They fall from the trees in Florida
as the warmth leaves
their bodies, as temperatures head
towards freezing point, not dead
but inactive, I feel the same,
fingers numb, comfortably so
as my own head
once full of brightly coloured things
withstands the thaw of a frosted tongue,
and the chill of stimulation
is under ice, kept cold,
frigid and out of touch,
my blood is of iguana
my thoughts damaged
as I fall from the tree in Florida.
Ian D. Hall 2017
I love the way the running water
and soap suds get caught
between your back
and the started out clear glass,
squished,
constricted,
clear pop of lather
as bubbles and fizz make shapes
as they cuddle the steam
first thing in the morning
as you scream inwardly,
at the early morning cold
the season provides.
Ian D. Hall 2017
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating 9/10
You can never keep heroes down, they don’t require a cape, they have no need for x-ray vision, for the energy of the gods or the sense of righteous indignation when the world is about to attacked by an alien. Unless of course that particular extra terrestrial being is skimming off the head of the beer ordered and taunts the drinker with the empty glass and throwing down the gauntlet of proving that the finest cult Metal band of them all has stamina to sing Hymns For The Drunk.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *
It is at that moment when all things end, that sadness and reflection come together in a powerful storm of intoxicating magnitude. The moment when you are let go by the person you love, be it a parent, a sibling, the one you thought would last forever in your heart or even when you let go of yourself, when you realise that all you ever were was just a story, a collection of memories in someone else’s mind. It is a feeling of almost exquisite despair, of potent melancholy to know that you will not be able to tell them that, Your Heaven Held Me Well, even if it for a short while.
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * * *
Cast: Jaygann Ayeh, Reece Shearsmith, Rory Kinnear, Bill Paterson, Marcia Warren, Steve Pemberton, Hattie Morahan, Helen Monks, Tanya Franks, Kevin Eldon.
It is almost impossible to get anything 100 percent right in a half hour comedy, it needs so much to go according to plan, to hit every note possible and still have the conductor enough room to prise out just a little more from the lead and the passionate soprano on the edge of the stage.
Don’t forget these words,
once they have finished
tearing my soul apart,
they will come for you…
…I am so tired of being angry,
I can hold it for a while,
deep down and afraid,
let it grow, I am tired of being angry…
but somehow I must keep on,
putting the posters up,
warning you that you’re not safe,
that you are the next target
on their list, I’m tired of you
putting your fingers in your ears…
I’m tired of shouting
Toby Young,
I would write a poem for you,
but why waste words, why waste breath
on someone
so deprived
of humanity
and beneath contempt.
Ian D. Hall 2017
Liverpool Sound and Vision Rating * * * *
If you are fortunate, if your ears are clear after the end of year celebrations and the realisation that the following year is one to hopefully savour, one to embrace the call of nature as it sings and chirps beautifully in the hedgerows and on top of the nearest building as the winter sun hits the world and greets it with a smile. Regardless of whether it is the song of the brightest, purest dove or the tune of Small Brown Birds, what counts is your appreciation of the hymn being played out as the dawn and hope peeks out from behind its dying year curtain.
I joined the party at the right time, so it seems,
for even now, Shirley Bassey in an old Hob
Nail boot makes me smile, Glenda Jackson
as black wigged Cleopatra, Michael Parkinson dancing
with Eddie Waring, up and under, a small shilly-shally
to the songs of South Pacific
prove their ain’t nothing like Eric and Ernie
at the very top of their game.
Forgive me Mr. Morecambe, Mister Wise,
for not writing before, been in a nostalgia fog,
but if I could ask
for your autographs now, I still would smile
At around a quarter to midnight,
I shall go and look
at the world from my front
door step and take stock,
a small overdue cigar
whispering to me of times past.
In my pocket a small brown bag
with a small pinch of salt,
several pieces of coal,
a piece of brown bread
and five gold coins
hugging the paper tightly, not daring
to let go, lest the promise of better times be dashed.
I think of you, as the night and the clock draws on,