Wearing the outside
in these days, my Grandfather
would have raised
an eyebrow at the lack of formality
even behind the closed
green and yellow door,
brill creamed silver hair, combed
in, neatly presented,
even out of uniform,
he stood tall.
These days
in, are fraught
behind the closed doors
we have shut
tight, stopping short of hammering
wood across the entrance,
confining ourselves
to the odd peek
I can only presume
that your mother is proud
of you, as you smile for the camera
and step on the backs
of the dead
and the dying,
of the poor
and suffering
you “helped set free”.
Look Ma, you cry,
remembering only to punch
the air, (thinking of the faces
of those you deem reckless,
at best,
unspeakable
detestable
thin skinned and lazy,
is your true assessment),
remembering to punch the air
Through her creased paper appearance
I watched her dance in time
to the cabaret of the Blackpool day,
too tired beyond four
in the afternoon
to stiffly
compete with the aged, gnarled
quick fingers at the head of the Wurlitzer
playing out tunes that were fashionable
when she was a young lady
on the edge of unblinking time.
I sit and consider the movement,
a smile of love
for her as the applause ripples
above the tide, the pier
holding her memory
Within the death of innocent hues
we see others take up residence
in bum polished pews,
finding eternal salvation
for the price of a few pence.
Lead us not in to damnation,
wringing hands and buggered beasts
cries the nation,
as they sit in starved contemplation
and face the days alone.
Lied to from every side,
eating the poor, gorging the rich,
pride
comes before a fall, delivered with wit,
who’s to say Humanity isn’t a bitch.
Quite elated
I felt when I read your
three words, chewed over
perhaps
or just a whim
of expression, not sure
how to be so bold
as to pay fortune and favour out
to one such as I,
a fool that inhabits the space I exist in,
humbled regardless
of the fact that you took time
out of your day
to step into mine,
and leave those three words of love,
really
rather
good.
Ian D. Hall 2018
The smell of damp sawdust
filled the nostrils
of the man out of time
and darts,
dominoes and cribbage
the only games on his mind;
the last thing he expected
to find that night
as he strolled into this new adventure ground
was a nurse, out with a friend,
drinking tempered halves
from a dimpled glass,
catching her eye, he surprised
himself by smiling
and fell in love
with the ambience and strength
provided by walking in
on The Bird In Hand.
There are still tinges of red
dotted
here
and there
as my ruffled feathers mourn
the reflection I now bare
in the mirror,
cut to the bone, shorn
down, worn down Samson
strength, is it just age after all
as I approach the start
of a sixth decade here
on Earth, that self-inflicted
hair loss is congratulated
and applauded like shedding
of comfortable stones,
a woman’s hair is a crowning glory,
in the age of equalism
cannot I not lament
I can feel my breathe
diminish,
go thin,
even before it leaves
my body,
exhaling out of control
as it insanely tries to justify
the war I go through,
a soldier never quite alone
in this jungle wilderness,
a beast
camouflaged
in plain sight, standing out
as death rolls the dice
with a grin that bares rotten, stunted baby teeth
and a certain foul essence that passes
for conviction, assuredness,
a firmness of plan
as jungles collide
and bitter battles
Silence
falls
suddenly
on the day after, although
I swear I can hear
the sound of birds again,
Silence
as the bombs and bullets
no longer scream
through the clearing air
of this long hand weaved
burial place for the living,
Silence
for the waters
of impatient tide
that rotted our feet
and sapped our strength
to do anything but survive,
Silence
on this day
never sounded so sweet,
on this day,
the day after
I swear a lot,
sometimes under my breathe,
quite often out loud and with force,
I have no problem
when alone
of using four letter words
to which would shock
the easily offended,
if the pain fits
then swear
is my motto.
However
in the days when your phone
and computer can hear what you
are saying, the expletives
you utter are to be a warning,
I am often surprised though
that every time
something or someone annoys me