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

                                          “You in the West…”

“You in the West don’t know what it’s like to be ruled by peasants.”


                                              Oh, yes, we do.


Cf. P. 138, Balkan Ghosts, Robert D. Kaplan

With this Parthian shot at our kakistocracy I say good-bye for a week or so to you, dear fellow scribblers and scriveners and dreamers and artists and intellectuals (that is a fine, useful word) and lovers of freedom, for like Bilbo I’m off on an adventure!

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

                                                I am not God

About final judgement
Just give it a rest
God does salvation
We do our best

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

                                      An Unhappy O. Henry Ending

His picture is on the telescreen tonight
Stepping onto a twin-engine executive jet
Then posed in an easy-street seat in the back
Uniformed crew, someone to bring him a snack

The same smug grin he had when he dropped out of school
“I’m tired of this nowhere town,” he sneered
“I’m gonna go somewhere and get me a life;
I don’t need you or any of this mess”

And life is what he got, and a suit in orange
And a free ride home to his nowhere town

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

                               Everyone Has Advice for Writers


      There is a man…hangs odes upon hawthorns and elegies on        
       brambles…

                                      -As You Like It, III.ii.377-380


Who is your target audience, they ask

A pair of clevers on the telescreen
Giving their audience suggestions for publication
Ideas for making it on the writing scene:
“Target audience” is their incantation

Who is your target audience?

Is your target moving or stationary?
A paper bullseye or something edible
An enemy, a thing, an adversary
A carnivore’s luncheon spreadable?

Who is your target audience?

But a reader is not a target
She is not the object of your life -
She is the subject of her own

Respect your reader

Respect

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

                A Geriatric Motorcycle Gang Stops at Joe’s Eats

Grammies and Pappies in their backwards caps
Headbands, leathers, and chain regali-ay
Rolling thunder before their afternoon naps
Roughing up the pancakes at the breakfast buffet

Menacing any muffins in their steam-table raids
Yelling at the pancakes; they rattle the chef
They all seem to have forgotten their hearing aids:
“YOU DON’T HAVE TO YELL; I’M NOT DEAF!”

“NOW, HONEY, WHERE’S MY DIABETES KIT?!”
“THE BISCUITS AND MAPLE SYRUP? RIGHT OVER THERE!”
“HE SAID HE’S GOTTA GO AND TAKE A **!”
“HE’S MAKIN’ US LATE FOR TH’ RUMBLE, AND THAT AIN’T
           FAIR!”

The pack leader takes his gang back on the road
On a three-wheeler bike named Thunder Toad

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

                         Two Pilgrims, Two Paths, One Path


                     “Where many paths and errands meet”

                                               -Tolkien


Perhaps we are seeking the same sacred grail -
If you find a poem in the cleft of a tree
Or hear a bird singing softly along the trail
Be assured – it’s only me

(is that a kitten I hear…?)

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

                                                Red Spider Lilies

                                                       For Max

                      Who Magicked Autumn in with the Spider Lilies

Red spider lilies – we were speaking of them
And why somehow they hadn’t yet appeared
To call the oak leaves down upon the lawn
To dance among their equinoctial blooms

Red spider lilies – suddenly they are here!
Perhaps they only waited to be invited
We spoke, and they arose, laughing at us
And waving happily in the afternoon breeze

Red spider lilies – now autumn has begun
In late September’s glowing tawny sun

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

                                         Let’s Carapace Ourselves

                                                 For William Gipson

William alluded to the dry bones of grammar
And I wondered why no one ever alludes
To the dry exoskeleton of anything -
Equal justice for all carapaces!

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

       A Dialogue Between Two Elderly Ladies Being Driven to their      
                     Medical Appointments by a Mere Stupid Man

               With Occasional Asides to and About Said Stupid Man


“That sign said forty miles. I don’t think it’s forty miles. Do you think it’s forty miles?”

“It was forty miles last month but they could have changed it since then; I don’t know.”

"My son in California has fine sense of distance.”

“I’m sure there’s a reason for that.”

“The backup camera is smudged.”

“I never use the backup camera myself. He shouldn’t use it either.”

“I don’t think you closed the liftgate properly.”

“You don’t need your turn signal here.”

“I think he does need his turn signal here. USE YOUR TURN SIGNAL HERE!”

“I don’t think he needed his turn signal. That just confuses the other cars.”

“It’s not the cars; it’s the drivers.”

“I know that. He shouldn’t have used the turn signal anyway. I don’t like it.”

“I’m worried about that liftgate. I still don’t think he closed it just right.”

“Is that your ‘phone ringing?”

“No, is it your ‘phone?”

“It’s not my ‘phone. Is it his ‘phone?”

“IS THAT YOUR ‘PHONE!?”

“THEN WHOSE ‘PHONE IS IT!?”

“Oh, it is my ‘phone.”

“I told you it was your ‘phone.”

“No you didn’t. And it sounds just like your ‘phone.”

“My ‘phone doesn’t sound like yours at all. My son in California got me this unique ringtone.”

“About that liftgate…”

“Is he going too fast? I THINK YOU’RE GOING TOO FAST!”

“He has to follow the speed limit signs.”

“My son in California doesn’t have all those speed limit signs.”

“This isn’t California.”

“I know that; I was just saying he doesn’t need all those speed limit signs.”

“Are you sure you closed that liftgate properly?”

“This is our turn…Turn here…This is our turn!...THAT WAS OUR TURN! YOU PASSED IT BY! Oh…wait…it wasn’t our turn…well it was the right turn last week.”

“No, it was the left turn.”

“I meant the right turn on our left. That was the right turn.”

“But it wasn’t the right turn.”

“I didn’t mean the right turn on the left I meant the correct turn on the left. You know what I mean.”

“How can I know what you mean when you don’t know what you mean when I say you don’t know what I mean when I say you don’t mean…something.”

“I need to check that liftgate when we stop.”

“Is this the right entrance? I don’t remember this entrance.”

“This is always the entrance.”

“It wasn’t the right entrance the last time.”

“Yes, it was. Don’t you remember that man smoking by the door?”

“Well, he’s not there now. I tell you he’s smoking at the right entrance; this is the wrong entrance.”

“You can’t expect a man who smokes to know what entrance he should use.”

“Can we go home by a shorter route? My son in California says he knows a better road that’s half the distance.”

“I forgot to check the liftgate. Can we stop?”

“Will you have us back home in time for our soaps?”

“He can if he drives fast enough.”

“Why did he schedule our appointments for ten, then?”

“He didn’t schedule them; we did.”

“No, you did. I was only listening when you did.”

“Then why didn’t you say something when you were listening instead of just listening you could have said something but you didn’t, you just listened.”

“I don’t think so. And I want to watch my soaps. And does he have to hit all the red lights? When my son in California drives he doesn’t have all those red lights. CAN’T YOU MISS SOME OF THOSE RED LIGHTS!?”

“Your son’s not here.”

“He’s got an important job. And that liftgate is rattling.”

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

                             The Nice Lady Who Cleans My Teeth

           “So how’s your son?”, I asked.

“Oh, he’s fine; he wasn’t sure about college…”

          “Vy tddriotegmphewrinf.”

“So he’s working double shifts down at…”

          “OOYrjoffrrhsfp?”

“He’s building a 401K and a savings account…”

          “OUrowfpghrkOIHdkggkk.”

“Yes, I’m proud of him; he works really hard…”

          YFDUOfgrejowjgoogot                OUCH!”

“­Sorry. Anyway, I told him all that’s fine…”

          “VIJOrwhrtoggnoteh3jda.”

“But he wasn’t going to use the house as a hotel…”

          “Agprn3osvbbtnbhtio5wwn.”

“He still does all the laundry and mows the yard.”

          “NOTOILUOKJfjeejefogotonhh?”
                                     (translation: “Can I adopt him?”)

Life is good.

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


                                     The Brass-Elevator Mountaineer

                                                A weak imitation of

                                                  Osip Mandelstam

                                  For whom we pray, “Memory eternal”


Our lives no longer sense truth around them
In our ewails we are afraid of each other’s words

But whenever there’s an eye-rolled whisper
It’s about the brass-elevator mountaineer

The ten tiny worms of his fingers
His words like mountains of loot

The waving tendrils atop his head
The glitter of his shiny Tesla

Wheels stained with a **** of groveling bosses
He toys with the tributes of his house pets:

          One clenches his fisties
          Another salutes
          A third pledges eternal loyalty

He pokes out his fingers and grabs ‘em by their _

He magic-markers mass deportations:
Three hundred or more for El Salvador
A hundred or so for Guantanamo
Uncounted hundreds to disappear
From routine check-ins here

             “Your search has returned zero (0) matching records”

He rolls the possibilities of _ ___ on his tongue
          like diet sodas
He wishes he could deport his former best friends forever

Our lives no longer sense truth around them

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

                                        A Cup of Coffee Not to Go

APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
APP ORDERS ONLY
OUT OF ORDER
OUT OF ORDER
DRIVE THRU CLOSED TODAY


EXIT

Lawrence Hall
mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office
                                              
                                                Ever England

                                   For The Battle of Britain Day

Brave Hurricanes and Spits still claw and climb
Far up into the English summer sky
At the lingering end of a golden time
As wild young lads and aging empires die

The Hood and the Rodney still the Channel guard
Against the strident Men of Destiny
Then shellfire falls; the helm is over hard
But the brave old ships keep the Narrow Sea

Dear Grandpa and the boys sport thin tin hats
In Sunday afternoon’s invasion drill
Gram says he’s too ****** old for all of that
But she too smells the smoke of Abbeville

Faith does not pass with ephemeral time:
Brave Hurricanes and Spits still claw and climb



Previously published some years ago in longbowsandrosarybeads.blogspot.com before that delightful site was taken over and renamed by Gringottsy grouches and grinches and grumps.

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

                                       *** Toys and Goal to Go

          NFL game interrupted by *** toy at most confusing time
          possible and CBS fooled - The Mirror US

There are sports, and then there are sports
Whether in a warm bed or upon a playing field
For after the game young lovers’ disports
Follow when to each other happy love-birds yield

It seems rather awkward when curious *** toys
Are flung onto the fifty-yard line, or even more
Toward the goal while our favorite boys
Anticipate later that night quite another score

Oh, football fans!

Do think of the children, and try to refrain
From tossing toys (well, maybe an electric train)

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

                              Grandmama’s Methodist Bible


                          “For all find what they truly seek”

                        -Aslan in C. S. Lewis’ The Last Battle


The well-worn Bible my Methodist grandmother loved
Sunday school pictures of Jesus, brave and kind
Chaplains who suffered with us in Viet-Nam
Prison pastors who bring Light into the dark

The ministers and faithful in contested streets
The priest who blessed my mother as she died
Those sturdy Baptist friends who bless my days
The Glorious Mysteries in the Rosary of being

I love The Story in word and prayer and song -
But those who force a Reichskirche upon us
                                                              are wrong

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

How to Respond Diplomatically to Those Who Want to Trap You into Saying Something Intemperate about Political Violence for Which They Will Denounce You on the InterGossip


          “We can’t go arresting people for what they say in a private
           conversation…I’ve no doubt that we shall come to that
           eventually, but in the present state of our struggle for
           freedom it just can’t be done.”

                        -Evelyn Waugh, Put Out More Flags



                        You have the right to remain silent

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

                             Maybe Li Po was from East Texas?


                               I can remember when I
                               Was Li Po, and not Li Bai

                                    -as Li Po never said


He never drank Lone Star Beer
Wine-drunk, then, he craved a boon
A reflected kiss in the water near
A kiss from the amorous moon

Cf. 300 Tang Poems, Everyman Pocket Poets, Peter Harris ed. and trans.



The story of Li Po / Li Pai’s death has no real sourcing, but it is popular. A dude who gets drunk and drowns while trying to make out with the moon reflected in the water – definitely my people!

I played with the legend in a rhymed quatrain of seven syllables per line. I was sober. Really.

Several of you have reposted my humble takeoff on "Star Light, Star Bright" to your collections, for which I am most grateful.  As in a skit on SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE years ago I must plead, "I am not worthy!" But you are all so kind, and again I thank you.

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

                    The Moon is Setting in the West, And in the East...

Sun beam
Sun ray
First sun I see today
I wish I might
I wish I may
Have the wish I wish today


Cf. “Star Light, Star Bright,” a nursery rhyme of undetermined origin, dating to at least the 19th century.

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


                                 “This Is Not Who We Are”


                             -The Honorable Mike Johnson
                  56th Speaker of the House of Representatives
                                     10 September 2025


                     Well, yes, Congressman, I’m afraid it is

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

                                            Are You the Dream?

In the softly dreaming hours of night
Silver moonbeams charm us to the window
To look upon a sweet, mysterious world
Which we may not visit, but only see:

The happy, peaceful joy of tree and leaf
Of lawn and chairs, all silver and shadowy
And the table where we left that little book
We were reading to each other when soft dusk fell

We share the silver silence, the silver light
The silver softly dreaming hours of night

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

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

                      Beowulf Presents Himself for a Job Interview


Their leader answered him, Beowulf unlocking
Words from deep in his breast:
                                        We are Geats.
Men who follow Higlac. My Father
Was a famous soldier, known far and wide…

                               -Beowulf, Burton Raffel translation

Nahhhhhhhhh. Scratch that. Manly language is, like, y’know, old school. Let’s

make it

come alive

for 2025:

Don’t you people know who I AM?! I am a highly motivated people person who enjoys challenging tired old conventions and sourcing creatively from a renewable multiplicity of supply chain resources and a multi-cultural, multi-lingual workforce nourished in a milieu of something or other no one is above the law jaw-dropping when I ax a former employee it’s with a real ax I like scented candles, long walks on the beach, meeting new people and killing them B.O.G.O iconic I’m beyond a people person tell me you’re a Democrat Republican Liberal without telling me you’re a Democrat Republican Liberal ***! transparency so like here are my pronouns Me. My. Mine. Warrior ethos only louder ‘cause I never even made the first day of recruit training Make Geatland Great Again Geatland for the Geats Geatland First no one understands my special needs Grendel and I have a complicated relationship which you wouldn’t understand Hrothgar Is Always Right until I disappear him and take over the chairmanship of Denmark how’d you like to have a funny name like Higlac and I’m proud to be a Geatlander my armor is by Hugo Boss my sandals by Ferragamo Learn. To. Code. cue an allusion to some metaphorical playbook in 3, 2, 1 my Big Beautiful branded Napa Valley wine from my podcast, Love ‘N’ Smackdowns from your Big Beautiful Beowulf shocking jaw-dropping mike drop of biblical proportions detail-oriented, self-motivated results-driven references available upon request team player fast-learning goal-oriented think outside the box track record go-to person win-win dynamic synergy going forward from this point in time servant leader proactive strategic thinker my secret for thinning hair dropped today weaponize crypto authentic empowered seeking closure chatgpt paved the way with the key that unlocks the future glass ceiling lawfair A.I.  like my body art?

Buy my book. Buy ads on my ‘blog. Buy my stuff.

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

                            Not Doggerel but Crowwerel

Blame it on LeighH and her delightful friends who celebrate crows:
Gray Wolf, Susie, Emily, Ink Empress, Princess of Heart, Anwar, Lioness, Sara, Dom, Damocles, and Mister Truth! I hope I have not forgotten anyone! 😊

Crows take over the trays of bird seed
I provide for all birds as a daily feed

Crows –

They glare at me
Disapprovingly!

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

   Sunday Morning in America: Jesus, Church Shootings, and I.C.E.

I hold the door open for people, and smile
A cheery greeting for all, so good to see you
Your beautiful children are growing up so fast!
           I scan the parking lot for men with guns

Who’s reading from the lectionary today?
The altar servers in their albs line up
Mrs. Busy wants to ask Father a queston
         I scan the parking lot for black SUVs

         I can lock the door against evil, which would be futile
For now I hold it open for you, and smile

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

                                     An Anteroom to Eternity?

                         (Nigdaw in Essex said it much better)

Waiting in the E.R.
More waiting in the E.R.
     The pain is back
Waiting in a corridor as people walk by
     and look at you
Waiting in another corridor, gasping hello to
     a curious, wide-eyed child
Someone gives you an injection
Waiting in yet another corridor
Pushed into a room
     "Oh, wait, it's not ready..."
Pushed back into a corridor
Wait…
The hours...the hours...


Note: my experience with health care professionals, from the nice young man who brings the meal trays to the great physicians, is uniformly wonderful and I am most grateful to them. The – THE – problem is the corporatism that now rules even nominally religious hospitals with the clawing, grasping hands and narrow minds of Scrooges. Administrators and stockholders will cut work hours and understaff units if only a poor dollar, rather than a poor human, is saved.

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

                                         Because They are Young

                               For Those Who Have Lost Children

The good die young, our blessed children, our hopes
Fresh to this world they wanted so much to explore
They wanted to explore everything – earth, air
Words, water, sky, ideas, music, art, love

All the joys of being; all Creation is their stupa
And they fly the eternal pradakshina
In fulfillment, enlightenment, and joy
Infinitely far, and yet still close to us

We are less because they have gone ahead
Along the happy pilgrimage of faith
But they are more, and they celebrate us too:
They love us and wait for us along the Way

The good die young, and because they are so good
We must strive to be worthy of them

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

                                      Where is Herod’s Father?

                 …lamentation, and weeping, and great mourning,
                 Rachel weeping for her children,
                 and would not be comforted,
                 because they are not.

                                   -Saint Matthew 2:16-18

The Herod of today squats alone in his room
Alone, devoid of parenting or purpose
Feverishly feeling sorry for himself
His only friend is his Precious, his glowing screen

(And where is his father?)

He scribbles screaming screeds and manifestos
And draws cool pictures of army guns ‘n’ stuff
Mommy lets him do whatever he wants
Maybe another weapon will calm him down

(But where is his father?)

He counts the children in the village school
He draws a floor plan of the village church
He clutches his he-man tough guy army gear
He sends his sulkings through the GossipNet

(Oh, where is his father?)

A naked AR fantasy hangs on his wall
He takes him down, he wants to ****** him
He feels, he doesn’t think, he feels, he feels –
Maybe Moloch wasn’t such a bad guy after all

(Now where is Herod’s father?)


Legal note: this is not an allusion to any specific instance of infanticide in this nation, but rather to the many causes of why in America hunting season on children is always open.

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

                    An Hour in Which Nothing Much Happened


                                 The country talked quiet;
                       one human voice could drown it out…

                                  Lonesome Dove, p. 26


No real mission; I just wanted a walk
Along the road, with work gloves and loppers in hand
Through the wavery heat on a late-summer day
To clear some windfall blocking much of the lane

Butterflies danced among bright yellow flowers
Mourning doves murmured in the underbrush
Wrens and buntings and sparrows up in the pines
A little snake wriggled for cover and shade

Their beauty and silence – those were their talk
No real mission; I just wanted a walk

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

                          An Eleventh Commandment Falls Upon Us
                            From the Government Religion in Austin


           “Schools not enjoined by ongoing litigation must abide by  
            S.B. 10 and display the Ten Commandments.”

                           -Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton
                                           25 August 2025


          “It denies us the right of worshipping the Almighty according
           to the dictates of our own conscience, by the support of a
           national religion…”

                              -Texas Declaration of Independence
                                               2 March 1836


Our attorney general elects himself God
And imposes upon us his government church  
To rule us, perhaps, by a religion squad
Subjecting us all to seizure and search

For under his high-tech inquisition
One’s conscience must obey his moods and rages
This Torquemada on his punitive mission
He’ll ponder our punishment – maybe the cages?

Our attorney general elects himself God
And Texans famous for freedom submit to his rod

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

                                    Ode on a Monitor Lizard

I saw a picture of a monitor lizard
Its skin is scaley and its tongue is scissored
I’d back away from that wrinkly old wizard -
I don’t want to be ground up in its gizzard!

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

                                  “I Pray You, Remember the Porter”

                                               -Macbeth II.ii.20-21

When I was a young husband and father
I served: on the parish council, taught CCD
Chaperoned bake sales, CYO, and youth trips
Eucharistic minister, lector, and greeter
(No one else could hand out a leaflet with such grace, such  
        elegance, such panache!)

But with age, and one by one, I let them go
This morning I asked to be recused at last
From thirty years on the lector duty list
“God’s benison go with you…”

As lector
I lost confidence in sorting out the new ways of doing things
Of being where I’m supposed to be
And moving when I’m supposed to do so
And moving where I’m supposed to do so
Carrying the lectionary without dropping it
Mounting the Altar steps without tripping
Standing in one place for more than a few minutes
Seeing the words clearly (why is the print so small?)
Wreathing the werbs without thripping over my thongue

But I’m still a greeter – I can open the door
‘Tis my appointed skill level, but ‘tis one
As Macduff did not say
No leaflets, though; that stuff’s now on the InterGossip

I smile and open the door, admire babies, help with coats
Show visitors the way to the euphemism
Tell the kids how tall they’ve grown
(You’re a senior!? Why, I remember when…)

And it’s okay.

I am blessed with honor, love, and troops of friends
(as Macbeth could not say)

Honor, love, and troops of friends

All good.

Deo gratias

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

                                         When Alliteration Goes Bad

Peter
Piper
Picked a
Peck of
Pickled
Hamsters

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

          An Exercise in Alliteration Cut Short by the August Heat

Even summer seems weary with summer:
Withering weeds wish woefully for winter
High heat hangs heavily upon the heath
While garden groundlings gasp across the grass!

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

                                                 Go Ask Your Father

“Go ask your father.”

“Go ask your mother.”

“She said to ask you.”

“Go ask her anyway.”

“Go ask your father again.”

“He said to ask you.”

“Well, I told you to ask him.”

“It’s your mother’s decision.”

“He says it’s your decision.”

“It’s okay with me if it’s okay with your father.”

“It’s okay with me if it’s okay with your mother.”


That was always soooooooooooooooo annoying.


I wish I could be that annoyed again.

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

                               Making Peace with Apple ICloud

(Off. Click)

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

                            America Inspires the Free World

Americans are a people who, when menaced by a tyrant
Watch TV to applaud someone cooking an omelet

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

              Stopping by Literary Criticism on a Snowy Evening

                      From an idea by a happy bumblebee

Whose Deconstructionist Narrative this is I think I know
Their (because we mustn’t say “her” or “his”)
New Criticism is on their podcast, though
They will not see me applying Phenomenology here
To help fill up their woods with Neo-Post-Colonialist blow

My little solar car must think it other-gendered
To pause while I Conceptualize without a Starbuck’s near
Between Foucault and Derrida here
Next to the Sapir-Whorf Theory, and without a beer

They give their location transponder a Derrida shake
To demand a formal apology for this cultural mistake
The only other sound’s the Existential creep
Of Masonic Catholic **** Zionism on the take

Judgmental stereotypes are flying, shallow and cheap
But I have an Inner Reality to keep
And an Intertextual Analysis of Post-Structuralism to steep
And an Aesthetic Objectification of Dialectics to steep

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

                     Dust Devils on a Sunday Morning in August

                                (But this is not about dust devils)

The Road to Emmaus is asphalt now
Instead of dust devils spinning in the heat
The stench of curious chemicals flow
In shimmerings among the hovering oaks

Above the crisping-brown fields circling vultures
Seem focused on me – do they sense a decaying soul?
My great-grandfather drove a wagon to church
I have air-conditioning, and Chopin on the radio

The Road to Emmaus is asphalt now
But you still might meet a Stranger along the way

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

           The Shroud of Turin is True Again Today! Or Maybe Not!

                         The ghost of Amelia Earhart speaks

The U.K. Daily Mail examined the Shroud of Turin
And found Amelia Earhart wrapped up inside:
“Hey! This is my shroud for private buryin’!
So don’t just stand there, all goofy and bug-eyed!”

“You keep changing the place where you found my plane
And yesterday you said the Shroud of Turin is bogus
Today you say it’s real – you babble in vain
The ghost of me wishes you would find a focus”

The U.K. Daily Mail found Amelia Earhart’s plane –
Tomorrow they’ll be sure to lose it again

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

      A Bronze Plaque Commemorating the Trump-Putin Summit
                         at Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson
                                            Anchorage, Alaska


                    On this spot on the 15th of August 2025

                                    Nothing happened

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

                                           Our Little Universities

                                          From an idea by Nivek

Many books are little universities
Complete with faculties and study halls
Grassy lawns on which to argue ideas
Syllabi written from your heart and mind

Laboratories of the mind for distilling wisdom
A concert hall of happy voices in song
“Pomes All Sizes” spoken from the heart
And maybe a Rain Tree on your walk to class

The Brothers Karamazov as a prayer book
300 Tang Poems with the wisdom of China
The Oxford Book of English Verse, edited by Q
                    (Not THAT Q!)
Doctor Zhivago in squabbling translations

And some have spoken most eloquently
                                                         for Goodnight Moon
And now what university of yours helps sing
                                                         your world in tune?

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

                                    Let’s All Meet in Cicely

                      From a dream that sailed from Thailand

Let’s all meet in Cicely before the snow
You can find me sitting outside The Brick
At peace as the gentle autumn breezes blow
Having put aside my hiking stick

Fleischmann joins us on that old wooden bench
Chris-in-the-Morning stops by for a beer
Hollings gives Shelly a husbandly pinch
She takes his broom and with it smacks his rear

Maurice and Maggie, Ruth-Anne, Marilyn, and Ed
Drop in with stories of love and life and history
And news brought in by plane and road and sled
To this Brigadoon of happy mystery

Let’s all meet in Cicely before the snow
And share in its peace before we go

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

                               You’ve Read Your Last Free Article

Yes, I have.

(Click. Delete.)