Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                      The Evil of Banality

                       As Hannah Arendt did not exactly say

Handcuffs with their metallic efficiency
Leather-holstered on polished *****-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

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

               One Shouldn’t Complain – But I’m Going to Complain


           It will not bother me in the hour of death to reflect that I have
           been “had for a sucker”…but it would be a torment to know
           that (I) had refused even one person in need.

                               -C. S. Lewis, Letters to an American Lady


Do you sometimes feel that you are on call
Twenty-five hours a day, on days you don’t even have
For all the needs and moods and whims and wants
Of clingy people who disapprove of you anyway?

When you come in from work, someone needs a ride
When you wake up at dawn, someone’s battery is dead
Someone needs a ten – could you make it a twenty?
And say, could you take my kid to school today?

For you The Golden Rule is a golden letter -
Still, everyone agrees, you could have helped them better

Is this water still water
in the photo taken a moment ago,
or is it reflecting the sky
in a dark mirror of wishes,
drifting through the mind?

Do the thoughts wear the words?
Do they embrace stillness and truth?
There is no single pattern to interpret.
Alternative facts appear credible.

What was predictable, a sweet certainty,
became a distant mirage of memories,
touching softly reality and its interpretations,
sealed tightly in the crystal bottle,
sinking slowly into oblivion without regrets.

Canceled words are so infinite and quiet,
bringing a deep indigo relief,
inexpressible and so beautiful.
No doubts. No screams.
Just a peaceful self-reconciliation.

Somewhere between
          Blue and violet
Somewhere between
Someone I never knew
And
Someone I thought
I’d never met
Stood Indigo
Not an Indy
           That’s just too vague

You made sure of that
From beneath a wide brim
            Summer of love hat

That acted like a sundial
But tracked the moon
The sea of tranquility
The place Were you
                         And I
And
The elephants on your bracelet
Can look back upon the world
And consider it as
           Lapis Lazuli in our eyes

Tais-toi, petite souris!
Le chat veut prendre ton vie.
Il a bu tous le lait,
Et il va rester,
Et attendra ton mari.


English alternative (non-literal):

Be quiet, little mouse!
A cat has entered the house.
He drank the bowl dry,
And will sleep nearby,
While he waits to chase your spouse.

I fear ego.
Do I fear it too much to see it?

I fear conceit.
Do I abuse myself too much in effort to avoid it?

What is it that I crave?
What eye do I desire?

What rhythm moves me so?
And does the feeling hold me, thrill me?

Though the night is dark and cold,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

Would I choose my judge?
Would he be too kind?

I justify the search for satisfaction.
I fret; I do not satisfy.

Is it right to judge the world?
Is it our responsibility?

As my skin grows dry, and bones grow old,
It’s not the wind that chills me.

It’s not alright to be yourself.
You have only what no one wants.

I won’t get very far.
I’ll move neither swiftly, nor surely.

Be annoying quietly.
You can’t know what that tells me.

I looked back. How far did I see?
It was not the wind that chilled me.

Should I fear the chaos I love to feed?
What denial is enough to stave off greed?

I recoil in terror equally
From ego or mediocrity.

He likes the sound of other women.
I’m electric with insecurity.

As I take the thought and let it in,
It’s not the wind that chills me.