I
never wanted
to stand alone on the
peek,
for me it was enough to be
in the crowd and see it from
base camp.
Ian D. Hall 2023
Category Archives: Poetry
Kintsugi Tupperware.
You are the gold
that is injected
into my tired and weary veins,
but still
I feel
that my cracked
and broken
soul will never be
anything
other than Tupperware
in a dishwasher;
orange stained
from overuse and
un-washable
sauce deeply imbedded into my plastic
lid.
This Way Comes Geoff…
What if we have been mispronouncing the Grim Reaper’s name wrong for all of humanity’s time on Earth.
What if early humans were visited by the figure in black, the scythe held ungainly in the air as the imminent passing of the person was announced, and they asked of this stranger with the power over their very life, “And what do we call you, veiled outsider, so others may come to fear you; please say it aloud to my brethren so they may pass on your hallowed name as a warning…”
Deserted.
Lonely
is
the
sand
that
is
not
touched by the sea
Ian D. Hall 2022
From On High they Swoop.
White beaked Messerschmitts
take vantage position
on the decaying church roof
as they crowd and wait
with piercing eyes
the early morning frenzy
of laid down black bags
the parcel corpses of the bread,
too far gone for morphine,
and they attack on mass.
The streets are filled with caw bullets
sprayed
and laughed by brains
so small
these creatures of the air,
and yet they know
our habits,
Your Presence.
Your life, in pictures,
is a reminder
of how I feel about You.
You are beside
My working desk,
You overlook me,
as I stretch and yawn
in the middle of the night, you
as a child
when I had to leave,
You
as an adult that has made me afraid…
Your presence
has filled me with love,
and it has driven me
to question, to anger, to fear…
I miss you always,
Scenes From A Black And White Photograph: The Sandcastle.
A memory of childhood
sets with the sun on a desolate beach
as whispers of tall grass watch over
forgotten sands
where once heavy footsteps danced
around fires and final beats of
misheard laughter, song lyrics, and confused
buckets are tapped down and moulded
into shape of turrets and invisible guards
keeping the sea and swooping bitter seagull alike
at bay.
The sands now brushed clean
by March gales, April showers
and October winds.
We were never there, just a blink
Fear Of The Calm.
The quiet
was deafening.
The silence
roared in my face
as the workman
signed off
on another job,
smiling as the payment cleared.
In fear of the calm,
the hammer and nail
withdrawn,
I turned on the radio
to thunderous applause
only to understand
that the sound
was just static,
unstill, crowded white noise
and not the end of a concert
that I had missed.
Ian D. Hall 2022.
Every Morning
Sometimes I open the blinds
to witness the dark at four o’clock
in all its stillness.
But more often than not I keep
them closed, till the Sun insists
its alive and well, screaming
into the darkness that becomes
a whisper of joyful light by the time
it reaches my ears…
and yet every morning,
long before the birds
see the march of time and early worms
I question whether
I should continue,
every morning I ask if you
A Brief And Final Farewell From The Red Haired Girl In Bantry.
Listen my love
As you take my hand
As we walk gently to the town’s fair
I can no longer love you
in the way that you wish
under Wolfs Tone’s marbled stare.
You see my Ma thinks that we have
no future together
and I’m inclined to agree
for I seek a different life sailing the sea
beyond our small life
here in Bantry.
So she said her fond farewells
his face drowned in tears,
and the taste of bitter salt