There are others,
I am sure,
That if I put my mind to it, if
I allowed myself to put under
and
Have my mind probed,
Mined of coal, the hope of diamonds
Springing
Eternal, I would dismiss them,
For my first memory is
One of exclusion,
Watching a blank-faced nursery school teacher
Explain to my despairing
Mother that they had no room
For a boy
Like me.
Ian D. Hall 2020
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
How ridiculous
we have become,
equality is the corner
stone of true civilisation
and one that is under-threat
by the preposterous demands
of those who seek
to undermine it,
suing to be believed twenty
years younger,
just to be able to look
great in the eyes of women;
oh foolish creatures that we are,
all the battles we have endured,
all the insanity life can throw
upon our minds,
to be undone by the nonsensical
man in search of sex.
Handing my wife
a jumper I had worn
for a couple of days
to keep out the cold,
I asked
whether she thought
I could get one more night
out of it.
Bewildered, she first smiled
and then replied,
I don’t know about that,
but you might get it to
play the opening drum section
of In The Air Tonight…
Ian D. Hall 2018