First, they came for the homeless
on Britain’s streets,
because that’s what they do, pick
at the fringes and the easy targets, the vulnerable
and the uncomfortable on the eye,
and you did nothing,
then they come, excited
by the work already done, the first small ticked box
for the disabled and reduce them down
to figures of ridicule and suspicion,
do they really need to be seen,
salivating now, the painted smiles
of ministers as you tore yourselves apart
to say nothing,
I stubbed my toe,
not well enough,
on entering the room,
I noticed it was still smoking.
Ian D. Hall 2018
Just
because
the ground shakes
when the Elephant
trundles past, its trunk swinging
from side to side,
does not mean that the Pachyderm
is responsible
for the Earthquake you feel.
Ian D. Hall 2018
Briefly, several suns light up the horizon
and burn the world, this fragile land
torn by hands, ripped apart
on the consensus of one
behind the black door, no prize,
and as enough money is spent destroying
our souls that would feed
and give shelter to the homeless,
to the child in our schools, food to eat,
nurses the reason to feel valued,
but oh no, not now, not in our name,
we want you to hate today, this phantom trick,
to make you scared, and then the accusations
The wound is healed, new skin
grown and you cannot see
the join, where the ribs were exposed
to the harsh light of the surgeon’s eye
in the centre of his forehead, bones
but no muscles, convulsing, pumping,
in and out, in and out
watered down blood
now coursing through proper veins
and on time, you cannot see the join,
but I can, I still feel the tick
of the open pulse, I see the pain
of open heart surgery before me
and left exposed for a month,
Society’s thoughts on writers are wrong,
and shown to be flawed
when celebration
is seen, waving the Dollar
the pound and the Yen
around like confetti
at a bride’s sixth wedding,
when a letter in an author’s handwriting
is sold
at auction
for more money than society
allowed him to live on
as he began to close his eyes.
Ian D. Hall 2018
Some people will slit their tongue
in half
to prove that they have something to say,
that they can be different, entertaining,
shock value
express, a picture in which they defy
even the unconventional
and the actively irregular, slit tongue,
twice the lies, double the truth
with saliva dripping forked tongue.
Some will manage this feat
without even resorting to surgery.
Ian D. Hall 2018
I would call you shallow
but I fear
You would think
it was
a compliment
and that you
would try to walk
on water.
Ian D. Hall 2018
The face was smashed, cracked
and damaged from where
it had hit the floor with a mighty,
sickening thud, it still held life though,
radiating through the near dark
of the stairs where it lay, though how long
before it drained out,
private phone numbers
mixing and congealing
with internet browsing history
and flirty text messages
to her husband, the see you later hun’s
and the inevitable three xxxs,
the phone had fallen
or had it been pushed,
as the face drained of its icons
I am a coward
and your opinion of me
matters,
I wish it wasn’t so,
I wish I could just
forget
and erase, expunge with ease
all those times
I wanted to make you proud
to know me,
to have once raised a glass in my honour
when I wasn’t there
to defend myself
from your toast
and despite
it all,
see me not as bruised, vanity tinged
and needing an occasional memory
of what I meant to you.