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

                    I Gave my Friend a Poem for Her Birthday

I gave my friend a poem for her birthday
“It’s not as much fun as an electric train,” she said,
“But it’s pretty good.”

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

                                               Bombs – All Sizes

                                    -As Jack Kerouac did not say


          If we are all going to be destroyed…let that bomb when it
          comes find us doing sensible and human things praying,
          working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the
          children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint
          and a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened
          sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies
          (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our
          minds.

                        -C.S. Lewis, “On Living in an Atomic Age,” 1948


Bombs fall tonight, but then they fall every night
Conceived over single-malt, born of the generals
Suffering not at all as their electronics systems
Guide them in the ways the Bible salesman deems

Bombs fall tonight, on a nuclear facility, they say
We can only ask the ashes and winds
While in our triumphalist Ozymandian presumption
We fancy that bombs will never fall on us

Bombs fall tonight – and have we been doing
Sensible and human things?

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

                                     Parlements of Foules

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

Good Parliaments of Birds are of order and rules
But humans elect poor Parliaments of Fools

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

                                      The President’s Complaint


            “Speak, vermin!...What is the meaning of all this waste,
             this gluttony, this self-indulgence?”

      -The White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe


Juneteenth celebrates freedom from *******
But the president would have us all in Don-dage

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

                                                 Reading the Room

I don’t know to read a room, but look –
I’m still pretty good at reading a book!

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

              Our First-Person-Plural God-Emperor Bible Salesman
                                       Orders a War for Us


                   “Hell hath no fury like a non-combatant”

        -many attributions; dates to at least the American Civil War


The imperial We have / has spoken:
First His parade, and now our young people’s war
And what do His commands betoken?
Maybe for Him a shiny Silver Star

For sending our young to die in glorious battle
Across the screen and over the top
Waving His joystick like a baby’s rattle
With diet soda by way of an air drop

He’ll order our children to face the foe
But be assured – no Trump will ever go

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

                                  A Certain Church Lady

Even in her sneers and whisperings she is loud
Her catalogue of resentments, unremitting
Orbit her accusatory tongue like a poisonous cloud
This mad Medusa forever hissing and spitting