Sunday, July 6, 2025

But, Hey, No King Here - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

But, Hey, No King

 

The most lawless ruler is a Man of the People

Posturing upon some whited balcony

His pouting lips frozen in a perpetual sneer

While his toadies cheer their bondage, and call it freedom

 

The semi-automatic rifle is their Bible

Barbed wire is their semi-automatic law

The Constitution is but the president’s whims

(Let us now pray

for his bowel movements today)

 

Congress and the Supreme Court with feet of clay

Await in fear, in disgrace, in moral decay

For a Murat to come and brush them away:

 

“Citizens, you are dismissed.”

If My Daughter Had Been Present at the Last Supper - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

If My Daughter Had Been Present at the Last Supper

 

And whilst they were at supper, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and broke: and gave to his disciples, and said: Take ye, and eat. This is my body…”

 

-Saint Matthew 26:26-29, Douay-Rheims 1899 American Edition via Bible Gateway

 

And my daughter said unto our Lord,

“Excuse me…excuse me, Sir, but is this matzoh fresh?

Did you check the expiration date?

Is it really kosher?  Is it from a fair-trade source?”

 

 

(Judas has left the building.)

A Walk Between Worlds - poem about Alzheimer's

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Walk Between Worlds

 

Stage 2 Alzheimer’s

 

She walked into our house for lunch today

The puppy gamboled at her feet in welcome

And was treated to doggie-kisses and doggie-hugs

She loves the dog

She is no longer sure about us

Laundry Day - The Solemnity of All Stains: poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Laundry Day - The Solemnity of All Stains

 

The washing machine baptizes our busy days:

A shirt freshly stained with this morning’s coffee

Wrinkledy tees in grimy greens and greys

A child’s blue jeans all sticky with toffee

 

Dish towels we allowed to get old-food smelly

A nice dress sock on which the puppy peed

Blankies from the couch in front of the telly

The terry-cloth that toweled the shaving bleed

 

In the laundry room where all these wreckages convene

There to be made all fresh and bright and clean –

 

Let us give thanks for the washing machine!

 

Saturday, June 28, 2025

A Shepherd's Path from the Mountain of La Salette - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

 

A Shepherd’s Path from the Mountain of La Salette

 

For Reverend Ron Foshage, M.S.

Our Lady’s Faithful Missionary

 

 

The old order changeth, yielding place to new

 

-Tennyson, Idylls of the King

 

 

We don’t know if the cart drivers have stopped swearing

Or if the potato crops are doing well this year

Or if the rocks have indeed become wheat

Or if everyone prays an Ave each day

 

We don’t know if the Field of Coin still flourishes

Or if the people of Corps faithfully attend Mass

Or if barefoot boys and girls still herd sheep

Or if they listen, as did Melanie and Maximin

 

But we do know that Our Lady of La Salette

To care for us through our pilgrimage in time

In a land far from that holy mountain

Has blessed us with Her most faithful missionary

 

Through the ordinal cycles of seasons and feasts

He served the Table in the Name of the Lord

He baptized us, taught us, confirmed us, confessed us

Married us, anointed us, and buried our dead

 

Through blessed years and tears and nights and days –

But now to the Will of God

We surrender him with thanks and prayers and praise

 

 

And God fulfils Himself in many ways

 

-Tennyson

Tomatoes and Midday Cicadas - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Tomatoes and Midday Cicadas

 

 

Where are the songs of Spring?

 

-Keats

 

 

The tomatoes are split and discolored in the heat

Like bathing beauties who have beached too long

And gathering up the past totter home at dusk

Surprised to be all burnt and wrinkled with age

 

The sun of April who was a lusty lover

Caressing and warming their soft young skin

Is now a middle-aged man baring his chest

And seeking love in other vegetable beds

 

The cicadas of noon mourn in the withering heat

In remembrance of spring, youthful and sweet

Friday, June 27, 2025

Surgery in Three Parts - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Surgery in Three Parts

 

 

1 - Fear for Tomorrow

 

I don’t know what will happen to her tomorrow -

The anaesthesia and the surgical trauma

Invading all those organs compromised

Compromised by age and failing health

 

There’s a contract coffee bar in the lobby main

One could savour a coffee and a croissant

While waiting for a messenger of life or death

Does anyone know where the chapel is?

 

A marriage should not end in ICU

In the echoing chants of “Code Blue…Code Blue…”

 

2 - Fear for Today

 

Morning is filled with possibilities

But today…

Morning is fraught with possibilities

 

3 – Deo Gratias

 

The surgeon and the RN visit me

In a cold-as-a-morgue fluorescent-lit room

With their masks loose about their necks

To report that all went well

 

 

Darwinianism Stalks the Suburbs - poem

  Lawrence Hall Mhall46184@aol.com Dispatches for the Colonial Office   Darwinianism Stalks the Suburbs   God giveth the earth t...