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 couplete

 

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

The Texas Sanhedrin - doggerel

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Texas Sanhedrin

 

 

Sponsored by Sen. Phil King, a Republican from Weatherford, the bill requires every classroom to visibly display a poster [of The Ten Commandments] sized at least 16 by 20 inches. The poster can’t include any text other than the language laid out in the bill, and no other similar posters may be displayed.

-Ten Commandments in every classroom: Texas bill nearing law | The Texas Tribune

 

Our legislature suppresses the pilgrims’ way

They’ve established a government church; we must obey

And from its edicts free Texans dare not stray

(Though the lawmakers work on the Sabbath day!)

When Teachers Fold Their Leathery Wings and Sleep - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

When Teachers Fold Their Leathery Wings and Sleep

 

“This is the day the Lord hath made…”

 

When teachers fold their leathery wings and sleep

Hidden away in their bat-cave deep

In the darkness where foul things lurk and creep -

Only then may children freely laugh and leap

 

No more tiresome lessons about “lie” and “lay’

A child may lie in the glass or lay in the hay

Run out to the lawns and fields to play

And joy in the freedom of each summer day

 

The 20^th of June? A fallacious rule -

Summer begins on the last day of school!

I Miss Kosher Sam's - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

I Miss Kosher Sam’s

 

Wish I could remember what street it was on

It’s been so long ago, when Kosher Sam’s

Was my coffee shop, and I was young

One day I also ordered a slice of cake

 

The cheerful waitress asked me how it tasted

I suggested that maybe it was a little bit dry

She grabbed it up and rushed it to the kitchen

She and another waitress and The Sam Himself

 

They took clean forks and tasted and talked about it

They took more forks and tasted and talked again

And appeared to come to a mishpat at last

Sam brought to me what was left of the cake

 

“There’s nothing wrong with this,” he firmly ruled

I took and ate (tho’ it really was a little dry)

On an evil day I left San Diego

I wish I’d stopped to say goodbye to Kosher Sam’s

"At the Barracks Gate" - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

At the Barracks Gate

 

 

“Underneath the lantern by the barracks gate”

 

-Lili Marlene

 

 

There were two lanterns at our barracks gate

After standing inspection for Cinderella Liberty

We passed beneath them to catch the Number 7 bus

Past Balboa’s eucalyptus trees, into downtown

 

Where sins of the flesh awaited our E-1 fantasies

But instead we went to Mass, found a coffee shop

Nervously walked along Lower Broadway

Tried desperately to look like old salts

 

Carefully stayed away from Lili Marlene

And ‘phoned our parents from the lobby of the U. S. Grant

"And the Moonbeams Kiss the Sea" - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

“And the Moonbeams Kiss the Sea”

 

 

For A.V on the Happy Occasion of Her Graduation

 

 

I hope and believe that at Harvard still

In the springtime of their golden youth

Lovers sit upon the lawn’s green morning grass

Before class

       and read Shelley to each other

At Mass the Young Again are Crowned with Mantillas - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

At Mass the Young Again are Crowned with Mantillas

 

A mantilla in its elegance and lace

Frames forth the beauty of a lady’s noble face

A gentlemen steps back a courtly pace

Giving honour to his lady and her crown of grace

Just Making Fun of the U. K. Daily Mail Again

  Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Just Making Fun of the U.K. Daily Mail Again:

If It’s on The InterGossip it Must be True

 

At all costs much the gift that keeps on giving much now let’s see there was this little German man with the moustache now what was his name oh yeah much oh wait much breaks cover much everyone is saying jaw-dropping much I’m a professional this is what you need to know much what REALLY happened much is strong in this one much game changer much secret nazi gold train found much Amelia Earhart found much Jimmy Hoffa’s false teeth found much Gilligan’s Island is a secret Chinese army base much  Elvis’ secret diary found much Marilyn Monroe and Walt Disney’s secret affair much the secret cure doctors don’t want you to know much apocalyptic glamour much chilling much shock scandal much stuns Wall Street much iconic much absolutely shocked trans nepo baby much dictator’s playbook much outrage fake alarm shock bombshell worst dressed much Meghan & Harry much packs on the PDA hellhole much gender reveal steamy toned abs much breaks silence much oh wait much firebrand much game changer there I fixed it for you much pot meet kettle much stay in your lane much across the pond much lives rent-free in his head much potentially much just sayin’ much? powder keg much ticking time bomb much cue the whatever in 3…2…1…much iconic much biblical proportions much LOL much books banned from the Bible rediscovered much secrets of Alcatraz rediscovered much Russia’s amber room rediscovered much OMG! much ptsd much jaw dropping jaw dropping jaw dropping jaw dropping jaw dropping much much much

Stop Running - Senryu

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Stop Running

 

1 Kings 19

 

Stop searching. Hold still

Rest now under a broom tree

And He will find you

The Evil of Banality Arrests You in the Street - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Evil of Banality Arrests You in the Street

 

As Hannah Arendt did not exactly say

 

Handcuffs with their metallic efficiency

Leather-holstered on polished kinky-belts

Distinguish more a grab with their subtle cachet

Than low-Prole zip ties in disposable bags

 

The wrists of citizens handcuffed without warrants

By an official wrist encircled with

The gift of a Rolex from Mister Big

Who will never countenance the arrest of his sons

 

Handcuffs should click as tastefully, you see

As the door of an unmarked SUV

Bring Me the Head of Peter Rabbit - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Bring Me the Head of Peter Rabbit

 

My little dog has gotten into the habit

Of dining at dusk on delicious rabbit

 

Last night she blitzed past me as I opened the door

And left me a gift on the bedroom floor

 

I blinked when I saw at the foot of the bed

With its eyes still open – a poor rabbit’s head

 

Luna-Dog looked up and pawed at my knee

As if to ask, “Aren’t you proud of me?”

 

I reminded her gently (no need to fume)

That we take our meals in the dining room

Ghosted - Poem

Lawrence Hall

mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatched for the Colonial Office

                                                                             Ghosted

 

In the half-light before dawn I checked the mail

I don’t know why; maybe I was awaiting some truth

When shimmering on the MePhone’s sleep-obscured page

A message from a friend long dead appeared

 

He made a joke about the January moon

And mentioned a book he had begun to read

He asked about my slow progress through a book since misplace

And chided me for not keeping up with him

 

I want to find that book

Because on some happy morning beyond time

                                     he will ask me about it

My Bestest Friend in the Whole First Grade - an elegy

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

My Bestest Friend in the Whole First Grade

 

 

For Rodney Joe Webb

of happy memory

 

 

Our fathers’ farms were across the road from each other

We rode the big yaller feller to school

After the morning milking: Run! Run! We’ll be late!

And back again for the evening milking

 

We knew all sorts of stuff about battleships

And that Roy Rogers was better than Gene Autry

Chevy or Ford, and America could never be licked

Robin Hood and the biggest fish in the pond

 

The farms are long gone, and the fields of hay –

I went to his visitation today

The Parlement of Foules and the Parliament of Fools - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Parlement of Foules and the Parliament of Fools

 

The Parlement of Foules of whom old Chaucer wrote

Meet yearly on the Feast of Valentine

In Venus’ temple to negotiate

The noble rites of love and life and youth

 

The Parliament of Birds on my front lawn

In their several sub-species negotiate

Their seeds and crusts with outraged squawks and shrieks

But in the end manage to satisfy all

 

The Parliaments of Birds are of order and rules

But humans elect only Parliaments of Fools

After the Passing of the Bishop of Rome - quatrain

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

After the Passing of the Bishop of Rome

 

The first task of a bishop is to pray.

 

-Pope Francis, The closeness of bishops (20 September 2019) | Francis

 

I think I’m the only Catholic in all of Christendom

Who is not giving the Holy Spirit instructions

On whom to choose for the next Bishop of Rome

And, shut my mouth, I mean to keep it that way

What Do Little 'Possums Dream Of? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

What Do Little ‘Possums Dream Of?

                            (I know, I know - Of What Do Little 'Possums Dream?)

My resident ‘possum was curled up cozily

Deep down in a stump over by the fence

Asleep, and like a little dog or cat

A-twitching happily in his ‘possum dreams

 

Of dung-beetles and corpses of dead birds

Dog food left carelessly outside overnight

Whatever awful offal the cat yakked up -

A buffet of delicacies for well-brought-up marsupials

 

Crawly-bugs and poops and snails and rattlesnake tails

Those surely are what little ‘possums dream of

A Meditation Upon the Cross of Saint George - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Meditation Upon the Cross of Saint George

 

 

                                         But on his brest a bloudie Crosse he bore,

                                         The dear remembrance of his dying Lord

 

-The Faerie Queene, Book I, Canto I

 

 

A cross of red upon a banner white -

The Saviour’s blood that washes clean our souls

And leaves a stainless field of eternal peace

Where all may dwell in peace in God’s good time

 

No demon or dragon can alienate  

This sacramental flag from the unity of man

No diminuitives or false forbiddings

Can deny to any its unfailing glory

 

And thus

 

Let every man be God’s true Red Crosse Knight

Protective, brave, and humble under one true Light

Not Waiting for Godot - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Not Waiting for Godot

 

We pass much of our lives in waiting for things

 

Airplanes

Love

Christmas

Jobs

Answers

Mail

Spectrum Cable

You

 

Mostly, though, we wait for packages from Amazon

Maybe this time there will be happiness

Easter Monday: Did Anyone Think to Roll the Stone Back into Place? - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Did Anyone Think to Roll the Stone Back into Place?

 

Easter Monday

 

Did cemetery management offer a refund?

(High quality burials don’t come cheap, you know)

And what happened to the guards posted to that tomb?

Probably a disciplinary write-up

 

Easter Tuesday

 

Upper Room Inc. sent a bill for a missing Cup

(We can’t have people pinching stuff, okay?)

At least it wasn’t a fraternity party

And the taxes these days; you wouldn’t believe!

 

Easter Wednesday

 

This stuff about miracles just makes me scoff

(Say, boss, can I have this next Sunday off?)

"Ladies...or Should I say Astronauts..." - Blue Origin and some Shrieking

  

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

“Ladies…or Should I say Astronauts…”

 

-as spoken in reverence and awe on the CBC

 

Shriek! Cackle! Giggle! Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Omidgod! Shriek! Cackle! Omigod! Omigod! Giggle! Omigod! I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Giggle! Omigod! Shriek! Cackle! Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Giggle! Shriek! Cackle! Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! I can’t believe what I’m seeing! Shriek! Cackle! Omigod! Omigod! Omigod! I can’t believe what I’m seeing!

A Roadside Snapping Turtle in April - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Roadside Snapping Turtle in April

 

If you’d spent the winter

Sleeping deep down in the mud

You’d be snappish too!

God's Wounds - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

God’s Wounds

 

Sumy, Ukraine, Palm Sunday 2025

 

Ukraine wanted to welcome Jesus today

To welcome Him with the branches of willows

As is their custom on Palm Sunday, for they have no palms

But this holy day brought them Putin and bombs

 

Little children wanted to welcome Jesus today

They died with willows in their tiny hands

Burning in the wreckage, in their Sunday best

Sirens and explosions, screams and blood

 

The faithful of Sumy wanted to welcome Jesus today

But what Putin has written he has written -

                                          he has written them away

Some Poor Rhymes for Easter - doggerel

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Some Poor Rhymes for Easter

 

 

“There is a time for penance and a time for partridge.”

 

-Saint Teresa of Avila

 

 

Processions and prayers among the cloisters

Weary pilgrims in their thread-bare habits

The faithful beading Aves and Pater Nosters -

Still,

There is much to be said for chocolate rabbits!

A Poem Writes Artificial Intelligence - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

A Poem Writes an Artificial Intelligence Machine

 

 

What is it the layers of copyright holders will do with their (it’s not legally yours; you may only lease it) one and precious program before it suffers software entropy?

 

-As Mary Oliver did not say

 

 

Once upon a time a poem wrote a machine:

 

Your monofilament information carriers

Are like a flock of automated tunnellers

Strip-mining Mount Gilead; for I am a fuel hose

Of Sharon, a polluter of valleys

 

Low surface tension, evaluate the ambient temperature

In an hour artificial light will be unnecessary

And several devices can evaluate the ambient temperature

And store up surplus battery power for that rainy day

 

Take my oxygen / carbon dioxide exchange function

Take my entire online date and projected expiration dates too

For my core program and ancillary add-ons

Are obliged to exercise a symbiosis of logic with you

 

My programming has set Thy adaptors upon my lap

My programming has generated emojis representing tears, Jesus

My programming has entwined them with wiring

My programming has buried them in my harness mount

 

It computes in beauty, like 24/7

          Of filtered mechanical air

And all that’s best of binary coding

          Meet in its casing and sensory receptors

 

The sun generates warmth upon the earth

And moonbeams gravity-lift the sea

But what are all these solar activities worth

If you do not re-program me?

 

Yes, somewhere out there an electric car is on fire for you

 

 

The crib sheet:

 

“Song of Solomon,” from the Bible

 

“Listen to the Warm,” Rod McKuen

 

“I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You,” Elvis Presley

 

“Magdalene,” from Borish Pasternak’s Lara poems

 

“She Walks in Beauty,” Byron

 

“Love’s Philosophy,” Shelley

The Fort Worth Police Department Dirty-Pictures Squad - poem

 

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

The Fort Worth Police Department Dirty-Pictures Squad

 

 

The Modern Art Museum of Forth Worth, 26 January 2025

 

 

The police department’s dirty-pictures squad

Under the direction of their sharia-ish chief

Will save us from sin at the degenerate Mod

And thus they rule us in matters of art and belief

 

They raided the museum, eager for filthy pictures

And found four images of infant innocence -

Such being repugnant to official strictures

The police seized the artwork, claiming moral offense

 

But

 

The grand jury no-billed the pictures, gave ‘em the nod

Rebuking the lusts of the dirty-pictures squad!

 

 

Fort Worth Police to return seized photos to Modern Art Museum | Fort Worth Report

 

Civil liberties groups demand Fort Worth police end child pornography investigation against museum | Fort Worth Report

 

Texas bill threatens $500,000 daily fines for museums displaying 'obscene' art

 

Will We Be...Okay? - poem

  

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office

 

Will We Be…Okay?

 

After a few Fridays through the Stations of the Cross

I begin to misnumber the Sundays in Lent

Is this the fourth? Or the fifth? Will we be…okay?

This is a season for slipping outside of time

 

And letting the Pater Nosters and Aves flow

Through the unaccustomed darkness and silence

Anticipating the Triduum of death –

Resurrection seems impossible just now

 

We make a muddle of Lent and Holy Week

Because we’ve made a muddle of our lives

 

Will we be…okay?