Category Archives: Poetry

A Christmas Engagement.

 

‘Twas the night before Christmas and there’s no one about not even a mouse

Or an eight-legged creepy to scare you out of the house,

Quietly though a figure creeps down the stairs leaving his loved one alone but asleep

He finds what he’s looking for high on a shelf, hidden behind the books three deep

It’s a little Santa ornament hinged in the centre, a small space to hide something

Gold and blue amethyst glint in the night, a beautiful engagement ring

Hidden in Santa and put back on the shelf ready for a surprise on Christmas Day

A Christmas Engagement. full post

(258 words, estimated 1:02 mins reading time)

Taking A Leaf Out Of Feng-Shui.

In an effort to make space,

I moved books of every genre around.

A kind of literature feng-shui,

or just a bound refusal to look

at ever letting go of any written

word I have given

house room to since

 I first grasped

 the meaning of the phrase,

In the beginning.

 

Ian D. Hall

Permanent link to this post (57 words, estimated 14 secs reading time)

A Kind, Happy Christmas.

 

It was never a time for me,

I would smile and wish the same,

that you, my friend, would

see hope in the year to come

as Christmas came round again.

I would cook the dinner,

argue about sprouts,

force one down

the throat that craved, not turkey,

dry tasteless meat that had no right

to be served upon my table,

but perhaps a sense of humility

and an early bacon sandwich

covered in brown sauce.

 

Not for me this day

A Kind, Happy Christmas. full post

(331 words, estimated 1:19 mins reading time)

Red Or Blue (Does It really Matter That Much What Colour Your Passport Is).

 

I don’t care what colour

my passport is, I care

that I have one, I care that

many don’t and will not ever

have the chance to travel, to experience

love and hope, regret and passion

in another country.

I don’t care what colour

of the rainbow it wants to be,

It could be gold with regal spots

or have the emblem of the house

of fools tattooed upon its outer shell,

I care that this is our red line in the sandbox,

Red Or Blue (Does It really Matter That Much What Colour Your Passport Is). full post

(145 words, estimated 35 secs reading time)

I Wish You A Merry Christmas.

 

Happy Holidays,

it was always worth a try

to inject a phrase into a time

to which I feel no connection.

Happy Christmas, goes, goes, goes

to the back of the pile,

not one for the season of Santa

and his air traffic controlled nose

reindeer, Blitzen and adding

Donner meat to the Kebab

rammed down the throat, drunk

on Christmas Eve, traffic cone on head

and singing loudly at midnight.

Having worked in retail and in catering,

the best thing about it was willing

I Wish You A Merry Christmas. full post

(232 words, estimated 56 secs reading time)

Shoes, Almost In The Cupboard.

 

It is nearly time

to put my well worn shoes

at the back of the wardrobe, making sure to

cover them up so

nothing falls in

and causes me to yell out in surprise

come the middle of January

when I start this madness

once again.

Surprised that they have lasted all year,

the red boots, have served me well

and deserve the foot rest

that this festive period

that bleeds into New Year hope

and dreams already dashed

as other’s resolutions canker and spoil, provide.

Shoes, Almost In The Cupboard. full post

(211 words, estimated 51 secs reading time)

In Isolation.

 

Another turned down invitation,

one that wasn’t meant,

one that designed to encourage

one nodded at but underneath

the spluttering search for solitude

commences;

not that I want to be alone,

not that I crave to be isolated

and abandoned, it is just…

well easier to not be in people’s way,

to feel the cruelty of hope

of a conversation that didn’t switch

to feeling guilty, of opening up

about my fears and dreams,

dreams that are smashed with

the sledgehammer eyebrow raised,

In Isolation. full post

(154 words, estimated 37 secs reading time)

The Crows Tear At Your Eyes.

 

They shall not bury them

in the alleyways they fall in,

the concrete just does not give

way to the simple spade like grass

and dusty earth, from mud we came

and when the first shots

of final rebellion come,

don’t get caught on open streets,

hard knocks, no grave where you fall,

left most likely to rot in the space

you met your end in,

crows tearing at your eyes,

crows tearing at your eyes;

they have no fear of you,

no open battle ground,

The Crows Tear At Your Eyes. full post

(125 words, estimated 30 secs reading time)

Just An Empty Sheet Of Paper.

 

If I leave a blank page,

If I should just leave the scab

alone, like me, not pick at it,

not to get my finger nail

underneath it and slightly

leave it looking off coloured compared

to the rest of the skin that surrounds it,

would that please you, would it make you

jovial, a feeling of being eight

clouds above me, far out of sight, spit down

to my eye and showing me the arse

you wish me to kiss, bare bottom

and needing a wipe,

Just An Empty Sheet Of Paper. full post

(125 words, estimated 30 secs reading time)

The Woman In The City.

 

With my wife’s permission,

I spent the late winter Saturday evening

in the memory of embrace and arms

of my first love before

heading back home, cold feet

but undoubtedly a warmed heart.

I have neglected her, since she came

into money. For nine

and half long years I watched, hiding

my interest, trying hard

to forget just what this lady

in sheer blue had once meant to me.

I had loved her

when it seemed no one else would,

when she ragged, poor, shambolic,

The Woman In The City. full post

(327 words, estimated 1:18 mins reading time)