Thursday, January 16, 2025

Binding Each Word with a Prayer

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Binding Each Word with an Incantation, a Charm, a Spell

 

You. Not a generalized out-there “you” but – YOU

 

Gentle Writer

 

A mysterious thought is dream’ed unto you

Or a conclusion sails from your observant mind

 

You take a pen of goose-quill carefully carved

You dip it into a horn or pottle of ink

Not a metaphorical inkhorn of floridity

But the horn of a beast, hollowed out

Stoppered with a fitted wooden plug

And charged with ink of a curious blue

Of minerals or dyes or the juice of berries boiled

And worked with pagan spells or Christian prayers

 

You take an expensive page of animal-skin

Worked out with scrapings and scrubbings and acids

Or perhaps imported sheets of Egyptian papyrus

(Against which some of the younger brethren sneer)

 

Remember the annual budget! Be careful, now!

Paper doesn’t grow on trees, you know!

(Well, you could argue about the papyrus)

 

You set the light just right, the sun or a lamp

The Altar is where candles glow in honor of Our Lord

(And then there’s the budget; candles are expensive)

So you must work with the sun or a tallow lamp

At a writing slope angled as the amarius says

 

You think a thought

You lift your pen

With a prayer upon it

You guide it down

You write a word

 

A word

 

Each word is magic

 

 

 

 

 

 

What did you write?

Wednesday, January 15, 2025

Front Toward Enemy - very short free-verse poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Front Toward Enemy

 

If

In what we may laughingly call real life

You can read those three words

You’re in the wrong place

‘Bye-‘bye

The Cold Has Gotten Old - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Cold Has Gotten Old

 

 

  For many years I was a self-appointed inspector of snow-storms...

 

-Thoreau, Walden

 

 

The cold has gotten old without Christmas trees

And little lights in all their vestmental tints

No longer counterpoint the dark northern breeze

No visions of spring, no dreamings, no hints

 

The happy lawns of summer are mud and frost

The path to the cowshed is a rattle of sleet

The trail to the fishing hole was yesterday lost

And our boots are too thin for our freezing feet

 

But after our chores boiling hot coffee, please -

The cold has gotten old without Christmas trees!

Tuesday, January 14, 2025

Nothing You Write is Confidential - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Your Poem’s Background Check

 

And above all, who is in power in that part of the country,

or, rather, who will be by the time we get there?

 

-Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago

 

We don’t suffer a Soviet Writers’ Union

Except that we do – and what are you up to?

Have you written an ordinary adjective

That will be forbidden in a future place?

          You sound suspiciously colonialist

 

Last year DEI was mandatory

This year it will be a forbidden scheme

What guidelines for little magazines

Will be cleansed in the New Order to come?

          Harriet Monroe is a non-person now

 

Who will be in charge of your poetry and your life

Whenever you don’t get to wherever it was

           that you were going?

Monday, January 13, 2025

Your Changes Have Been Saved - poem

 The transfer has botched the formatting. Please accept as is.

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

 

Your Changes Have Been Saved

 

 

Noticed the passive voice              the passive voice is to be noticed

 

You did not make changes             changes were not made by you

                                                        but changes were made

 

You did not save changes                 changes were not saved by you

                                                          but changes were saved

 

 

 

If you were relevant you might have been consulted

Imagine There's No "Imagine" - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Imagine There’s No “Imagine”


“Christendom has had a series of revolutions, and in each one of them Christianity has died. Christianity has died many times and risen again; for it had a God who knew the way out of the grave.”

-G. K. Chesterton, The Everlasting Man


Imagine a world without anthems that whine

It’s difficult if we try; the ‘seventies cry

Rockabilly tunes in the communion line

And fling fluorescents from a dropped-ceiling sky

 

The ‘seventies tell the Bible what to say

And dangling speakers program us with a primitive beat

Manifestos proclaim the ideology of the day

The Gospel is reduced to an electronic tweet

 

But, peace! 

 

The tie-dyed ‘seventies still croak and wail

But it is the Eternal that will prevail

 

Stand-to for Night Patrol - short poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

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

Binding Each Word with a Prayer

  Lawrence Hall Mhall46184@aol.com Dispatches for the Colonial Office   Binding Each Word with an Incantation, a Charm, a Spell   ...