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

                                     An Appeal to Our Ancestors

When this is over

                    …slumped in their seats fidgeting nervously, they no
                    longer resembled the arrogant leaders of old. They
                    seemed to be a drab assortment of mediocrities. It
                    seemed difficult to grasp that such men, when last you
                    had seen them, had wielded such monstrous power, that
                    such as they could conquer a great nation…

                         -Shirer, The Rise and Fall of the Third *****

When this is over

Teach us democracy, the dignity of work
Help us restore the sacred arts we banned
The books we burned, the images we forbade
The poetry we purged, the plays we feared to stage

When this is over

Free us from militias in our streets
The Black Marias, the concentration camps
The Reichskirche imposed by our government
The censorship to which we weakly submit

When this is over

Free us from our fears, share with us your strength
That we will never empower tyrants again

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

                                        Pickles are Malevolent Beings

Pickles are mottled, mucusy, malevolent beings
Like slimy swamp creatures that just might bite
Not exactly the festive food of kings
But rather laboratory specimens that haunt the night

They lurk in layers in jars and bottles of glass
And peer at passers-by, evil in each eye
An amorphous, almost luminous mass
Seething and simmering in a silent sigh

I buy a jar as commanded, the cash register rings
But still
Pickles are mottled, mucusy, malevolent beings!

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


                                           And Your Word Is…?


                                          “The word is given!”

                  -John Derek as Joshua in The Ten Commandments


When all have gone to bed

You slip quietly into your room
And sit at a table bare of everything
Except for a solitary candle
A pen, a sheet of paper, a bottle of ink

You then write down your day, your acta diurnalis
Every action and thought, every glance and breath
Every hope, every failure, every fear
Every little victory savoured with delight

In only one word, a word, a glowing word –
What is that Word?

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

                                Darwinianism Stalks the Suburbs

God giveth the earth the good green grass to grow
An unceasing samsara of life and death
Catalogues of life in their millions of forms
Work out their mandalas of being in that sea

Winds weave waving forests of tender blades
Chlorophyll makes magic from water and light
The apex predator is the lowly bacterium
Humbling at last great glorious carnivores

And there the eternal cycles of seed and sower
Are shredded on Saturdays by a suburban lawn mower

Lawrence Hall

Mhall46184@aol.com

Dispatches for the Colonial Office



                A Child Asked me a Reasonable Question about God



A child -



She asked of me

One day, you see

A question wise

For one her size



It wasn’t odd:

“I believe in God

But then does He

Believe in me?

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

                What was Thrown from that White House Window?


                 ‘Why care?‘ some say, but I can’t remain inactive.
                  While Stalin’s heirs walk this earth

                                 -Yevtushenko, “Stalin’s Heirs”


So what was thrown from that White House window?
A burn-bag containing our ancestors’ dreams
Our ancestors’ memories
Our ancestors’ dignity

With torn scraps of the Constitution
To make the fire burn hotter, and hotter still

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

                                            In a Better America

In a better America this would be the first day of school -
Labor Day is for swimming in the creek
For a sunburn, for a catfish spine in your heel
For sandwiches and sand and ants and fun

The day after is the first day of autumn
As hot as it is, it can’t be a summer day
For now there are cedar pencils, new shoes
New notebooks in the latest ‘way-cool style

A school bus rattling down a dusty country road
Stops not at school, but at your dreams far-way

Someday