Tag Archives: poetry by Ian D. Hall

Memory Loss

It’s curious that the one thing that age destroys is memory.

We can reminisce and regale our grandchildren to the point of delight

of delicious and noble deeds done but the temptation

to over embellish, or add a line in for cosmic effect then

perhaps awkwardly becomes the main focus of the story.

As we get older, instead of being sure of the whole story,

We begin to miss things out, they disappear from view, hidden,

shrouded by  Time and alienated by a sense of the perverse.

We no longer recognise what we have been,

Memory Loss full post

(242 words, estimated 58 secs reading time)

The Art Of Meloncholia.

The art of melancholia should not be dismissed lightly,

nor the sculpture of passionate sentiment

in conveying a different message meaning not seen as unsightly

as one witnesses the beauty of honest lament.

 

To have the air of melancholia surround you,

might bring others down and cursing your name

but there is more honesty in a reflective sadness true

than in any false smile, revelling in sneering fame.

 

To go through life and not feel the hunger

of the soul as it bleeds from time to time,

The Art Of Meloncholia. full post

(135 words, estimated 32 secs reading time)

You Put The Music In E.

You don’t need words to understand how I feel,

to know how engaged I consider to be involved

in the art of one sided conversation that you employ.

I take it all in and if I should desire I could shut my eyes

gently and let my ears take me to the paradise

you promise, the Heaven in which I desire and lust after

more and more each day.

 

Many I have loved, and I could recite their closing words to me

when they whisper down my ear with the subtly

You Put The Music In E. full post

(276 words, estimated 1:06 mins reading time)

The Seagull Versus The Iron Men.

I’m as deaf as the Iron Men I watch far from the squall,

but they see so much more than I do, even through

the gloom and dark of both ends of the day.

That raven black sky is pitted with the most beautiful

fire stained red and blistering orange,

as if a far off volcano had burst into life

and sending its majestic deadly plumage as far as the Crosby coast-line

 

High above the Iron Men seagulls battle bravely,

their squawking, bickering, distasteful arguing is unheard

The Seagull Versus The Iron Men. full post

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

Pooh’s Pyjamas.

The pyjamas are a dead giveaway my love

of the playful personality that hides beneath

the shell, what is unseen to those above,

the mischievous Bear, the honey stealing loveable thief.

 

Pink those Pyjamas are, a shade of salmon that the writer

may have thought impossible outside of a Scottish river bed

and they suit your complexion and your spirit as a Merseyside fighter

whilst taking nothing away from your overall street “cred”

 

Thankfully this Pooh is not of the cartoon variety

instead it is the one adored by polite society

Pooh’s Pyjamas. full post

(123 words, estimated 30 secs reading time)

I may as well be Ginsberg…

I may as well be Ginsberg if that’s just how I should be viewed.

Perhaps I should shock the establishment with the odd profanity

dropped here and there and suggest that the taking of Peyote

might ease the conscious and open the mind

to generation upon generation

that has been taken for granted, abused and pissed upon

from every angle in the name of all things superficial.

 

I may as well be hung for causing outrage where there was none

and believe me when I have hurt myself a thousand times

I may as well be Ginsberg… full post

(368 words, estimated 1:28 mins reading time)

A New Arrival.

 

The clock turns slowly. The hour is at hand.

The widow breathes her last damp lungful of air

and produces,

as if on cue,

a screaming, unformed and ravenous offspring

to whom we offer our services, pledge our loyalty and celebrate

its arrival like a Medieval first born royal son.

 

The cold, wet night is grey and quiet,

all is hush as the muted labour pains continue

throughout the night and I watch from the vantage

point of my front step, trying to light

in vain

A New Arrival. full post

(689 words, estimated 2:45 mins reading time)

A Widow’s Last Day.

Hush! Widow, you are dying now!

All you have achieved and discarded, will in Time

turn to dust that collects around the annals of long

forgotten history books, their lessons not heeded.

 

You are slipping away, the testament of the lengthy chains

that bind you to Humanity’s thought, even those that loved you

with a passion and romance filled spirit for the beige

you sometimes offered between the highs and lows

of what could be seen as a worryingly megalomaniac disposition.

However, like Lear, your time is ending soon

A Widow’s Last Day. full post

(376 words, estimated 1:30 mins reading time)

Black Sheep

You once declared me to be the unrepentant Black Sheep

and then tried to laugh with damning justification of my actions,

but all I could hear from your woollen mouth

was the constant bleating of the high and mighty wronged.

The black wool is there as a reminder of the mistakes I have regretfully made,

but you never cared to mention the whiteness of my stomach

compared the nasty deep  smoke stained, barbeque ready,

yellow belly that hides underneath your disgusting grandeur.

The Black Sheep found another flock in which to keep time with,

Black Sheep full post

(270 words, estimated 1:05 mins reading time)

The Thoroughly Modern Muse.

“I tell you what”, she exclaimed with an annoying cackle in her throat,

“Why don’t we get shit faced tonight, it’s our big night after all

and we don’t care do we eh girls?”

The cackle spread to each of the six women like a domino

being tipped over by the last, and yet the women were surprisingly

over the age of discontent and then the phones came out to play.

The fingers danced over the tiny keys as if they had trained

all their lives in the art of pocket sized puppetry

The Thoroughly Modern Muse. full post

(552 words, estimated 2:12 mins reading time)