The crowds take up their positions
on the swept clean concourse
of Lime Street Station, the ballet, the rumba,
the strains of the Viennese Waltz ,
the mad dash of front seated desire, four seats
and small squeezed in table,
the clock
high upon the wall and dominant,
the band master ready to blow the whistle
and the dance begins;
slowly at first, hesitant to let go of the one they love
and who will love them till they get home, the dance forgotten
in a heartbeat of half remembered waves goodbye
I took the night off,
for a while I allowed myself to hear words
but not concentrate
on watching the eyes,
the soul man, I stayed
away from the soul and
I took pleasure in staying out
of the emotions;
even my own words
were perhaps delivered without the same
fire and brimstone longing,
the same damnation in my spit and looking across
to see the Devil judging,
mocking my every words, his tail
poking out from underneath the table
and chairs and balancing a single shot
On hold,
such a time to be had
falling for a tune
you would normally hate
but somehow feel close to
by the time the representative
from the company
decides it is time to talk down to you,
on hold…
on hold…
imagine if the everyday was the same
as calling, losing patience
with patience, the man on the end of the phone,
just hanging, shoplifting music
buzzing in the open air, still and jaunty,
designed to keep you upbeat, intended
to cause thoughts of mass destruction;
…and the giant Redwood had to go,
downsized
in perspective
for everybody agreed
it was not fair
in this modern fast paced
world,
they would not live to see it
reach
its full potential.
Ian D. Hall 2017
Blow back,
a sliver of space between us
as you push the ghost,
the whispered phantom
between my teeth
and I chew down upon its non-corporeal ridges
and mull over the deep intensity to come.
Blow back,
I see your eyes my love,
I see your eyes, blazing fury,
“You bring out the best in me you know”,
you tell me, erotically spilling secrets
that you kept hidden from the darkness;
now over tinsel toned music, the waft
of a Tori Amos song, you divulge them,
The day Himmler came to Stoke,
to express his views and pull up a chair
in the centre of Hanley town centre,
was a day in which we should remember,
February 2017, ferret like face, swivelling eyes,
and ideas in his head that would
make his party, modern S.S.
clap and cheer and spread their venom with cheer,
some demurely suggesting that whilst he is extreme
he is speaking their language, that they believe in him;
now,
I’d expect it of the crew cut little islander, one race
He sweated in the dock,
rings of perspiration clouding his thoughts,
the shuffle board, the made up noises
that dominated his former life
as a Foley Artist.
As the Judge concluded his sentence
He noted
it was only due
to the former Foley artists
unblemished life
and non criminal activity
that the judge
let him off
with a warning,
saying it was down to his
previous sound character.
Ian D. Hall 2017
I took my nostalgia out for a walk
late in the evening, too tired
to pick a fight with certain
sepia filled memories, too ground down
by hopeful idealism
to brawl or come to bloodied nosed
defeat with reminiscence
in which I loved you;
I am just slightly homesick,
but the trouble with having
lived
is that at times I forget
where I have
died
as well.
Ian D. Hall 2017
Her arm is raised, the red
T-shirt proclaiming her beliefs
and that is just the start
of what this flame
that burns bright
within Liverpool
shows to the world.
There is a sense of magnificence
that resides under the cool music exterior,
always at the heart to show her town
as being the best, the finest, the indomitable,
this Liverpool, this keeper of the Red Flag,
hums along before a note is etched out
and when the music starts
she, with honour, knows that is the best
We had Country Dancing at school,
an endurance test for boys
who wanted no part of the pre-pubescent
courtly game
and for the girls,
though I cannot speak with firm authority,
they wanted no part of being involved with
the boys, pre-testosterone, pre hormones,
before manners, before holding hands
was an aspiration, before the scent
of something more by being renowned
for your dancing moves got you the smile
from the girl in the corner
as she shyly sucked on her Panda Pops