me
And I did
But with a kitchen towel we mopped it all up

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                 Springtime’s Laughing Rhymes

A Merry Little Breeze, an allergen sneeze
Happy little children among the bees

The always fresh challenge to rhyme with moon
Perhaps noon? Spoon? Croon? Loon? Swoon? Bare feet?

Bare feet?

Bare feet! How neat! A grassy-tickly treat!

And Mama calls out, “Now where are your shoes?”

“Oh, we left them in church on the back-row pews!”

“Just wait ‘til I tell your father that news!”

(Giggling)

“And where are your socks?”
“Inside with the clocks!”

“That makes no sense!”
“Gimme three pence!”

A Merry Little Breeze, an allergen sneeze
And beneath the trees a little world at ease




[Merry Little Breezes – cf. Thornton W. Burgess’ Mother West Wind stories]

Her stern eyes gaze a four years’ distance
But let this fact be duly noted
She claims to be of The Resistance -
But has she ever, ever voted?

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                               Squirrels Without End, Amen

Whenever I take my book to the front-yard oak
The squirrel stretched from the feeder to the trunk
Flees in a seed-strewn panic across the lawn
To a farther tree, free of human menace

This is a young squirrel; its predecessor
Arched from feeder to trunk in exactly the same way
But held its ground, or, rather, its rough old tree
And chittered defiance in contempt of me

By summer’s end this squirrel too will stare me down -
I wonder what Pasternak wrote about squirrels

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                         Stammering Before an Audience of One

                                   Cf. Shakespeare, Sonnet 23

As imperfect poets upon the page
We scribble limping iambs and push them to go
To an impatient audience waiting downstage
For well-spoken truth in a metric flow

A poem, a play - each is a rite of love
Humbly offered like an awkward child’s bouquet
Go on, then, give the rhymes a little shove
Even though your feet, your tongue, your hopes – all are clay

And if gratitude and admiration are in her eyes
She has granted you the worthiest prize!

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                     Standards Must be Maintained. Harrumph.

Anyone who drinks tea from a gallon jug
Purchased at some sort of shop for plebeians
Is definitely Of The People, and not to be trusted
Give him a coin and send him on his way

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                                    Standing the Test of Time

So tell me about life’s test – is it multiple-guess?
Or fill-in-the-blanks for my empty mind
If the most common answer is C…oh, what a mess!
Gimme a hint, Teach; I’m falling behind!

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                         Stand-To for Night Patrol


                      The Americans were said to believe that the
                      Communists are on the defensive…

                          -New York Times, 11 January 1970


I keep seeing a boat’s black silhouette
Upon the red water, against the red sky
And the black-death tree-line along the shore
A dark, decaying scene, and I don’t know why

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                       Starting Over with a New Fountain Pen

              “I’m not happy unless I have a pen in my hand;
                                It’s really that simple.”

                                  -Anthony Horowitz

Now you are home from the stationery shop
And seated at your writing desk, alone
Alone with your thoughts in the soft lamplight
You carefully open the little box

A pen

Perfectly fitted to your artist’s hand
Somehow like a sword or a rosary
Or a wand of power awaiting your command -
For it is a magic pen that has never failed

A pen

It is your pen. It is sacred. Name it.
Pray over it. Then dare to write the truth.

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                              Stay Close to the Telephone

“Stay close to the telephone,” they used to say
Stay close to that Western Electric on the desk or wall
Since news of great importance might come your way
A message from the shop or some emergency call

“Stay close to the telephone” – you couldn’t go out
Without breaking contact in an hour of need
You could only wait in place in fear and doubt
For an order at last to move with speed

“Stay close to the telephone?” It had no reach
But a modern ‘phone drains you like a ****** leech

STEMinists

That women must be as shallow as men
And thus surrender all their high estate:
Art, music, government, medicine, law
Science, literature, administration

To be programmed, obedient to machines
That turn, tilt, twist, light up and make noises
Measure this, adjust that, obey, obey
Functionaries in a factory – why?

To bow before gadgets, just like the men -
The old Eden thing, all over again

Still Life with Ant Poison

A summer’s dusk, a rustic garden bench
Deep-weathered from the cycles of seasons and years
And burdened with those homely implements
Beloved of the philosopher-gardener:

Clay pots at rest after nursing young plants
An old birdhouse in need of repair, a trowel
A pair of old cloth gloves, a watering can
A cylinder of painful death for ants

And for the old philosopher’s Vespers
An inch
             (or two)
                           of therapeutic single-malt

Lawrence Hall, HSG
[email protected]

                                 Still Listening to the Warm

Rod McKuen was the coolest of the cool
And now he’s not
Which makes him warmer than ever
On the pencil-marked pages of our youth

"Listen to the Warm" is still good advice

She will make it a perfect holiday

(“Don’t touch those cookies! They’re for later!”)

Just like the ones on H & G TV

(“Don’t touch Santa! I’ve got him where I want him!”)

With the perfect table and decorations

(“Who moved the Easter bunny, --- --- it!?”)

Exactly like the ones in the magazines

(“Just leave the tree alone; I’LL decorate it!”)

And smiling faces all around the house

(“I expect a little cooperation around here!”)

Perfectly wrapped presents with perfect bows

(“Turn the tree…not that way…LISTEN TO ME!”

Cute Easter baskets for each little child

(“Leave those chocolates alone! You’ll ruin your lunch!”)

Marshaled prettily for a photograph

(“Oh, ----! There’s a grass stain on your church dress!”

Meemaw and Pawpaw will be proud of them

(“---- it! I told you not to play outside in your church dress!”)

The children’s table is just like a picture

(“Not yet!  We haven’t even said the  ----ed grace!”)

A perfect holiday, or she’ll just die -
No matter how many children are made to cry

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

              Stopping by Literary Criticism on a Snowy Evening

                      From an idea by a happy bumblebee

Whose Deconstructionist Narrative this is I think I know
Their (because we mustn’t say “her” or “his”)
New Criticism is on their podcast, though
They will not see me applying Phenomenology here
To help fill up their woods with Neo-Post-Colonialist blow

My little solar car must think it other-gendered
To pause while I Conceptualize without a Starbuck’s near
Between Foucault and Derrida here
Next to the Sapir-Whorf Theory, and without a beer

They give their location transponder a Derrida shake
To demand a formal apology for this cultural mistake
The only other sound’s the Existential creep
Of Masonic Catholic **** Zionism on the take

Judgmental stereotypes are flying, shallow and cheap
But I have an Inner Reality to keep
And an Intertextual Analysis of Post-Structuralism to steep
And an Aesthetic Objectification of Dialectics to steep

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                                Stop Running

                                                   1 Kings 19

Stop searching. Hold still
Rest now under the broom tree
And He will find you

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                 Storm Heaven, if You Will

          In the midst of a world of light and love, of song and feast
          and dance, he could find nothing to think of more interesting
          than his own prestige.

                         -C.S. Lewis, A Preface to Paradise Lost

Storm Heaven with your selfless prayers, if you will
But not your fellow man with fists and flags

-headline

What’s important?



Young lovers soaring through a Neverland night
Savouring each other in sweet delight

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

     Strange Lights, Strange Sounds, and Would You Like a Coffee?

In hospital one encounters strange lights
Strange sounds, visions – What is this all about?
Radioisotopes floating around in one’s veins
Dizzies, buzzies, shortness of breath, coughs, sighs

Reality tilts on an axis that isn’t there
Illuminations flash by at unwarped speed
Grey slabs curiously marked maneuver awfully close
Why does machinery slide overhead?

And a kindly voice says, “It’s okay. You’re doing fine”
And then those most welcome words: “Would you like a coffee?”

So many movies on the streaming service
Advert themselves as about forbidden love
Until one wonders if there is any love
Which is not forbidden
                                                 your credit card welcome

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

          Street Snatches, Unmarked Cars, No Badges, No Warrants:
                                    It’s Okay – We’re a Republic


     No one was more astonished than they when what they’d been
     talking of for years suddenly took on reality.

                                     ― C.S. Lewis, That Hideous Strength


If thugs in masks ambush you in the street
And tell you they’re the police – you must believe them
Hoodies and ball caps and baggy old clothes
Handcuffed and pushed into an unmarked car

It’s okay – we’re a republic

One of the officers arranges her hair
Fairy Hardcastle wants to look pretty
And you?
Gone in two minutes and 46 seconds
Disappeared somewhere in Louisiana

It’s okay – we’re a republic

We can’t be sure if you’re guilty or not -
Our silence is the only guilt we know

But it’s okay – we’re a republic

Strelnikov is still Wrong

"I used to admire your poetry…I shouldn't admire it now. I should find it absurdly personal. Don't you agree? Feelings, insights, affections...it's suddenly trivial now. You don't agree; you're wrong. The personal life is dead in Russia. History has killed it."

– Strelnikov in Doctor Zhivago (film)

Don’t write to be approved by masters who
Wear Rolexes in the Name of the People
Don’t write to be approved by masters at all
But be your own authority and see

Your life – yours - is nobler than manifestos
The latest noisy Ghibellines and Guelphs
All Power to the Constituent Assembly
One folk, one nation, one waffle with syrup

Write freedom through verses, and disobey
Anyone who pushes you what to say

I used to admire your poetry…I shouldn't admire it now. I should find it absurdly personal. Don't you agree? Feelings, insights, affections...it's suddenly trivial now. You don't agree; you're wrong. The personal life is dead in Russia. History has killed it.*

-Strelnikov in Doctor Zhivago (film)

Don’t write to be approved by masters who
Wear Rolexes in the Name of the People
Don’t write to be approved by masters at all
But be your own authority and see

Your life – yours - is nobler than manifestos
The latest noisy Guelphs and Ghibellines
All Power to the Constituent Assembly
One folk, one nation, one waffle with syrup

Write freedom through verses, and disobey
Anyone who pushes you what to say

Lawrence Hall
[email protected]  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                            Strippers­ Bid to Unionize in Los Angeles

                                                     -news item

To what enormity is this action owed –
Could there be an issue with the strict dress code?

Stump Junction...



              “How Ya Gonna Keep 'em Down on the Farm
                          (After They've Seen Paree)?”

                       -a song of the First World War

Speak not to us of Paris by moonlight -
How are they gonna keep us down on the Seine
When we have seen the gaiety of Stump Junction
By the romantic glow of sweet mary jane

The twinkle of gunfire from a .22
As Cousin Eloise potted beer bottles
While her new guy Kolby took a long ////
On her old guy Shane-Boy’s low-rider rims

The county mounties busted up the fight -
Speak not to us of Paris by moonlight