Tag Archives: poetry from Liverpool

Overfed.

We see everything but notice nothing

because our senses have become dull,

mismanaged and turned inside out

in the search of a quick thrill,

the gluttony of knowing it all

but leaving wisdom

short of breath and dying of chest pains,

acute and short panting, slowly fading,

wisdom heart attack, over fed,

over saturated and goose fat waddle,

we see everything, including music,

we have adapted to listen with our eyes

and not with our ears;

our eyes bigger than our belly,

it is no wonder we are culturally

Overfed. full post

(102 words, estimated 24 secs reading time)

Homeless Poetry.

They would not give me credit

for the funds I need

to create the books

I wish to see breathe.

It seems

I have no

collateral

to write poetry,

wandering

and homeless words;

they tell me

they cannot give me financial

assistance,

as I am quite obviously suffering

from

no fixed ode.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017

Permanent link to this post (59 words, estimated 14 secs reading time)

Another Birthday Blowing Out Candles.

Another birthday has come and gone,

try to stretch out the party beyond the

sixteen hours awake, four of which are filled

with everyday insanity,

how can cleaning your teeth,

washing your face,

drinking a cup of

breakfast tea to wake you up, to be rid

slumber and sneaking drowsy

be special , when you do it every day.

The birthday has come and gone, abiding memories

which have to last until the following year

and by pass Christmas and the dry roast

and the gluttony on offer

Another Birthday Blowing Out Candles. full post

(216 words, estimated 52 secs reading time)

A Lime Street Station Serenade.

The crowds take up their positions

on the swept clean concourse

of Lime Street Station, the ballet, the rumba,

the strains of the Viennese Waltz ,

the mad dash of front seated desire, four seats

and small squeezed in table,

the clock

high upon the wall and dominant,

the band master ready to blow the whistle

and the dance begins;

slowly at first, hesitant to let go of the one they love

and who will love them till they get home, the dance forgotten

in a heartbeat of half remembered waves goodbye

A Lime Street Station Serenade. full post

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

The Night Off.

I took the night off,

for a while I allowed myself to hear words

but not concentrate

on watching the eyes,

the soul man, I stayed

away from the soul and

I took pleasure in staying out

of the emotions;

even my own words

were perhaps delivered without the same

fire and brimstone longing,

the same damnation in my spit and looking across

to see the Devil judging,

mocking my every words, his tail

poking out from underneath the table

and chairs and balancing a single shot

The Night Off. full post

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

On Hold

On hold,

such a time to be had

falling for a tune

you would normally hate

but somehow feel close to

by the time the representative

from the company

decides it is time to talk down to you,

on hold…

on hold…

imagine if the everyday was the same

as calling, losing patience

with patience, the man on the end of the phone,

just hanging, shoplifting music

buzzing in the open air, still and jaunty,

designed to keep you upbeat, intended

to cause thoughts of mass destruction;

On Hold full post

(148 words, estimated 36 secs reading time)

Blow Back.

Blow back,

a sliver of space between us

as you push the ghost,

the whispered phantom

between my teeth

and I chew down upon its non-corporeal ridges

and mull over the deep intensity to come.

Blow back,

I see your eyes my love,

I see your eyes, blazing fury,

“You bring out the best in me you know”,

you tell me, erotically spilling secrets

that you kept hidden from the darkness;

now over tinsel toned music, the waft

of a Tori Amos song, you divulge them,

Blow Back. full post

(282 words, estimated 1:08 mins reading time)

The Day Himmler Came To Stoke.

The day Himmler came to Stoke,

to express his views and pull up a chair

in the centre of Hanley town centre,

was a day in which we should remember,

February 2017, ferret like face, swivelling eyes,

and ideas in his head that would

make his party, modern S.S.

clap and cheer and spread their venom with cheer,

some demurely suggesting that whilst he is extreme

he is speaking their language, that they believe in him;

now,

I’d expect it of the crew cut little islander, one race

The Day Himmler Came To Stoke. full post

(187 words, estimated 45 secs reading time)

Quiet In The Dock.

He sweated in the dock,

rings of perspiration clouding his thoughts,

the shuffle board, the made up noises

that dominated his former life

as a Foley Artist.

As the Judge concluded his sentence

He noted

it was only due

to the former Foley artists

unblemished life

and non criminal activity

that the judge

let him off

with a warning,

saying it was down to his

previous sound character.

 

Ian D. Hall 2017

Permanent link to this post (75 words, estimated 18 secs reading time)