Tag Archives: poetry from Bootle.

Anthem.

It is an act of patriotism
it is decreed
to stand during your national anthem
before a film goes on
in your local cinema
as the National Anthem plays out.
I know people who used to stand
as the British National Anthem
played on the television
as close down for the night commenced,
they would be erect
as they thought of the Queen
last thing at night
and the Government backed signal
to turn off
and go to bed came;
A huge part of me is thankful
we don’t have that nonsense now…

Ian D. Hall 2016

Anthem. full post

(99 words, estimated 24 secs reading time)

Doctor Who Conundrum.

Starry-eyed

She pounced in my direction

and in a loud commanding,

masterful voice that betrayed in its heart

a sense of innocence and wanting

desperately to please

She proclaimed,

“Oh Ian,

you were right, I have just finished

watching the first episode of Doctor Who;

isn’t it just so fabulous?”

Cheered by this revelation

I asked her if she enjoyed William Hartnell’s performance.

Clearly confused, her face screwed up,

contorted and thoughtful in her puzzlement,

she replied after much deliberation,

“Was he one of the monsters?”

Doctor Who Conundrum. full post

(107 words, estimated 26 secs reading time)

Satsuma.

The Satsuma is starting to go green,

untouched it has gone sour, the sweetness

sucked dry and stale,

I really wanted to taste this Orange fruit

but unlike the plums it held no thought

of ripeness in my mind;

the Christmas stocking,

oversized woollen sock

held many a delight, the Corgi toy car,

a cracker bound in small explosive,

yet every year the Satsuma would poke

its way out of the top of the stocking

and go mouldy before my eyes, even on the coldest

Christmas Day.

Satsuma. full post

(94 words, estimated 23 secs reading time)

Like A Bomb.

Like a bomb,

encased in skin,

I just want to self-destruct,

pushing myself

to the limit of simmering pressure,

I want to explode

and be a second sun

on the horizon

at Dawn…

you disarm me

only with your smile.

Ian D. Hall 2016

Permanent link to this post (45 words, estimated 11 secs reading time)

The Day I Discovered Futility.

If it should end, let it end now,

stop dragging it out,

stop feeding the worm in the mind,

for today I discovered futility

and it is a word that I cannot abide.

 

Wasted years, never in search of riches

and to those I may have hurt, unknowingly

or their perception of what I said,

I apologised more than once if you deserved it,

but blow me down

if you think I am going to kneel

and take your crap forever, infinity was long enough.

 

The Day I Discovered Futility. full post

(142 words, estimated 34 secs reading time)

The Good Son Of Goodison

The smile of Howard Kendall had entranced him

and the dogged determination of Alan Ball

had always stuck in the mind of this

good son of Goodison as he took his seat

or stood withstanding the noise of the Kop

on alternate Saturdays,

from the days of childhood,

through pouring rain of success

and the desert years of despair, he was faithful,

always sucking on the toffee,

cheering on days of Imre Varadi and the hours

between cup and league, his home painted blue

The Good Son Of Goodison full post

(242 words, estimated 58 secs reading time)

My Own Golden Brown (Whisky No Longer Touched).

I never had flu till I had turned 45,

not true flu, I had woken early one morning

whilst I was back packing through rural Normandy

with my head resting in a

dirty storm formed puddle

and I know I probably looked awful for about a week

and the thoughts of unfulfilled dreams

of making peace in my time across the Channel

brought to a premature and early end.

Now every week I seem to be fighting back infection,

the assault on the body, the throat, the eyes,

My Own Golden Brown (Whisky No Longer Touched). full post

(214 words, estimated 51 secs reading time)

A Blue Balloon.

A Blue balloon,

attached to fraying string, the sky

the limit

in its desire to see

the world for what it truly is,

held only by childish fingers,

white with tightness,

grim determination upon the glowing face;

like that balloon

I yearn to look down

upon

the shit storm

we have created

and I will pull away from the fingers that bind me

and sail into the sky

before

I inevitably

Pop.

Ian D. Hall 2016

Permanent link to this post (78 words, estimated 19 secs reading time)

Even Dishevelled As I Am.

Even dishevelled, even in the dog hairs

I find myself covered in, I keep up appearances,

no tie round my neck, will not die by the noose,

no shirt, starched, small black hairs

weaved in and out of the thread, small pin pricks,

unseen but there all over my skin, scatter cushioned,

just pins, not needles, tattoos aside,

I have never felt the need for such barbaric squander,

yet my head is permanently a mess,

I am sinking

further each time, the jack boots in the country stir

Even Dishevelled As I Am. full post

(122 words, estimated 29 secs reading time)

Potato Peel.

A potato is just a potato,

humble, quiet,

unassuming,

an object from the soil,

do whatever you want with it,

all is good…

until you make it spell a name,

till you see that there is nothing more

important in the world

worth fighting over,

worth a revolution

than a potato

that cannot spell…

 

Ian D. Hall 2016

Permanent link to this post (61 words, estimated 15 secs reading time)