Editor's Poetry: John G.Hall
my other mask is also a mask.
my other mask is also a mask my first thought is also my first my lost loves are also loves my fear is fear hid heroically my other me is always anybody my other mask needs you ask is also a mask. jgh2020 |
Memorized Poetry.
The frantic silence between us garden of delights overgrown my room is a minds bombsite a scatter of old birthday cards mantle piece full of ancestors recycled shirts hangover doors a disconnected gas fire smiles at the winter nights to come and the exercise bike races to a stand still in the bay watched by a broken rose and a potters masterpiece. jgh2020 |
The brain works like a flock of birds.
who decides where next to twist the tips of nervous wings to touch who decides which message to note in each whistle of thought who decides all for one is one for all the brain works like a flock of birds and we are a chorus line of solos. jgh2020 |
Crows at Lochranza He stutters under the weather air tumbled and wet, a feather fall, a fossil fern, a living coal. He calls in the lichen skinned trees swings down softly, rips up a heart. He is night without stars, ink without paper, sin without soul, miner without pit, is crow. He can be shiny blue in his Sunday best, but he prefers horizontal rain, toppled bins, and the little windfalls of golden eagle chicks. A black bearded sky pirate, a flying anarchist flag, the devil in drag, a spit of ink from a death warrant, an iron filing pulled towards sin, a blot on the landscape, landing mob winged, familiar with witches, neck deep in dead lambs, crisp bags, and the scatter of tourists. Fossilized I think a left handed priest christened me, I think I’m your good deed for the day I think I’ll bite the starving hand that feeds I think I’ll refuse love's honey dipping bone I think I’m more suited to bitter soliloquy. I think I’ll break up the old double act I think I’ll find a plain looking mirror and settle down to worship each other. I think you made me up, i think you made me down, I think I really cannot be arsed living anymore half cocked life, I think i would rather just be old. Dinosaur Tracks on Arran The soft tread of reptile children hard as a million years of death tracks in sandstone go nowhere but this future they never saw, bucket and spade king I ruled over the dinosaurs kingdom Monarch of all a boy imagined Heron tyrannosaurus watcher, my toes impressed the sand immortal as a fossil I hoped better than my best laid plans longer than a Scottish summer. Bloodless Murders. once I was on their short list now I am on their long list the seat a restricted view on the outside isle sacked and dropped off like a bag of kittens or a murder weapon. |
Poems by John G.Hall
|
Making the Dark Visible - By John G.Hall, art work by Sarah Peploe
|
Biography: John G.Hall was founding editor of radical arts magazine Citizen32 & was political activist in the 1980's.Published in 'Emergency Verse' and 'The Robin Hood Book' edited by Alan Morrison. Also in volumes 1,2 and 3 of 'Best of Manchester Poets' published by Puppywolf. His collection 'Poems for Explosion' is published by Crisis Chronicles Press Cleveland Ohio.
His latest book 'Making the Dark Visible' is published by Some Roast Poets publications, Manchester UK. He Currently runs the Manchester Beat poetry night 'Beatification'. For the past 10 years he has organised a writers retreat on the Island of Arran, Scotland. He has a degree in English Literature & Creative Writing from the University of Salford. |