Tag Archives: poetry by Ian D. Hall

It Was An Odd Way To Look At The World.

I found a diary entry

dated

in black bold letters at the top

of the page, September 19th 1986.

In the mix of teenage scrawl

and practised finer examples

of handwriting to come,

I noted that

Pat Pheonix

had died the day before;

I also wrote, took some pain killers today,

is the discomfort new, or am I just

noticing it for the first time,

as my neck stiffened at an awkward angle

It Was An Odd Way To Look At The World. full post

(93 words, estimated 22 secs reading time)

Alistair.

Your face,

it took a photograph

found

online,

hidden in the memory

of our old

friend’s wedding,

to remind me

of the great times we once had

at the Butt of Ale,

drinking,

on a Sunday afternoon

as the music rocked

and the talk

punched holes in the stillness

of Salisbury life.

Ian D. Hall 2021

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

Branson’s Pickle.

I remember with fondness

the day

when you flew us all

to the moon,

or at least made the stars

accessible.

Were we drawn by your charisma,

or the belief you held

so that Tubular Bells

could be played,

or was it a Tangerine Dream

that we were sold,

as you grew,

not content

to bring sex and rotten pistols

to the public…

now

you strive to be in space,

Branson’s Pickle. full post

(108 words, estimated 26 secs reading time)

I Tell You Now.

I send you flowers

and the odd

small gift

now and again,

but always in

the present.

I will tell you

I

love you

as a friend, as a former

lover,

now and always.

I do so

because

when the time comes,

I don’t want to be fighting

at the graveside

to compete for your attention…

Ian D. Hall 2021.

Permanent link to this post (63 words, estimated 15 secs reading time)

To Cut Through The Dirt.

To make something clean,

You

must understand

that something else

will have to become dirty,

 leave a mark, a smudge,

a smear

elsewhere…

My mind keeps whispering

clean and purge

the pain

in the leg, the sciatic nerve,

the fearsome ache in the neck

and spine, and groin, and eyes

and take a cloth to the arm

and leave my mark there…

over

and over

again,

till

To Cut Through The Dirt. full post

(88 words, estimated 21 secs reading time)

The Lesson I Refused To Learn.

Two

plus two,

always had to equal

four…

There was no scope for imagination

in the certainty of this,

so my young mind

didn’t exactly rebel

at the rumoured threat

of attending Maths,

for like school uniforms

I thought

the instruction and lessons were a waste of my time…

but English,

now

there was a

craving,

because nonsense was to be admired,

and abstract and stream of consciousness

The Lesson I Refused To Learn. full post

(140 words, estimated 34 secs reading time)

Where True Power Lays.

Forget your dictators,

the tyrants,

stern judges with white wigs

upholding

ruthless laws,

for there is no greater power

than the mother

who insists

on ironing their teenage

son’s jeans

before they leave the house

on a date,

whilst he stands

in his underwear,

embarrassed

and hopping from foot to foot,

his vulnerability in front of authority

on show.

Ian D. Hall 2021

Permanent link to this post (66 words, estimated 16 secs reading time)