LEVEL 5

Something lurks
On level 5,
Something sinister
And it's not
Alive.
There's an occasional
Temperature shift,
The breath mists cold
In the haunted
Lift.
Lights may flicker
And the doors quiver,
A feeling of dread
Makes one
Shiver.
Beyond level 1
And on toward 4,
Pulse quickens, cold and clammy
I reach the floor.
The light flashes
I feel an icy cold,
A grip of unnatural
Decay and mould.
Will I reach level 6
My final destination,
A sickening feeling
Burgeoning trepidation.
The lift stops suddenly
Alone in frosted gloom,
Have I travelled to hell?
And sealed my doom?
I'm held in a ghosts hand
For breath I strive,
I've met the phantom
Of the lift on level 5.
The House of Fraser
Birmingham's premier store,
Holds a ghostly secret
In the lift
On the fifth floor.

Phil Hall  December 2014

WHEN I WAS A LITTLE BOY

When I was a little boy
At this time of year
I'd look to the sky,
Getting excited
At the prospect of seeing
Reindeer flying by.
I thought children
All around the world
Had the same fun,
I never could imagine
Little ones murdered
By evil men with a gun.
When I was a little boy
We'd creep downstairs
To presents beneath the lights,
I didn't consider then
Other little children
Wouldn't enjoy such delights.
When I was a little boy
I was King Herod
In the school nativity play,
Dressing up in costumes
Singing Christmas carols
But, little children died that day.
When I was a little boy
I looked up to adults
For a sense of safety and reason,
Who'd ever believe
They'd murder in cold blood
Schoolchildren this festive season.

Phil Hall  December 2014

NON ANGLI SED ANGELI

Where am I from
With my cold blue eyes?
My piercing gaze
From ice cold skies.
Hair like wheat
Straight and fair,
Flecks of frost now
An Angle laid bare.
Purity of lineage
The mists of time span,
The bloodline congealed
For this Englishman.
Pope Gregory once said
"Non Angli sed Angeli"
I can't ever imagine
He was talking about me.
I'm no angel, I'm Angle
With Saxon deep within,
English blood surges
Inside muscle, under skin.
Trojan warriors sailed
To this wild, untamed place,
They named my island "Albion"
Land of giants, a savage race.
Sculptured and honed
Over centuries to be this way,
A giant and savage Englishman
That's who I am today.

Phil Hall  December 2014

LOST KIN

Though all born of one blood
The brood long since flown,
Scattered seeds to the wind
Far flung, a distance blown.
Parents, the fragile glue
The constant roof in rough weather,
Their very presence, beating hearts
Faintly keeping the union together.
Our footsteps tread different paths
To inevitable lifes end,
When words go unheard
And the past cannot ever mend.
The mists of memory
Like flaking parchment it fades,
The table is bare, nothing there
Skipping girls, flashing blades.
A distant, uncomfortable call
Paying lip service on the phone,
The fading photos now unseen
Ghosts shut away, all alone.
Cine reels, scratched celluloid
Laughing children, your lost kin,
Running in the garden, bathtub fun
We all still wash the same skin.
They say friends we keep forever
Maybe even a husband or wife,
But, kin are from the same mold
The same blood flows for life.
Empty promises always appear
When the bell tolls for one finally,
Shaking hands, hugs and kisses
Losing touch, lost kin, 'til no family.

Phil Hall December 2014

A2Z OF A BAGGIES FAN

Albion
Becoming
Crappier,
Despondent
Every
F***ing
Game!
Hope
Is
Just
Kinda
Leaving,
My
Nice
Optimistic
Persona.
Quickly
Replaced,
Seething
Tirade.
Ugly
Viewing,
With
X-rated
Yells.......... Time for sleep.
Zzzzzzzzzz

Phil Hall  December 2014.