Blueberry Portal - poem

 

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Blueberry Portal

 

 

“In dreams the fool is free from scorning voices”

 

-C. S. Lewis, “Dymer”

 

 

In the drowsy, bee-sy afternoon

Picking blueberries in the white-sun heat

Voices. Conversation. But it’s only the bees

While the blueberries dance and spin and whirl

 

What do bees talk about? They don’t tell me

And I don’t need to know – but we’re all friends

And the dancing blueberries – they’re having fun

They welcome me into another world

 

The leaves write me little love-letters that say

How happy to have you home for an hour today!

They’ll Be Kissing Someone Else’s Boots Next Year - rhyming couplet

 Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

They’ll Be Kissing Someone Else’s Boots Next Year

 

I saw a cleaner landscape as I traveled today:

All the TRUMP flags have mysteriously gone away

Garish On-Your-Face In-Your-Face Makeup at Twenty Paces - a poem of sorts

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Garish On-Your-Face In-Your-Face Makeup at Twenty Paces

 

There are several forms of government:

 

Monarchy

Kakistocracy

Oligarchy

Autocracy

Democracy

Anarchy

 

But Mr. Trump and Mr. Musk have given us

A new form of government via online spat

We’re ruled by cheerleader moms who shriek and cuss

So what is the scholarly Greek word for that?

 

 

Hey, red-caps, don’t start all-capping “WE’RE A REPUBLIC”; there is no pure democracy and no pure republic, and in common usage they are synonymous. Don’t just chant stuff you hear on the InterGossip. Read an ordinary high school textbook on government (maybe not an Oklahoma adoption, though).

Pushkin the Poetic Cat - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Pushkin-Cat

 

Long, lean, and lanky, he slithers like a snake

With blue-grey fur; he makes the mousies quake

 

But I haven’t seen him in several days

He roams the woods and fields, he hunts, he strays

 

He’s proud and brave, my handsome Russian Blue -

Did he cross claws with a treacherous Chartreux?

 

Did they exchange hisses at just ten paces

Does his little corpse lie in wild snowy spaces?

 

I hope his life hasn’t ended like that

For I very much miss my dear little cat

Bishops Who Roar Like Lions - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Bishops Who Roar Like Lions

 

Your Grace:

 

There have been bishops who have roared like lions

But your demeanor is that of a house pet

Please rise from your couch in Caesar’s triclinium

And return to the streets to serve God’s people

What Did He Say? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

What Did He Say?

 

She sat on the porch with her big orange cat

All cuddled up happily in her lap

When we arrived to drive her to an appointment

In a large building in the center of town

 

 

The doctor said something about stage 2

 

 

She had little to say as we drove away

And when we left her at her home again

She sat on the porch with her big orange cat

All cuddled up happily in her lap

The New Poets of England and America - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The New Poets of England and America

 

 

Young poetry is the breath of parted lips.

 

-Robert Frost, introduction

The New Poets of England and America

 

 

They’re no longer new; they’re not even alive

Those post-war young voices of strength and hope

Working through the wastelands after men of destiny

Blitzed beauty with bullets, bombers, and barbed wire

 

Some of them soldiers, and war-weary all

They were worn out, but determined and young

Digging out the words they had hidden away

Cleaning them up for service to humanity

 

They were young; they were very much like you

Doing their duty as artists and poets must do

 

 

The New Poets of England and America

Ed. Donald Hall et al

Introduction by Robert Frost

New York: Meridian Books, 1957