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

                      Pirates to Starboard next to the Dairy Cows!

My neighbors’ field is low; it tends to flood
Their children sail their kayak as pirates bold
And laugh and splash upon the sloshy mud
Swallows and Amazons in search of gold

Most comfortable with our feet propped up
We old folks sit upon the porch all dry
Each an admiral with his coffee cup
And let the heavy monsoon pass us by

We too were pirates in our dreaming youth
We wish we still were – and that’s the truth!

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

                                 On a Morning of Sunlit Frost


                       The greatest adventure is what lies ahead

          -Laws / Bass / Yarborough for the 1977 film of The Hobbit


I dream of a morning of sunlit frost
An early October morning, the sun just up
At the end of the lane I make a left
Then left again on the high road north

I won’t look back at either turning
I won’t look back

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

                    A Dachshund Dreaming of Rabbit for Supper

My little Luna-Dog has a bad habit
Of chasing after her back-yard rabbit

But still let not your mind be troubled or fraught
With fear for that rabbit who is never caught!

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

                                Jim Croce and a Rainy Morning

When the plane went down that was the end
Of telephone operators and bottles of time
But the electronics are kind enough to send
Good memories of when coffee was a dime

You really could mess around with Jim
If you knew your way around a chord
And heard his lyrics as a workman’s hymn
That spoke of art offered to the Lord

He gave us good thoughts through his guitar’s strum -
And, yeah, a wild moustache to back away from!

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

        Forming a Committee Around a Car That Wouldn’t Start

The engine wouldn’t turn over; the electrics were dead
We stood around the open hood, each scratching his head

1st Member:

“It appears to me it’s the dead battery
There’s no indication of a charge, you see”

2nd Member:

“I’m a college graduate, so I am smarter
Obviously the problem is with the starter”

3rd Member:

“There’s a smell in the engine, something tannic
And I should know; I’m a certified mechanic”

4th Member:

“I’m a knight of the road; I drive a freighter
Just let me at that broken alternator”


But none of our skilled efforts came to pass
Because no one had bothered to check

                                                                                                        the gas

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

                                  The Bright Green Wheelie-Bin

                            (Much Superior to a Red Wheelbarrow)

The wheelie-bin is pretty in its own rustic way
Thick plastic moulded in ecological green
To be rumbly-dragged on garbage day
To the end of lane to grace our suburban scene

Very little depends upon the wheelie-bin:
Unpleasant household garbage on its rounds
The really useful stuff has been well dug in
The loam – potato peels and coffee grounds

But note ye well - this garden plot thickens
For we have sparrows and crows
                                                           ­                   but no white chickens

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

                  Do Dreams Fade Away at Dawn? Or Do We?

Do dreams beyond the dreamer dream
The imagined lands from deepest night
In which we live and seem to love -
Do they exist at morning’s light?