The Lord God is our sword and shield
As we walk upon this battlefield.
We are called to stand up and fight
For justice, for truth, for all that is right.
Here upon this solemn hill, we stand
We will overcome by God's might right hand.
The Lord is my fortress and my strong tower
In His wake, mercy and grace shall flower.
Take up the Rosary, lift high the Holy Cross
All that I am or have, I count it as loss
For, without you, I am nothing.
Your very breath is my life
Your death paid the price
Without your love, I am empty and hollow
Without your voice, I cannot follow
Without your light, I fade away
Lord, I need you, everyday!

There are demons and evil spirits
Lurking in the shadows of our minds and hearts
Some small forgotten corner is where it starts
It only takes a single little crack
For the evil to take root and attack
It eats away slowly, carefully biding its time
And until it's too late you think you are fine
It starts small: softening the edges
Bit by bit, shifting, driving wedges
It is a poison sweeping through
A silent deadly killer it is true
But worst of all it affects the greater whole
It takes a soul as pure and white as snow
And works to turn it black as coal
There is no cure for this disease
It is part of our Human Condition
But with careful care and treatment
This cancer can go into remission
There is a way that we can fight
Tools and medicine to battle the blight
The Rosary: a blazing cord of burning truth
Evil screams and flees in proof
Prayer and praise are armor and shield
To protect us on the battlefield
Calling down Great Heaven's Might
Saints and Angels put foes to flight
Holy men and women we have known
Show us always we do not fight alone
Commanding the evil in the name of The Lord
We Rebuke, Renounce and Cast Out
And by the Mercy and Grace of God's own Son
May goodness and peace be restored

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                  An Artless Meditation on the Joyful Mysteries

I. The Annunciation

May we all hear the Angel’s silver voice
In spite of ourselves

II. The Visitation

May we all help each other along the way
In spite of ourselves

III. The Nativity

May we all wait in the cold outside the Stable
In spite of ourselves

IV. The Presentation

May we all be presented in the Temple some day
In spite of ourselves

V. The Finding of the Child in the Temple

May we all be found in the Temple some day
In spite of ourselves

Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                                   Ten Knots along a Cord

                       A trewe swinkere and a good was he,
                       Lyvynge in pees and parfit charitee

                                 -Chaucer’s Prologue

See the plowman walking home from the fields
He plods along with the pace of centuries
There is no haste, for time hardly exists
Only the seasons, rolling like cosmic tides

And in his hand, ten knots along a cord
To count each Ave as it passes his lips
And through his heart and hopes and gratitude
His soul secure along the links of being

See the plowman dreaming home from the fields
His feet upon the earth, his head among the stars

Black rosary beads
Holy prayers uttered to God
Penance for my sins

I believe in ghosts, I believe in luck and fate and destiny/I roll the dice whenever I get the chance/sometimes I count out beads on a rosary/I keep hidden/in a drawer/I’ve been to Paris/but I’ve never beento Berlin/I ****** a man on the roof of a building/after a party once/I don’t remember his name/ sometimes I play dumb
I sometimes/don’t know how to draw boundaries/sometimes I don’t/cross my legs/I’ve been told I should see a therapist/remind me again how you like your coffee/tell me when you are about to ***/don’t make me/wait for it/tell me again that you want me more than her/I won’t say my body is like a rosary/but
sometimes/ it feels like one/let me teach you how to please me/let me show you how to open my legs/just/like this/can you
see it/this is the part of me that is connected/straight to my brain/touch me here/and I’ll/grow wings/touch me here
before the river of my body runs dry/I need to take a shower/I need to get on a plane in an hour/I need to try harder to forget his face
long before I was a woman I was a thing burning in the middle of the sea/I was in the middle of the sea I closed my eyes and mouthed the word waves/the water changed the shape of my body as only water can

standing across from me
a room full of sound
everything is so quiet

folded arms scare me

but then something changes
I see your eyes
they are scared too

I dont feel so alone

look into my heart
see what no one has
truth of outpouring
emotions and demons

you are sacred cloth
          I reach for you
you are holy water
          Baptize me
you are a crucifix
          I worship you
you are christ
          Save me

they burn at the sight of you

Eyes glance back and forth
They wore identical masks
Chained together in silver
The moving of a car over potholes
When they were caught
Their masks were removed
A girl and a boy
Held together by nothing more
Then a rosary with Dismas
It is held in their hands
Clasped together in the back
Bars divide them and their captors
The boy is whispering
The girl recites with him
The man in the front yells
The car crashes into another
Shielding her he takes the blunt of it
Glass flies and a bar breaks
"Let's go"
His words loud in the silence
The two climb out
Immediately surrounded by 'family'
The ones that saved them
Today they are seperated by cities and bars
By people who don't want them together
By oceans and lakes
But they each hold a piece
Of the same rosary from all those years ago.

An open Rosary,
Sprawled on the table
Has the shape of Eire.
Towns joined like beads
On winding, rope roads.
At the end of the main street
In Shercock, Lough Egish,
Or a thousand other towns,
Looms the church spire,
God's rod.
The square still bustles on Wednesdays.
The smithy's forge
Now lights up a Paddy Power;
The Euro Store sells needles and thread
Where once a seamstress sat;
Shish Kabobs on flat bread sell
Where the butcher's counter displayed the day's cut.
But scrape away the paint
And attend to the devotion and mystery
Of small town Erin;
Where only the pubs maintain names
Decade after decade.
There, on the wall, see the rebels
Enjoying a football match,
And the crowd, laughing,
Has their backs.