PORN STAR

Do you remember the seventies?
Can you look back that far?
When skinny men with moustache's
Were the ubiquitous porn star.
With terrible, inane dialogue
And music bordering on tripe,
They'd turn up at a woman's house
With the intention of fixing a pipe.
Of course the housewife was busty
And her garments were soon shed,
As the plumber got his tool out
She dragged him off to bed.
The sex resembled a car crash
Lots of groans and oohs and aahs,
As the sweaty, wrestling combatants
Were joined by two more 'stars.'
At this point in adult cinemas
Right hand frantically  employed,
Dirty old men in raincoats
Soon became overjoyed.
Nowadays they're much slicker
With film titles not so banal,
Like "Shaving Ryans Privates"
And the mindboggling "Charlie's Anal".
The stars have exotic names also
Like Ben Dover and Cindy Suck,
And the acting's still really bad
But, they're only supposed to f***.
The perks and money are good
This growth industry doesn't slack,
You can earn a fortune in cash
Just laying on your back.
Though there are specialties
A couple of them spring to mind,
Like dwarf throwing and golden rain
Even stranger ones are easy to find.
The seventies and its cheesy films
Are the ones I remember best,
Especially 'Chesty Morgan'
And her enormous droopy chest.
Phil Hall  March 2014

IN MY HEAD

I'm sure there are strangers
Running riot in my head,
I can't believe
Some of the things
I've done or said!
I call people names
Like tosser or twat,
It just happens
So amazing to think
I'd say something like that.
It isn't me lifting your skirt
And copping a quick feel,
It's my inner demons
Out of control
It's no big deal.
You will blame me I know
But it's not true,
As its a complete stranger
And not me
Who's fondling you.
It wasn't me
Who stole your new bike,
Kicked the heads off your flowers
Pissed through your letterbox
Call the police if you like.
They can't arrest
The voices in my brain,
I'll just run in a circle
Screaming "Choo choo!!!"
Pretending I'm a train.
They'll think I'm crazy
They'll just say I'm mad,
But I'll wink my eye at you
Spit in your face
And continue being bad.
I can get away with anything
Its the strangers can't you see?
My parents despair
But, they were soft as shit
A peaceful life to pacify me.
Teachers are even worse
Scared that I'll sue their ass,
They can't instill discipline
Their threats pathetic
As I disrupt the class.
You created these strangers
Yeah, you lot.... Society,
With your liberal rubbish
About punishments and stuff
I've rights you see.
These strangers are fiction
They're not really there,
I'm just a spoilt little bastard
Who needed a good slap
And today there are millions like me
Everywhere.

Phil Hall  March 2014

SIMPLICITY

Lying here
Lying here alone,
The morning just awakening
Aching mind, ageing bone.
Feeble light
Slithers through the curtains,
What does the day hold?
I'm not sure, uncertain.
Can't be bothered
Be bothered to move,
There appears to be a scratch
In my physical groove.
I've no spark
Spark or inner electricity,
My minds inner sanctum
Confused without simplicity.
Thoughts float about
I pluck one from the air,
Make some tea it says
If I could have a care.
A yawn, a scratch
Oh such hedonistic artistry
Singular hand picked pleasure
If all was such simplicity.
So now I have to move
If only to save the sheet,
But rarely a nightmares combat
Leave them very neat.
Pins and needles
Surge through my toes,
When one reaches an age
That's how life goes.
The stumbling gait
Accompanies the short walk,
Into the bathrooms sanctuary
Without the morning stalk.
Handheld lean and half asleep
Concentrating on the aim,
A bladder the size of a beachball
Emptying with sighed acclaim.
Reflective morning gargoyle
Stares back in electrums grin,
Gnarled hand rubs gingerly
Over rough and grizzled chin.
Eyes, which surely dipped in gravel
Try to focus without success,
And sleep filled, birdnest hair
Completes the hideous mess.
Staggered eblutions over
Time to don the attire,
Unwashed T shirt, unironed jeans
This complacent style I can aspire.
This is it, this is life
The struggle to maintain simplicity,
The daily grind and lifestyle rigors
The loss of youth a pity.

Phil Hall  March 2014

DISCOVERING YOU

I wish to sail
To sail the ocean,
The ocean of your mind.
Your mind of storms
Of stormy waters,
Waters so deep
Deep in which I find
Find the real you.
I wish to fly
To fly to your heart,
Heart of fragile glass.
Glass which can shatter
Where I discover
And cannot let pass
Pass the real you.
I wish to walk
To walk holding hands with you,
With you to find your soul.
Soul as deep as the ocean
The ocean i have sailed
Sailed you as a whole
A whole life
I want with you.

Phil Hall  March 2014

SOMBRE WALK

The sun was shining
As I walked home from the shop,
A hearse bedecked in mournful suit
Brought me to a respectful stop.
The flower festooned coffin
Silent dignity on its final ride,
A pause for contemplation
A prayer for who had died.
Shades of black peered from the car
Tears shed by a solemn family,
The pain, the hollow eyes and grief
Too soon for the memory.
The birds sang a lilting dirge
Proclaiming the season of new life,
Whilst below the pangs of sorrow
Severed unity and love like a knife.
My own mortality did I see
Darkness can't be forever defied,
One day it'll be my funeral march
I faltered in my stride.
Trees, filtered by a wafer thin sun
Cast doubt on my earlier talk,
Of long life and new found joy
With head bowed in a sombre walk.
Phil Hall  March 2014

SPUN GOLD

My dad told me
It was spun gold,
Until deep in the porcelain
I saw the lies that were told.

You stared at me
Babbling a silent speech,
I mouthed back at you
Trying to teach.
You were my friend
With huge, unblinking eyes,
Very sad looking
Though one who never cries.
Occasionally you'd develop spots
Grow a large silver belly,
You'd wedge into your house
And wouldn't watch the telly.
There were days you were big
At times you appeared small,
Then There was the time
You weren't there at all.
It was then that my Dad
Told me about spun gold,
The reasons for the spots
And other variations I was sold....

You see,
It was when one day
I went to the loo,
Dad was standing over it
With my goldfish too.
It was lay quite still
In my Dads big hand,
Why wasn't he in his bowl?
This I didn't understand.
Then suddenly he dropped
And the toilet immediately flushed,
I called out pleading "No!!"
As to the bowl I rushed.
There was "Goldie" spinning
In the gurgling whirlpool,
How often had Dad done this
I felt such a fool.
"He's now spun gold son"
"Going to join his friends in fishy heaven"
I snuffled and sniffed and cried
But I was only seven.
I knew my Dad meant well
Hiding my fishes demise from me,
But I'd have rather buried "Goldie"
Than flush him down the lavatory.

Phil Hall  March 2014

BLUEBIRD

She's my lady
My bluebird,
A reliable girl
Never utters a word
Her velvet touch
She's warm within,
A smooth ride
I love her skin.
I've had others
Better looking and racier,
But, my bluebird sings
I love her.
Another had her once
Before me I know,
Were they lovers?
I couldn't say so.
She waits patiently
In the snow and rain,
And when I turn her on
She cries aloud again.
My hands touch her
She responds to my caress,
We race to heaven together
Her buttons I press.
She's even met my girl
Who also fell in love,
My bluebird wrapped around her
They fit like hand in glove.
Dearest bluebird, you're my steed
My umbilical cord,
My trusty lady, you cared for us
Bluebird, my ever reliable Ford.

Phil Hall March 2014