Tag Archives: poetry from Liverpool

The First Memory I Hold.

There are others,

I am sure,

That if I put my mind to it, if

I allowed myself to put under

and

Have my mind probed,

Mined of coal, the hope of diamonds

Springing

Eternal, I would dismiss them,

For my first memory is

One of exclusion,

Watching a blank-faced nursery school teacher

Explain to my despairing

Mother that they had no room

For a boy

Like me.

Ian D. Hall 2020

Ignorant And Mocking Sorrow.

 

Within the death of innocent hues

we see others take up residence

in bum polished pews,

finding eternal salvation

for the price of a few pence.

 

Lead us not in to damnation,

wringing hands and buggered beasts

cries the nation,

as they sit in starved contemplation

and face the days alone.

 

Lied to from every side,

eating the poor, gorging the rich,

pride

comes before a fall, delivered with wit,

who’s to say Humanity isn’t a bitch.

 

Three Little Words.

 

Quite elated

I felt when I read your

three words, chewed over

perhaps

or just a whim

of expression, not sure

how to be so bold

as to pay fortune and favour out

to one such as I,

a fool that inhabits the space I exist in,

humbled regardless

of the fact that you took time

out of your day

to step into mine,

and leave those three words of love,

really

rather

good.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018

The Bird In Hand.

 

The smell of damp sawdust

filled the nostrils

of the man out of time

and darts,

dominoes and cribbage

the only games on his mind;

the last thing he expected

to find that night

as he strolled into this new adventure ground

was a nurse, out with a friend,

drinking tempered halves

from a dimpled glass,

catching her eye, he surprised

himself by smiling

and fell in love

with the ambience and strength

provided by walking in

on The Bird In Hand.

Cut And Dried.

 

There are still tinges of red

dotted

here

and there

as my ruffled feathers mourn

the reflection I now bare

in the mirror,

cut to the bone, shorn

down, worn down Samson

strength, is it just age after all

as I approach the start

of a sixth decade here

on Earth, that self-inflicted

hair loss is congratulated

and applauded like shedding

of comfortable stones,

a woman’s hair is a crowning glory,

in the age of equalism

cannot I not lament

At Night, I Look The Opposition In The Eyes.

 

I can feel my breathe

diminish,

go thin,

even before it leaves

my body,

exhaling out of control

as it insanely tries to justify

the war I go through,

a soldier never quite alone

in this jungle wilderness,

a beast

camouflaged

in plain sight, standing out

as death rolls the dice

with a grin that bares rotten, stunted baby teeth

and a certain foul essence that passes

for conviction, assuredness,

a firmness of plan

as jungles collide

and bitter battles

Silence (On The Day After).

 

Silence

falls

suddenly

on the day after, although

I swear I can hear

the sound of birds again,

Silence

as the bombs and bullets

no longer scream

through the clearing air

of this long hand weaved

burial place for the living,

Silence

for the waters

of impatient tide

that rotted our feet

and sapped our strength

to do anything but survive,

Silence

on this day

never sounded so sweet,

on this day,

the day after

Be Careful Of Swearing Infront Of The Clandestine Surveillance.

 

I swear a lot,

sometimes under my breathe,

quite often out loud and with force,

I have no problem

when alone

of using four letter words

to which would shock

the easily offended,

if the pain fits

then swear

is my motto.

However

in the days when your phone

and computer can hear what you

are saying, the expletives

you utter are to be a warning,

I am often surprised though

that every time

something or someone annoys me

He Was Only Thinking Of Getting His Way.

 

How ridiculous

we have become,

equality is the corner

stone of true civilisation

and one that is under-threat

by the preposterous demands

of those who seek

to undermine it,

suing to be believed twenty

years younger,

just to be able to look

great in the eyes of women;

oh foolish creatures that we are,

all the battles we have endured,

all the insanity life can throw

upon our minds,

to be undone by the nonsensical

man in search of sex.

 

The Obligatory Phil Collins Poem.

 

Handing my wife

a jumper I had worn

for a couple of days

to keep out the cold,

I asked

whether she thought

I could get one more night

out of it.

Bewildered, she first smiled

and then replied,

I don’t know about that,

but you might get it to

play the opening drum section

of In The Air Tonight…

 

Ian D. Hall 2018