Tag Archives: poetry by Ian D. Hall

The Tricks of The Mind

The sound of the Nordic God’s anger thunders in my ears

as Freya plays with seduction a song in which to entrap

My O.K. Internal Haze and give rise to the tricks of the mind.

The Nordic Gods play havoc with the landscape, the boundary

between my vision and the vast sea that was crossed by Freya in search

of someone to take notice of the gentle notes of joy, despair and anguish,

the dominant emotion of love for the guitar she wields with a shy smile.

Her weapon, simpler than the Ax favoured by more aggressive

The Tricks of The Mind full post

(279 words, estimated 1:07 mins reading time)

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)

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 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 Lifetime At Lords.

I dreamed of playing on an English lawn.

The gentle ripple of applause as I waved acknowledgment

To all quarters for my prowess at staying out in the middle

As I knocked off the 100 runs

Before Tea

 In front of a passionate Lords crowd.

Botham was my hero, joined at the hip

With Gooch when he scored 333

Until he flicked

The ball away in act of what seemed tiredness.

Botham was my hero, cricketing god

Joined by Atherton, Willis, Lamb, DeFretias, Hussain, Stewart, Tufnell, Cork

A Lifetime At Lords. full post

(589 words, estimated 2:21 mins reading time)

Montreal…

It is not Hamilton, a place in which my granddad enthused over

In his semi-waking dreams and in which, even as a small boy, I knew

He would rather have stayed, grown old in and perhaps

Even rather have passed

Away peacefully in the comfort of a town

That he once had played baseball and swam across its neighbouring lake.

Montreal he had only mentioned as a place that he had seen once,

From the deck of one ship and then from the deck of another

When the family left Canada to come to England via

Montreal… full post

(713 words, estimated 2:51 mins reading time)

Genevieve Two.

 

The wreck of a love lies unloved in my Mechanics bay,

The wheels, rimless, scuffed are at it’s best, its nicest feature.

The Mechanic sees nothing of value in this once sentimental creature.

A bygone relic who wishes it could express in any way,

What it was once capable of doing through its younger years,

Long rides in the country, a joy to move the gears into place.

Hear them grind perfectly in tune with its engine, the thrill of the chase,

Now stuck at the back of the workshop, brooding, dying, full of fears.

Genevieve Two. full post

(170 words, estimated 41 secs reading time)

An Apology To Sidney.

To our dear friend Sydney, an apology!

I once forgot the secrets and the magic you hold.

A million words on sociology,

A million words on history wanting to be re-told.

As first years you are a novelty…new,

Shining, fabled, to be only whispered in hallowed voice.

As second years, we think your time is through.

It is in third year, I regret we left you, a bad choice.

Now let the voice of a million books ring out

And throw off the dust jacket and let us dive in

An Apology To Sidney. full post

(135 words, estimated 32 secs reading time)