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

                          This Unit Not Labeled for Retail Sale

You can’t break me apart, she said to me
This unit is not labeled for retail sale
And if you think that you like what you see
You can post your money for the emotional bail

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

                                        So This is the New Year


                               The road goes ever on and on…

    -from at least three variations of a song in The Lord of the Rings


About this new year – it doesn’t look so new
A metaphorical kick of the tires suggests
It’s been down many roads before
But then, so have we

About this new year – it doesn’t look so new
But the first sunlight in the bare oak trees
And upon last summer’s ground-shoaling leaves
Lead me to pull on my boots and step outside

Frost, sky, sunlight, cardinals, squirrels, life
About this new year – it looks pretty good now

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                          Upon Learning of the Death of Papa Ben


                    We are not some casual and meaningless product of
                    evolution. Each of us is the result of a thought of God.
                    Each of us is willed, each of us is loved, each of us is
                    necessary.

                                ­               -Papa Benedict


I awoke from what was called a procedure
And was surprised to be alive, alive
By the brilliance of those called to medicine
By the Grace of God and Saint Elizabeth

When certain images and clouds were cleared
From my weary and befogged body and mind
And the kindest nurse brought a coffee for me
With words of assurances and blessings

I learned that our dear Papa Ben had died

I paused, I put the coffee down, I cried
On this December day when Papa Ben died

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                   You Say You’re Bi-Polar


                                   for a certain wise poet


You say you’re bi-polar. So is the planet
So you’re all right, and I only ask of you -
Please help the rest of us be as good as you
As thoughtful and kind, and as attuned to Creation

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                            ­     Our Lubyanka

Metropolitan Detention Center
All those fuzzy harmless syllables
Grey concrete walls but no clock at the top
Windowless facings along city sidewalks

Our federal marias are white, not black
Because we are not Communists, oh, no
People go in; they don’t always come out
They say that from the basement you can see Florence

You might be transferred there, but mind the steps
Smile at the cameras that have been switched off

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com

                                             Dense Fog Advisory

One wonders why fog should always be dense
Forever faulted for having no sense

Maybe because it’s a low-hanging cloud
Low-hanging around with a low sort of crowd

Lawrence Hall, HSG
Mhall46184@aol.com


                            The Last American Westclox Baby Ben

                                                         (Maybe)


It ticked into my heart at the Goodwill store
Two dollars’ worth of Americana
A charmer in a battered metal shell
Hiding behind a tired plastic face

The tick, the tock, the talk of Peru, Illinois
The clock that woke America each dawn
For work and study, and to meet the Chicago train
For a century until time ran out

It clicks and clanks and ticks and tocks and talks

All-day dutiful hands, a jangling bell -
How long will this old clock last?

Only time will tell