Tag Archives: poetry from Liverpool

The Beast Wore Garlands.

 

In winter, you are a naked beast

that makes the imagination run

and tumble, no matter the age.

This exposure as the first drifts

of snow stand fast against your body,

parting the branch and making the harsh light

of the torch explode and reflect

upon this desolate season, a monster hiding in the shadows,

ready to reach out, twigged gnarled fingers

groping in the dark and bitter air,

catching the passer by with surprise

as the light dies early in December’s grasp.

Yet this beast, of old Nordic tales,

The Beast Wore Garlands. full post

(145 words, estimated 35 secs reading time)

Sponsored Silence.

 

It felt right

to sponsor you

anonymously, your walk

from fresh as a daisy point A,

soldering past every stopping

post that the letters held to

bone tired destination z,

and I wished you well in my head

even though

in the next minute I saw someone else

then take claim and oh gosh

I meant to put it under mine, silly

Me, I said nothing, I let it go,

and as much as I dared you to succeed,

I hoped they tripped over their ego

Sponsored Silence. full post

(98 words, estimated 24 secs reading time)

Another Berlin Moment.

 

A handshake across the divide, all smiles,

not just for the poised

and focused cameras,

but for the owner of the Korean future,

it means the world

and the world watches on

in astonishment at this symbolic act,

a single step in the right direction,

back and forth the two men go,

the right direction, no matter the influence,

the right step, a holding of hands,

if not of ideals, regardless of the position,

another Berlin Wall moment

in days of endless bad news.

 

Another Berlin Moment. full post

(92 words, estimated 22 secs reading time)

Penicide.

 

Don’t let it be by the gun, rather a pun,

a word or a thousand in line, revised,

perhaps, but would rather leave each sentence

delivered as the judge requires, laid down law,

mistaking my zest for apathy,

not so,

it is just a work in progress that is over half way passed

and should there be need for an additional

chapter or appendix whipped out

before it bursts into paper shreds, then let the pen decide,

let life be snuffed out by the nib,

Penicide. full post

(111 words, estimated 27 secs reading time)

He Had Panda Bear Eyes.

From the safety of my shattered glassed bus stop,

I watch him shuffle past, worn shoes,

possibly one inherited black, matches his panda

bear eyes, these days reflecting

nothing more but his own stale scuffled

disappointment and the latest craze

of hitting every crack

in the fractured pavements; dying now

but someone forgot to tell him,

so he keeps shuffling onwards,

panda eyes squinting for a point

and I watch him from the safety

surrounds of broken bus stop glass.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018

He Had Panda Bear Eyes. full post

(88 words, estimated 21 secs reading time)

The Relentless Guilt.

It is a sense of guilt,

a Methodist instruction

or perhaps

a reminder of my own pound of flesh

owed, measured

and found to be in

continuous debt

if I plan some time away,

even from just doing

the pressing down of keys,

there is the voice in my head that whispers,

no, no, no,

you must, you owe your time

to everything else but you, for you,

the voice whispers,

have nothing else to do.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018

The Relentless Guilt. full post

(84 words, estimated 20 secs reading time)

Niemöller Today.

 

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,

Niemöller Today. full post

(232 words, estimated 56 secs reading time)

The Rumble Underneath Your Feet.

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

Permanent link to this post (38 words, estimated 9 secs reading time)

World War, Stupid.

 

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

World War, Stupid. full post

(207 words, estimated 50 secs reading time)