I took my nostalgia out for a walk
late in the evening, too tired
to pick a fight with certain
sepia filled memories, too ground down
by hopeful idealism
to brawl or come to bloodied nosed
defeat with reminiscence
in which I loved you;
I am just slightly homesick,
but the trouble with having
lived
is that at times I forget
where I have
died
as well.
Ian D. Hall 2017
Her arm is raised, the red
T-shirt proclaiming her beliefs
and that is just the start
of what this flame
that burns bright
within Liverpool
shows to the world.
There is a sense of magnificence
that resides under the cool music exterior,
always at the heart to show her town
as being the best, the finest, the indomitable,
this Liverpool, this keeper of the Red Flag,
hums along before a note is etched out
and when the music starts
she, with honour, knows that is the best
We had Country Dancing at school,
an endurance test for boys
who wanted no part of the pre-pubescent
courtly game
and for the girls,
though I cannot speak with firm authority,
they wanted no part of being involved with
the boys, pre-testosterone, pre hormones,
before manners, before holding hands
was an aspiration, before the scent
of something more by being renowned
for your dancing moves got you the smile
from the girl in the corner
as she shyly sucked on her Panda Pops
There is no such thing as a beautiful morning,
the hours, the minutes just click by
between light and dark,
both coloured a charcoal grey,
and I grow tired of them both
being the same, even
when there is a handsome sun
riding the clouds like a lover gasping for air
or the moon desperately seeking solace,
away from prying eyes, shrinking
in its magnificence;
I find them both worthy of the same attention
and that is why
my blue eyes are closed.
Thank you for your Time,
it was precious to you and for a while
it consumed me, it overwhelmed
me that you should choose
to place each minute in my company;
thank you
for not allowing me to waste it,
as much as I could have done.
Ian D. Hall 2017
It would never be just one last trip.
I would promise myself
that once I uttered, with tears in my throat
catching my breath and stalling the moment
in my final
goodbyes to the stone faced French lady
on the waters, no sword in hand, a now skewed vision
of what it was to be part of a less free world
in her dead expressionless eyes,
a monkey on her back, damned dirty
politics playing games with a woman I love,
it still would never be goodbye.
I am acting as if there is no hurricane
enveloping me,
sweeping skywards,
battering me with all the forces of nature
that life can control.
I am a bystander
in my own self written pantomime,
the star of the show somebody
once uncast and negligent
in their approach to physical theatre
and they dodge the cream puff pie
with ease; that
is not how it was ever supposed to be.
The hurricane, the wind inside ferocious
and tedious lands on the stage, the principal boy
I am bleeding,
somewhere inside of me,
a heart that was always finding
new ways to grieve
now looks upon the decaying body
and sees the eye weeping
when it should bring forth life;
a tear
or two, blood, in evidence,
a strain of being a man,
now decaying even in soul
a tear
in the body,
not a stream of blood forcing its way out
but one mixed with the neglected,
the also-rans and the reminders
of what could have been
a tear
Oh Mr. President
a simple question for you,
not one out of malice
for I am not that kind of man,
but one in which I beg sincerely
an answer from your mouth,
did you study history
or were one
of those who felt that History should study you;
if the latter then you have your wish
and for all your many pennies
hidden in away in secretive corners,
know that every moment
you wallow in the dirt and shit
and mess and blood to come;
I chose life
many times,
pulling back from the brink
on a couple of occasions,
choose to be who I am
rather be someone I am not…
I chose washing machine, after washing machine
after one domestic appliance after another
and still I hammer them into the ground,
I choose not to own many
material items, never been swayed by a name
but always refused to anything made by Sharp
in the house as it would engender support
for Manchester United, I choose to not do that