A Chance Of Fresh Air.

A chance of fresh air,

just for a while to escape the house

to soak in the residue

of life, this point of it all,

to sit and gaze up at an old god

and thank him for dancing

with the moon.

The moon, I used to fear her,

hanging there like an afterthought,

blood soaked in my dreams,

far too many nights watching

Hammer House of Horror when I was small boy,

the Saturday night ritual

I was allowed wonderfully to explore

from such a young age,

thrown head first into fiction,

thrown to the wolves

of Dahl and the enticing,

alluring woman,

provocative, sensual…

of course I had no idea why she brought passion

to my mind but like the moon,

I was awestruck in the fear of rejection.

The chance of fresh air, soaking

up the light in Waterloo, a moment in the book shop

where my first two meagre samples

to literature sit and wait

patiently for a hand to hold them

in the moonlight.


Ian D. Hall 2017