Category Archives: Poetry

Upon The News.


Upon the news

of your passing,

I wept, I called out

to the Universe

and raged,

how I thundered and spoke obscenities

not used to the shape

of my mouth,

the taste of wrath and lightning bolt fury

scorching small white soldiers

ready to take arms in battle

and bite and gnaw at the heart

of that which dared

say it was your time to breath

no more;

upon the news of your silence,

the world stopped making sense.


It Had Been So Long.

I laughed, it seemed

for the first time

as I was saluted as the God

of tits and wine,

a mock celebration of finally

reaching more than half way

in a novel with my

hopeful name attached;

they, those three of the four musketeers

from Uni days, raised my spirits

before they came crashing

down as I remembered

during the night

what event was to come.


Ian D. Hall 2017

Going Down With Cassini And Two Mad Men.

We can touch

the brink

of Heaven

and send the machine

to plummet

into the heart of Saturn,

to break our bondage

and be more than just humanity

as Cassini

sends clouds scattering,


we can descend

so low,

to plough the very depths

of Hell

as we think


the madness of machine


is somehow suitable

a threat

to contain

two mad men.


Ian D. Hall 2017

Her Red Rose.

…And the girl with the red rose

never scolded me

for my fifteen year old naivety;

she simply kept the flower,

slightly doused in Brut aftershave,

till it passed into faded memory

but always keeping the three thorns

close by.

For Ali.

Ian D. Hall 2017


Round and through the Mullberry Bush

the Meeples go,

plastic heads on plastic shoulders

with artificial smiles,

crowing as sure as a cock

at dawn as their synthetic

disguise holds no weight,

no depth,

just concealment as they sympathise

and imitate falsehood, non-neutral lies,

Meeple made, on screen reproduction,

a thumbs up, a like for the ordinary

Meeple as insincerity blends with truth;

sturdy, choke inducing, foot crippling

plastic Meeple, a token

in need to present the human face.


Ian D. Hall 2017

The Gristle In Your Teeth.

It is but a selected story

you have listened to

and chewed on its gristle

till the breath stinks

and the sinew pieces rot

in your teeth. Such

is the abuse that the fork

made of the tale that you cooked

up, that I am surprised

there was any room

for the vegetables;

although I did notice that

there was no room for the rosemary

in your serving of the gravy on top.


Ian D. Hall  2017

Circus Skills And Maths.


Circus skills training

and hardcore Mathematics

is not easy,

you might believe

all is going well,

that your choice

of study

whilst on the high wire

or flying through the air

ready to catch another’s arms

was wise,

but be careful

of those angles

and odd shaped squares

as you count to two and divide by three,

for you might just fall

off the Trapezium


Ian D. Hall 2017

Freedom Is A Swift Trademark.

Freedom is…

what exactly?

As long as it doesn’t hurt someone

too badly, you should be able to quietly

reason and debate

like civilised human beings

the wrongs and rights of a situation

without thinking that someone

is going to need counselling, freedom

to believe and say that someone

aiming to copyright a gesture

on stage or a phrase by a pretty girl,

or even a year,

is nothing more than money

talking over common sense,

the oh look at me, I can do anything I please

First Day Back To School Photograph.

All those photos

doesn’t he look handsome,

big cheesy smiles

for the waiting camera

and the very proud Mum,

back to school again

in polished shoes and single

creased trousers,

all now in the world

for the world

to see.

We never see the end of first day,

the hole in the knee

where football was too much

of a pull

and the scuffed shoes

from a shot

that rivalled

anything that went on Match of the Day

at the weekend;