Tag Archives: poetry from Bootle.

The First Day.

The first day,

stuck in between appointments

and the risk of running out of steam,

I found you alone, blue jacket

protecting you against the September

driving pulse of crammed

up halls and lost momentum.

 

A lit cigarette punching above its weight,

enthusing will power into the lungs

and the air of nonchalant

grace tasting beautiful

as it hit the Liverpool air

outside the lecture hall; the final

trip of the day and felt like wheeling

away from it there and then.

 

In Bloom.

The train conductor sighed

as he prepared

to tell his passengers to disembark

at the next and final stop.

“This train is for the Chelsea Flower Show.

This train is going to become a feature

of the show, upon arrival

please spread and sprinkle the seeds from the packets

all over the seats and use the watering can

liberally.”

“All change please, this train will

be germinating at Chelsea.”

 

Ian D. Hall 2016

Karma Sits On The Sidelines.

I have been waiting so long

that it doesn’t bother me

if I have wait a little longer,

for in your car crash race

to have the last and final word,

the slurs, the put downs, the exaggerated

and the dog shit smears

rubbed in my face,

I remain silent, I just sit in peace and quiet

and count the days till karma

licks her lips and throws down the gauntlet,

lays all her cards upon the smoking green

table and spits frothy, boiling green flem

in your eye;

Voices In The Dark.

I started hearing noises, sounds

and voices

in the darkness as I stole

the opportunity to sleep a while.

I would jolt awake, full upright

and that in itself would cause pain

down my spine, the creature of nightmares

inside my body

being summoned with mysterious

incantation by a voice that wasn’t there

and wasn’t my own.

 

The sounds I hear are overwhelming,

beautiful and damned, half of the battle

in which I face every day, I just seize

the moment every time to deny

Alexandra’s Duck Earphones.

It was the duck earphones

that permanently endeared me to your soul,

bright yellow, water resistant and plastic

feathered…I saw you semi naked in a mirror, steam

driven as you changed for a party

at a fellow student’s house and I closed my eyes

quickly, snap shut, blocked my ears and

forgot to breathe until you tapped me

on the shoulders and enquired to what

I was hiding from, too old to admire

but young in heart to love you.

 

The duck earphones fitted like a glove,

I Fancy A Week In The English Sun.

I fancy a week just sat in the English sun,

perhaps in Scarborough or Whitby,

the beauty of the timeless

only peppered by the taste of chips

and fish basked gently in beer batter

crisp and juicy and the sound of seagulls

from the top of the Captain Cook

and the sound of cricket,

signalled through the haze and the brush

of leather upon a willow skin;

I fancy a week in English sun.

 

I fancy going deep rust, my skin

turning English pale

Judged.

I wonder what happened to the woman

who once claimed

with moral authority

that it took over a hundred hours

to get ready for a date.

I never did understand

what the hell would take so long

in a society where the expectations

are high and the results

are often low.

Clean my teeth, that takes time,

I hate having bad teeth, wash my hair,

grew a beard so I didn’t have to shave

and kept it unruly

like my hair, knots in which the hairdresser

Read This At Your Peril (A Poetic Health Warning).

It might appear to be a suggestion

but even in the most dire distress

do not take exceed the stated dose,

the small print on the packet

which can stop

your day turning…well turning.

 

When the Senakot packet

cautions do not take more than two

of these little pills, then for your own

sake, pay heed as you would

a big scary sign, admonishing

the feeding of squirrels, birds,

furry creatures or even hippos

on park property…take heed.

 

When the notice all the way round

E-Mail (One).

Her E-Mail was polite

but damningly self shaming,

as she flattered herself into believing

that the world was alright,

perfect blue on the horizon

and not a rain drop

in sight to spoil her view.

 

I don’t know why we ever stopped

talking, she wrote with several

emoticons displaying insincerity

in her thoughts but to whom

the coy yellow smile sensed an opportunity

to gloss over the past, to paint

herself in a glowing light of reconciliation.

 

She signed it off with that annoying letter t

Sound

I wish I could capture the sound

that is playing just out of reach,

over my shoulder and delicate,

I can hear it,

flowing and full of crescendo,

full of vigour

and then in one sweeping gesture

it changes to the most beautiful

resonance of melancholic desire

and moody day;

I hear it and it gestures love to me,

I wish the other noises

were as kind.

 

Ian D. Hall 2016