Monday, May 4, 2026

When the Death Penalty is Outsourced to Private Corporations - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

 

When the Death Penalty is Outsourced to Private Corporations

 

 

“We’re re-structuring, so may God have mercy on your soul.”

 

“Thank you for your contributions to making our prison great again.”

 

“Going forward we’re looking for more technology.”

 

“You’ve been a great team player. You will be missed.”

 

“We’re investing in new production models”

 

“Our extended worker family is sure going to miss you.”

 

“We’re streamlining our operations.”

 

“You’ll be proud to know that your death chamber

- because, yes, it is your community death chamber -

Is positioned with great love and respect

On First Nations land repurposed for your spiritual experience.”

 

“We need a more agile workforce to meet tomorrow’s needs.”

 

“As part of our matrix of inclusivity

We’re processing more women, minorities,

And LGBTQ than ever before.”

 

“To lower our carbon footprint we’re presenting you

With an artisanal, hand-woven noose

Crafted from all-natural recycled fibers.”

 

“We’re accelerating into a new era of growth.”

 

“We know you will be impacted by 2,000 volts,

But our separation package is an industry best.”

 

“Our watchwords are compassion and imagination.”

 

“If you want a tranquilizer before the lethal drip

That cost will be deducted from your family’s survivor package.”

 

“Our sensitive and inclusive personnel officers

And transition specialists will walk with you

Every step of the way along the Green Mile

As you journey to your bright new future.”

 

“Oh…before you go…this just in from the personnel office –

They can arrange lateral transfers to I.C.E.

If you’re interested…

                                 You’re not…?

                                                          I understand.”

Doggie-Kisses - DOGgerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

Doggie-Kisses

 

For all our little domestic carnivorous quadrupeds

 

 

“Love anything, even a small animal, and your heart will surely be broken.”

 

-C. S. Lewis

 

 

Her life is short, her nose is long

A dachshund’s bark is a merry song!

 

Her life is short, her body is long

And how her little paws pad along!

 

Her life is short, her ears are long

Her love is a happy ping to your pong

 

Her life is short, her tail is long

Her eyes are big, her heart is strong

 

Her life is short

But the memories –

O, the memories are long!

Tuesday, April 28, 2026

Poems Three Times Each Day - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

Poems Three Times Each Day

 

For the singers of songs and tellers of truth on HP

 

From ideas by Jackie and Nat

 

Most creatives frame each day with a liturgy

The Hours for some, Shacharit, Mincha, and Maariv for others

The musician gives glory through pulsing air

An artist with camel-hair brush blesses a canvas

 

A poem is a prayer, a Temple-offering of love

A Sh’ma, an Ave, the Eight-Fold Path

A chaplet of beads bidding welcome to all

A voice proclaiming Truth in the desert

 

Most creatives frame each day with a liturgy -

Thank you, dear friends, for sharing yours with me

Monday, April 27, 2026

How Old Are You? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

How Old Are You?

 

A question:

 

If you did not know how old you are

How old, then, would you say you are?

 

An answer:

 

I will go in to the altar of God.

To God who giveth joy to my youth.

 

And there you are

 

“How old…” – many attributions

“To God…” -Missale Romanum, Baronius Press, 2008

Sunday, April 26, 2026

For Those Who Long for the President’s Firing Squads - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

 

For Those Who Long for the President’s Firing Squads

 

 

We still have judgement here, that we but teach
Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return
To plague th’ inventor. 

 

-Macbeth I.vii.8-10

 

 

Although you may jeer a condemned man today

And laugh as he’s dragged to that berm and wall

The evil that breaks his body will turn your way

You too will hear the Fatal Bellman’s call

 

The verdict sustained, the appeals laughed off

Poorly trained riflemen will unlock your door

As they drag you away they will scorn and scoff

If they notice you at all – ‘tis their daily chore

 

You’ll scream into the void your vain last plea:

“I didn’t mean for this to happen to ME!”

Breaking News - Shots Not Fired - short poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love

Home - Hello Poetry

 

Breaking News: Shots Not Fired

 

How lovely it would be to hear someone say

“A few minutes ago in Washington

Several incidents of love rang out.”

Saturday, April 18, 2026

Sunday Morning Jesus with a Bullhorn, Lawrence Hall

 Lawrence Hall

mhall46184@aol.com


Sunday Morning Jesus with a Bullhorn

 

 

“Ye miserable, crawlin’ worms. Are ye here again then?...You’re all damned! DAMNED!”

 

                           -from Amos Starkadder’s There’ll Be No Butter in Hell sermon to the Church of the

                                                            Quivering Brethren, Cold Comfort Farm

 

 

(Sinner, are you saved?!)

 

When he was sharin’ a bottle an’ a joint

He was much more likeable, a dirt-road drunk

But now he shares Jesus through a bullhorn

And notches souls on his Sears & Roebuck guitar

 

(God sent me to preach you to Heaven!)

 

He hates them town churches like he hates the devil

Lost a finger at the sawmill; carries groceries now

His mama gives him a ride to work each day

She says th’ cops is always a-pickin’ on him

 

(Don’t you go to Hell with them Methodists and Popists!)

 

She says th’ police don’t like him or Jesus

But he had convictions before he got Conviction

 

(And let th’ people say, “A-men!”)

A Carpenter's Pencil - poem

  Lawrence Hall Mhall46184@aol.com Dispatches for the Colonial Office LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and ...