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

                The Arrogance of Proclaiming a Wake-Up Call

His wake-up call was but a manifesto
Retro1968 but less literate
Demanding that the world stop and pay attention
To the temper-tantrums of some middle-aged guy

Who knew all about guns ‘n’ bombs ‘n’ stuff
While the rest of us know all about raising our kids
Working 12-hour shifts, paying our bills
Building our lives, and taking care of each other

The rest of us have grown-up things to do
           The self-pitying waker-upper
Should long ago have ditched his childish ego
           And called himself
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                            Epiphany Moved and Improved

Whatever committee decides these things
Has chosen to shift ancient feasts about
For the convenience of the modern world
In scheduling meetings and interviews

Magi following a smart watch in the sky
The ostler wants the stable cleared by ten
King Herod tapping massacres on an app
Plough Monday must be reset to Tuesday next

Whatever committee decides these things
Is stricken deaf when the sacring bell rings
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                         The Stray ‘Possum Café


          The only comparisons in Western literature might be with the
          Romantics or the Beat Generation, but the Russian Silver Age
          poets outdazzled them in glamour and intrigue.

                                       -Darran Anderson


We lay our scene not in Saint Petersburg
Where Anna Ahkmatova flirted and rhymed
With Gumilyov, Mandelstam, and Tsvetaeva
Among champagne, cigarettes, tears, and pearls

In the old and storied Stray Dog Café  
But in a field on a December night
Where two opossums meet in quest of love
And wrangle in the leaves of intimacy

Poor strays making…art…without any fear
Of execution by the Kremlin Mountaineer




Saint Petersburg’s Stray Dog Café was a matrix for art, music, dance, and poetry from imperial Russia to the Soviet horror, and thence into the world.  It almost serves as a sort of hinge between the 19th century and the 20th. Please read Darran Anderson’s professional and thus accessible article in City Journal:
Anna Akhmatova’s Bravery.

I am having fun with intruding ‘possums among the Silver Age poets, but as for them, yes, they are essential. Their brilliance still shines for us and influences what we write even if we are unaware of them – and for that most of them were murdered by the mad tyranny of Communism.
Stray Dog Cafe,  Darran Anderson,  Russia's Silver Age
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                          Activate Your Card Now! It’s Easy!

‘Enry ‘Iggins, Tiffany in Calcutta, and my Cousins Down the Road

     There even are places where English completely disappears -
     Why, in America they haven't used it for years!

                        -Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

California and council flats, aye, there’s the nexus
Great Britain taught the world English right and proper
But in hearing my cousins from Caney Head, Texas
I conclude that the Empire has come a cropper!
For the obtuse among us, this is just a bit of fun.

Well, okay, activating an insurance card or credit card isn't fun; the corporations seem to work hard at making this difficult.
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
I read on a candy wrapper " This Unit Not Labeled for Retail Sale" and had a little fun with the possibilities.
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 Dec 2024
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
(It was dark in ICU; no one could see me losing it.)
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