Category Archives: Poetry

Two Poems For David Harvey…(The Bugle Boy)

…And the bugler plays his final note

As my cousin holds his mother close to him

Away from the winter chill she bows her head within his suit and coat

Whilst keeping her demeanour proper and trim.

The December wind is driving home the chill of loss

As friends and family gather together to mourn and see

November’s Poppies and Roses come together and apart they toss

Scattered to the four winds and whispering R.I.P.

 

The stories the minister told of your life,

The passing of a Human being in the celebration of a word

Two Poems For David Harvey…(The Bugle Boy) full post

(158 words, estimated 38 secs reading time)

On The Night Of Each Year.

on the night of each year

the miller would sit with

his quern-stone

 

hoary, and rolling on rynd,

it always names him the river;

quondam! river dust!

 

but, on this night, with the stone

in quiet repose; its aye,

its anything, every

 

for it can’t be tomorrow, when

water again must engage the burr,

and new, and past, returns

Andreas Dahl 2013

Permanent link to this post (67 words, estimated 16 secs reading time)

The Passing Of An American Way.

The taste of Whisky still lingers in memories that I cherish

As I remember sitting at your table with Nancy and a group of friends

Playing cards, no money

Exchanged, the bet, a story from my travels

Round a country that you had been proud to serve and call home.

You smiled in amusement at my capacity to tell a story

And to drink and drink and drink.

We had met the once

In a bar

In a small Wiltshire City where the Greyfisher reigned

The Passing Of An American Way. full post

(300 words, estimated 1:12 mins reading time)

A St. Malo Serenade

The sun set over the busy St. Malo street

allowing the shadows

of the dead time

to capture the memories of all who walked along the

cobbled pavements and to make the

 haze of

childhood recollection seem infertile and bitterly cold.

The group of English, the ragtag of German, the abundance of French

badly spoken questions, bitter rivalries without the understanding

or the compassion needed to be better than they were.

The shouts and hails from vendors, a bull whip on offer,

money parted his wallet, fawned over by

A St. Malo Serenade full post

(568 words, estimated 2:16 mins reading time)

Time Passing

Striding through the woods at night,

sounds surrounding me, slithers of light.

I stop and kneel,

the cold damp earth spongy underfoot.

I look up to the beaming moon

shrouded by an eerie mist.

Night continues on its path to dawn.

 

Distant voices remind me I am lost,

shadows extending blackness.

I cry out. A primeval urge to dig and climb,

no hiding place to protect my weary bones.

 

Loneliness is devouring me, encircling my being.

Senses super tuned.

Damp air.

Cold clammy skin.

Time Passing full post

(175 words, estimated 42 secs reading time)

A Splash Of Colour.

He sees her in the corner of his eye,

splashes of colour on a passer by.

He beams a smile, a worthy invite,

as she glides on by this giver of light.

Inhaling sweet air, she smells of roses,

fragrant as a spring day, it encloses

visions of balmy days, chasing through grass.

Emotions and feelings he must surpass.

His face crumbles as she turns a corner.

Disappointment fills his heart, a mourner

for love he could have had, but never did.

Strong emotions he knows must be kept hid.

A Splash Of Colour. full post

(182 words, estimated 44 secs reading time)

We Mocked The Devil, Chapter One.

Chapter One

Saturday Night, Early December.

Rumour had it that the old man had woken up and become a modern day Prometheus, some would even have it that he got out of the bed and pushed his nurse to her death out of the 15th floor window before crashing back into the coma that he had been in since someone had tried to take his life. Other people would have you believe that the scream the nurse made as she plummeted to her death was so loud that it woke up evil spirits in the bad-lands and stirred forgotten parts of the Wirral, both of which are pure nonsense. Me? I believe he certainly stirred but as for waking up completely, the man was half dead and only the will of the Council was keeping the old man in this realm.

We Mocked The Devil, Chapter One. full post

(2490 words, estimated 9:58 mins reading time)

We Mocked The Devil. Prologue. Ian D. Hall.

“What is past is prologue.”

Prologue

The ticking of the aged Grandfather clock had been going almost unheard for a full year. Nobody but her ever paid any attention to the constant gentle swinging of the pendulum and soft whirring of the mechanism. The moving parts in perpetual motion that had been kept alive in much the same way that the man in the bed on the other side of the room had been, by the careful hands of one the two attendant nurses.  She had kept the man topped up with the pain killers prescribed by the doctor; she had cleaned him every day and shaved the greying stubble that poked out through his death coloured skin diligently every day. She kept up his appearance in much the same way she kept up the appearance of normality, the rigid straight lines on her nurse’s uniform were creased perfectly and she looked respectable, even if she was hungrier and mentally exhausted than she ever thought she could be.

We Mocked The Devil. Prologue. Ian D. Hall. full post

(1595 words, estimated 6:23 mins reading time)

School Sports Day 1977-1986.

 

The school sports day,

a yearly ritual in which evolved

over the years from spoons and eggs,

hard boiled, once glued, often dropped

on the dangerous gravel or if fortunate perhaps

 dog littered grass,

sometimes obliterated

and tears and tantrums flowing soon after

 as someone never finished the course, to

complex games

 of hierarchical displays of ever growing

hormone driven adulthood.

If wet, held indoors

or simply delayed a day or two,

to frustrated parents dismay

and then the crushing pain of unprepared running,

School Sports Day 1977-1986. full post

(674 words, estimated 2:42 mins reading time)