Category Archives: Poetry

Roses Aren’t Red…

The roses I always offered you were never meant to be red

but the prick of the dull knife against my skin stained

the delicate petals and clung tightly to the thorns in my side until

Gravity forced them loose and you watched them drop to the floor.

 

The roses made you feel alive, and yet the blade cut into me deeper

than any barbed carefully placed slash I could ever imagine presenting

and only sheer will stopping me from being a stain

more permanent than a drop of blood limply jumping from a thorn.

Roses Aren’t Red… full post

(189 words, estimated 45 secs reading time)

The Sacred Heart Of St. Luke’s.

…And the sacred hearts are turning in their mass grave.

The destruction of memory is close at hand

When even hallowed ground is up for sale

And will do more damage than any falling bomb could muster.

 

The image of splintered charring wood, blackened will be the only thing saved

As The Economy, greed, meanness and the rest of their merry band

Try to call Time on the Bombed Out Church without fail;

Carrying out the gluttony of savings from another city in all its finery and bluster.

 

The Sacred Heart Of St. Luke’s. full post

(155 words, estimated 37 secs reading time)

For A Comrade On The Occurrence Of Her Birthday…

Though you protest that your birthday means nothing to you,

To me, your friend… your comrade and sometime companion in the challenging light

The shoulder each we offered

Upon one another in dark days that we suffered side by side

Only reminds me of how fragile the rhythm between us has become.

Once I made my way to Oxford, a night of comedy in your honour

And in which the only laughter

Was on my head and the gallantry whispered gently goodbye under

The Moon in which we stared at as much at that moment

For A Comrade On The Occurrence Of Her Birthday… full post

(255 words, estimated 1:01 mins reading time)

Feel At Peace As The Communication Knot Untangles.

I never feel more at peace than when I can see the view from a small island.

The taste of salt hanging in the air offers a different perspective

to the humdrum, rush, sprint for the finish with life partly intact

that blows with the frenzy and ferocity of the winds in October

‘Eighty Seven

I dip my grateful feet in the sea and feel a different rush take hold

as my heart beats slowly now and

plunges full throttle into a mode that the few would deny the many.

Feel At Peace As The Communication Knot Untangles. full post

(234 words, estimated 56 secs reading time)

The Continuing Saga Of King Canute.

 

Still trying to hold back time and tide which waits for no man,

Canute of Westminster smiles and clings to a palm of gold coins

presented by those with real power and with a vested interest.

The stones that grated under his feet, the shale, the battered million grains of sand

Are nothing but a memory in which money to be thrown is no object.

With regal boots, the King of Westminster waded into the fury and cried out,

“Why Neptune does thy take offence with the poor souls of this land?

The Continuing Saga Of King Canute. full post

(306 words, estimated 1:13 mins reading time)

For those that weep in the silence of others, the invisible shall always remain individuals of only a few heard words…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ian D. Hall 2014  (Inspired by Ezra Pound and Mike Batt.)

Permanent link to this post (21 words, estimated 5 secs reading time)

In Search of Voices. (In Honour Of Dylan Thomas).

To begin at the Beginning…

The voices in my head always sounded like Richard Burton delivering his polished lines as the Narrator in Under Milkwood. I say voices, it was just the sound of the hero in me, that underused, undernourished soul that waved from the shore at the edge of the ocean as I slinked terrified at the prospect of being at school, college…University, through all my important days, mediocre times, desperate hours, dark relentless minutes that stretched and spiralled seemingly out of control, through my first kiss, then my first real kiss…and no doubt would be there trying to talk calmly to me on my final day on Earth as I waved franticly  to the hero on the otherwise deserted shore to save me whilst I started to finally, and regretfully drown.

In Search of Voices. (In Honour Of Dylan Thomas). full post

(2652 words, estimated 10:36 mins reading time)

To Save On Water And Gas Bills…

 

There is nothing better than having the suggestion

To share your shower and kettle with someone to rightly save a bob or two,

I just have to ask the obvious question

How do I get the sexy film star to share my bathroom, kitchen or loo?

My shower is only just the right size for me to wash

My kettle, since I don’t drink beer, my only joy

The bathroom is tiny, it would be a squash

Could you imagine the starlet saying, “O.K then boy

To Save On Water And Gas Bills… full post

(320 words, estimated 1:17 mins reading time)

The Imaginary Friend.

 

It was only at the end

that I realised that I was my imaginary friend’s

imaginary friend.

That all I had desired and loved was really all they had ever

wanted.  Even if at the moment of desperation I should make the ultimate

sacrifice, arms outstretched and one foot hovering in the air ready to leap

a thousand buildings and a hundred memories with

a smile on my invisible face;

they would pull me back, talk loudly and with a blaze

of anger and energy

The Imaginary Friend. full post

(264 words, estimated 1:03 mins reading time)