NINE MILES

Herbs swirling
Around my head,
As I gaze upon
The single bed.
I'm in Zion
Shoes off,
Paying my respects
Before the lion.
Nine miles
One love
And children's smiles,
Chasing the bus
No fi cuss
Throw out the dollar
And hear the holler.
Tomb of finest marble
The King lying in state,
His words still true,
We await our fate
The three little birds
Still singing
To me and you.
So here I am
In Bobs backyard,
Full of one love 
The memories will be strong.
The lion is in Zion
Hard as iron
No woman no cry,
What could be wrong?
Back on the bus
Salute to Rastaman,
A place of peace
As only The lion can,
Yeah man, I and I
We are one blood,
That can only be good,
I smile
I've walked in Zion
Man been a nine miles.
Marley, a true legend
True king,
One love
Lyric
Man, woman and child
You all can sing.
One love
One heart
Let's get together
And feel alright.

Phil Hall. July 2015
Copyright philthepoet61.blogspot.com

philthepoet: ALL ABOUT TAKE

philthepoet: ALL ABOUT TAKE: It's all about take And photos of kittens in a glass, Wallowing in self styled misery Or the pursuit of laboured love. The baring of...

INHUMAN RACE

I don't like
The human race,
Obnoxious bastards
All over the place.
No manners, no class
No heirs and grace,
Total disregard for anybody
They spit in ones face.
The inhuman race,
These ignorant twats
No doubt spongers
And breed like rats,
A life of cigarettes
And meals full of transfats.
They should be neutered
Like mangy, flearidden cats.
So much mouth
Yet nothing worthwhile to say,
At everyone else's expense
They come out to play
Pushing and barging
To be front of the queue,
Nose deep in any trough
That's what they do.
The gross and oversized
Rambunctious yanks,
With their groaning plates
No surprise, they're built like tanks.
Also, the scowling
Council house Brits,
With no regard for other cultures
They get on ones tits.
So called Brazilian babe's
With their disdain and haughty air,
But I know the truth, to get here
You sold your child's hair.
The French and Scandinavians
With that, we're better than you look,
Carry on the catwalk pose ladies
No one gives a fuck.
Reverse baseball cap
Sunglasses on top of the head,
The need everyday
To have the same sunbed.
So holiday all inclusive
They're all over the place,
Then relax back and take a peek
At the horrible, inhuman race.

Phil Hall August 2015
Copyright philthepoet61.blogspot.com

MAMMEE BAY

I listened to Fleetwood Mac
I listened to them today,
I heard 'Albatross'
Whilst I strolled a beach
In Jamaica
A beach called
Mammee Bay.
The cymbals
Representing the waves,
Lapping at the sand
So serene,
This is a paradise
Only I have may have ever seen.
The true surf
Of that jewel encrusted sea
Played with my sunburnt toes
Totally refreshing me.
I'm sure this what
Life is all about
What finding yourself
Actually means.
Everyone and everything
Became rudimentary
With time and space
An unconscious state
And even elementary,
Here I walk quietly
On the sand of Mammee Bay
Aching body and advancing age
Purely sedentary.
A lonely frigate bird
Sailing on a turquoise sky,
Without troubles or worries
No if, when, what or why?
Albatross ends
The soothing tune
Comes to a melodic close,
Will I hear that surf again?
Feel the sand of Mammee Bay,
Maybe
One day
Who knows?

Phil Hall    August 2015

PICKAXE AND BOOTS

Pickaxe and boots
Those are my roots,
To the man I am today
Years of graft
And toil
They were building blocks, the shoots.
I'll not see those days again
Consigned to working of the pen,
And what you see today
Pickaxe and boots
Muscle to iron
When boys turned into men.
Limbs now tired and strained
The effort is pained,
The times
Imprinted in my soul
An education in life
The knocks ingrained.
Those glances worthy
Youth, innocently swarthy,
Bleached by sun
The tanned arms
Sea blue eyes
Yes, that was me.
Finding ones voice
More Ford than Rolls Royce,
My card stamped
For the future
A life......
Of limited choice.
Pickaxe and boots
Those were my roots,
To the man before you today.
Behind me the graft
And toil.....
New building blocks and shoots.

Phil Hall
July 2015 Copyright philthepoet61.blogspot.com

I LUST FOR NOTHING

You can't keep
A bad man down,
You're not my mother
Yet you wear
The same frown.

It's not about
Your cooking,
Your fucking
Not even
You being good looking
Hear this.....
I lust for nothing.

This bad man
Always under the crown,
It's all in my head
The things we've said
Unwarranted renown.

It's not about
Your cooking,
Your fucking
Not even
You being good looking
Hear this......
I lust for nothing.

I've had the stress
The chat and talk,
Silly, petty fights
Make up delights
Yet bad man still walks....

Hear this!!
It's not about
Your dazzling eyes
Sweet, milky thighs.
Not your fucking
Your cooking,
You being really
Really good looking...
I lust for nothing.
Not your
Alluring smiles,
Tongue that beguiles
Warm inviting mouth
When you go south.....
None of that
I lust for nothing.

Phil Hall     July 2015
Copyright philthepoet61.blogspot.com