Tag Archives: poetry from Bootle.

Hilary’s Step.

The final step,

the heart pushing


the rib cage

and the icy breath

short stabbing


exhale, laboured


screaming for air,

the lungs near

collapse now

join Hilary’s Step

in man’s decline,

a monster,

once tamed, now

breathing no more,

dead, gone, the folly

of climbing the mountain.


Ian D. Hall 2017

The Activation Of Why.

We lose our capacity

to remember the first time

when as a toddler, the groovy

cherub child with sparkling eyes

and father’s nose, when we became

the pain in the arse,

the ache in the side of our parents head

and the cause of arguments,

we forget the joy

of the first time we asked why?

We rebel, we glory in poking

a hole in the absolute,

we saturate our speech with this new found word

and not realising the implication

it will have on our lives,

The Terrorist Inside No 10.

I will put my life

in the hands of the sympathiser,

rather than the terrorist

at No 10.

Behind that closed black door,

sits the heart of Government

and stained and festering it is,

for terrorism needs no guns,

the terrorist requires

no bullet, bomb, just the press

in which to carry out the threat,

get old, we will kill you off,

become ill, we will kill you off,

lose yourself in the fog, we will kill you off,

become unproductive, uncared for,

I Am The Stranger.

I am a stranger,

so very strange,

in the town I live in

today, in the circle

and support group

I inhabit and even

if you look at my old

school report card

for Religious Education

during third year;

it will simply be scrawled,

who is Ian Hall?

I am a stranger, no sense, full of nonsense,

known only for dreadful dress sense


I am the stranger in my own thoughts,

I am the stranger lost in my own concept

But A Vanity.

It is but a vanity

to believe anything we do,

create, ultimately, means a thing.

We can only hope in the end,

that when time

chimes and begs us to depart the dance,

that we have at least managed

to make

one person smile,

one soul love us,

one mind changed

and one heart skip a beat

to know we have been in their life.

Ian D. Hall 2017

The Sarcastic God In The Pews.

The handshake

from one who supposes himself to be God,

sarcasm overflowing and it is there

in plain sight, drool dripping in anticipation

of the take down, of owning a soul

and making them feel as stupid,

as insignificant

as an ant in a silver filled ant mound,

his home destroyed by the handshake

and the hose pumping hot toxic metal.

It was offered in a church,

both the biting sarcasm and the handshake,

both accompanying the sound of a section

of music that tinkled over the church hall pews

Hand In Hand In The Grave.

I don’t believe in burials,

outdated and morbid,

better to be free in the air,

to let your soul soar

through time than be in the ground,

cold, alone, aloof, who would want that;

yet if we still love each other

at the moment of passing,

I would want be safe with you,

let a future grave digger

find our bodies side by side,

holding hands

and perhaps your head resting

on my bony shoulders.


Ian D. Hall 2017

Let’s Raise A Glass To The Death Of Dinosaurs.

The dinosaurs

were not wiped out by an asteroid,

they just refused to


that their time had come

and the people

were finally angry enough

to demand

that they pass away

and take their capitalist policies

with them.


Ian D. Hall 2017.



I don’t envy

at all,

that you get to play

with the helium all the time,

I don’t require the need to

hog it, to keep others

from dipping their fingers

into the fun

and pulling the vital resource

into ever quicker decline,

I have used it once,

I enjoyed it

and whilst I would like to hear

someone else giggle as their voice

went higher and more ridiculous,

I have no envy that you keep it

wow all to yourself;

An Apology From Her.

There is a carving, whittled by skeletal hand

and conceived of by a man angry with God

that sits beyond Time and the whistle

of a train carrying death.

I echo those thoughts, even as an atheist,

I repeat the philosophy

daily, not out of spite, not out of fear

and retribution by those seeking revenge,

just honesty,

that if there is a God,

for the wrongs done in her name,

the next time we meet,

she had better apologise.


Ian D. Hall 2017