Lawrence
Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
For a Friend on His Pilgrimage
As
you walk your path
Your
Narrow Road to the North
May
you find Heiwa
Saturday, July 25, 2026
For a Friend on His Pilgrimage - a poor attempt at a senryu
Sunday, July 19, 2026
Schrodinger's Constitution - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Schrodinger’s Constitution
US military launches new airstrikes to 'punish' Iran for deaths of US troops | AP News
We cannot know how many of our young,
Our soldiers young, were killed today because
Our president’s words are ashes and lies
Blown about in the desert’s desolation
That mad old man plays with his golden trinkets
While his Secretary for Blood fondles testosterone
Around a reflecting pool that reflects little more
Than immigration officers shooting people in the streets
Benjamin Franklin warned us, “A republic - if you can keep it” –
God forgive us; we did not keep it
Saturday, July 18, 2026
A Back-to-School Shopping Fantasy - poem
Lawrence
Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
A Back-to-School Shopping Fantasy
Dialogue Log Log
Between Two High School Students
“From my summer job I saved and searched and bought
This Keuffel & Esser 4081-3 Log Log
Duplex Decitrig Slide Rule -
Now I control the numbers, touch the numbers
Bend the numbers to my purposes; numbers mind me”
“That is so old school!” He chewing-gummed in scorn
In adolescent scorn
“All I need is a calculator from Shanghai
It tells me what it wants me to know
And, hey, check out my new autograph sneakers!”
Ten Years Later
When she bid the engineering for the next Airbus
She did not hire him
Friday, July 17, 2026
"The Intoxicating Poetry of Belief" - poem
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
“The Intoxicating Poetry of Belief”1
From an idea by a fellow scrivener
And for the fellowship of these electric pages
Ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam
The liturgy is a poem
A hymn of the universe 1
That was
And is
And forever will be
Spoken and sung
Sometimes we get lost in a volta
But it all comes together in the Consecration
And again in the L’envoi
We are the poem
We don’t have to get it right
Or know all the words
We are loved and sung
All the way to the end
And if we’re sometimes inattentive
Well
That’s okay too
The liturgy is not a got’cha
The liturgy is a gift
1 cf. Anais Vionet
2 Teilhard de Chardin
Is Your Life No More Than a Login Code? - poem
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life,
Literature and Love
Is Your Life No More Than a Login Code?
Login code: 209455 Your login code is 145180 Login code: 653777
Login code: 409641 Sorry, we were unable to deliver your message to the
following address. 550: 5.1.1 The email
account that you tried to reach does not exist. Please try 5.1.1
double-checking the recipient's email address for typos or 5.1.1 unnecessary
spaces. For more information, go to
5.1.1 https://support.google.com/mail/?p=NoSuchUser
586e51a60fabf-4044bd73886si3150986fac.144 - gsmtp
Thursday, July 16, 2026
Do I.C.E. Waiting Rooms Feature Coffee Machines and Kitsch? - poem
Lawrence Hall
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
LogoSophia Magazine – A Pilgrim's Journal of Life, Literature and Love
Do I.C.E. Waiting Rooms Feature Coffee Machines and Kitsch?
Plastic Herbs in Physicians’ Waiting Rooms
Those photographs and paintings of bicycles
Leaning against sunlit Italian curbs
Are no more – now doctors’ offices
Are all about ceramic pots of plastic herbs
And coffee machines that pierce cute little cups
And brew up coffee with a soft low hiss
To serve you freshly-brewed pick-me-ups
That go so well with your diagnosis
New decorations, same old fluorescent lights
While scribbling out ideas for your funeral rites
Monday, July 13, 2026
Exit the Hurricane - Hurricane Harvey, 2017
possibly a re-post
Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.comExit the Hurricane (not the catchiest title, eh?)
What is that silence? It is the not-rain
The first not-rain since Friday this past week
Every loud frog gloats in unseemly song
The old, sour water recedes from the door
The whole house stinks; it stinks of damp and rot
Of clothes unwashed because the drains are dammed
Of smelly shoes and even smellier socks
Of refugee gear flung casually about
The whole house stinks; it stinks of damp and rot
Of too many people – and isn’t it wonderful!
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