DELUDED

The smile
Eyes half pleading,
And half needing
With lips glossed and pouting
There's no doubting.....
It's attention and adulation
You seek.

The men
Moths to a flame,
They call your name
Their lust all the same
Just part of your game......
Like cheap perfume
It reeks.

The reason
Who the hell knows?
A fraud from head to toes
But , that's how it goes
The airbrushing glows.....
I've touched and tasted
It's truth I speak.

And finally
In my conclusion,
Nothing but delusion
Mind in confusion
I loved an illusion.....
Knife thrust and gunshot
Yes baby
I've got a bloody cheek.

Phil Hall July 2017

Copyright:philthepoet61.blogspot.com

RETURN TO WARLEGGAN

On my overdue return to Warleggan
It was nothing like before,
As I walked alone, deep in thought
Through that creaking, iron studded door.
The brooding church enveloped me
In its musty, dusty gloom,
I crossed to the leathern visitors book
In the cold and dark ecclesiastical tomb.
Our names still there, excitedly etched
Over many turned, mellowed page,
Like Tristan and Isolde of legend
We were the doomed of the new age.
It'd been here, in this haunted church
Deep in Cornwall's portentous moor,
When one was we, in a lovers mist
Serenaded by the hooded jackdaw.
She'd stood just there at rusty gate
Shivering with cold and fear,
Amongst lichened grave and gravel path
Seeing her still, my eye holds off a tear.
I once again peered up the broken tower
Where the reverend breathed his last,
Then heard the cry of a love I'd had
Her beautiful eyes twinkle from the past.
I'd wandered among the dead
Where escalibur lay in Dozmary pool,
Tasted the pasties in Jamaica Inn
Reminiscing like a lovelorn fool.
Today, I will scale Camelot
And stare wistfully into the recent past
Remembering my own Queen Guinevere,
And the love that couldn't last.
My return to the church at Warleggan
Was how it was meant to be
It was once the life ahead of us
But, now it's just all about me.

Phil Hall.  June 2017

Copyright: Philthepoet61.blogspot.com

FREEDOM

I've not tasted freedom
For a few years past,
Sobriety and abstaining
I was tied to the mast.
I've lived in false hope
For a love out of reach,
The knife when it struck
A blow that would teach.
Trust minus the T
Of a heart turned to rust,
With love on sodden paper
Stamped into the dust.
All the lies, the deceit
Packaged in a snakes eye,
Then a wave of the finger
Hope sentenced to die.

Freedom appeared
On that portentous day,
Her words were parried, countered
Shackles loosened, she just flew away.
Standing there, as her words
Dripping with devil may care,
My eyes transmitted to the brain
A life laid bare.
A battle lost, flag tattered and bloody
Martin Luther, his words suddenly cast,
I smile alone, I've now won the war
"I'm free at last.... Free at last"
Fate is inexorable
I'd lost a penny, but found a pound,
This Englishman and his new love Mercedes
Will live again, just cruising around.
Freedom!!!

Phil Hall
Copyright: philthepoet@ blogspot.com

June 2017

A WARRIOR NO MORE

If a shield be lowered in battle
When anger and terror reigns,
A man must surely fall.
Behold, the sword lies upon the ground
Alone and afraid,
Death is all that awaits
Shadows in the shield wall.
A warrior no more.

Once, they talked of love and life
As they loved and lived
Holding hands upon the shore.
She of silken skin and raven tresses
And a butterflies innocence,
His heart was stolen by a goddess
A warrior no more.

Now with armour dulled
Blunted blade and scars burnt deep,
Tears flow from the core.
A sword stroke ended his life
On a day of portentous sky,
"Zethera Musa..... I love you'
He is a warrior no more.
A warrior no more.
No more.

Phil Hall. . April 2017

Copyright © philthepoet@blogspot.com

LIFE AND DEATH

I'm not scared of dying
Far from it,
As I'm more frightened of life,
It tests one's mettle
Like kissing a nettle
Or scratching your eye
With a knife.
Life can be a ball ache
A never ending fight,
Only reaching some finality
After years of drudgery
Toiling and banality
Death suddenly
Extinguishes the light.

Once lay in the ground
Or scattered in the breeze,
My space taken by another.
They'll breathe my spent air
Maybe sit on my old chair,
Though we didn't share
The same mother.
A conveyor of flesh
That grows, ages and rots
Like fruit from a gargantuan tree.
Every life and death
Exhales a last breath,
And so, do we go anywhere after?
Well, let's see.

Phil Hall October 2017
Copyright:Philthepoet61.blogspot.com
Picture: Crapart by Phil Hall 2017

PIG IN A FIELD

They say there's now't as queer as folk,
Scratch below the surface
And see what's revealed.
It's said that a pet is a reflection
Of the its owner,
Though I'll say nay lad
Not if they've a pig in a field.
Cat owners should be strung up
But it's keepers of dogs
That need a good slap,
Who on earth would be dragged
By a mutt on a lead
Then have to pick up their crap.
Iguanas,  tarantula,  chinchillas
And even rats and piranhas
Have all in a way appealed.,
But,  the person who wins my vote
Is the young lady in East Yorkshire
Who owns a pig in a field.

Phil Hall. December 2016
Copyright philthepoet.blogspot.com

ALWAYS

Although I cannot hear
You're always near,
Although I cannot see you
You're always dear.
My father, my hero, my dad
To think of you
I'm glad
Sometimes sad,
Always with me
The days we had.
You shaped me
Moulded we,
Made the family
To what we'd be
Our rock

Our oak tree.
Far off days
Memories
Of the old ways,
Respect and regard
Always,
My father
Until the end of days.
Thank you father
Thank you dad
I miss you.

Phil Hall.  February 2016
Copyright philthepoet61.blogspot.com