Peter Hall Jul 21

Fish 'n' chips on the Clyde
Fish 'n' chips on the side
Fish 'n' chips with too much salt
Fish 'n' chips and watching boats
Fish 'n' chips and sunny clouds
Fish 'n' chips and funny crowds
Fish 'n' chips and ugly dogs
Fish 'n' chips without the smog
Fish 'n' chips and coffee cold
Fish 'n' chips where ice cream sold
Fish 'n' chips where joggers sweat
Fish 'n' chips on wet park bench
Fish 'n' chips where sea gulls swoop
Fish 'n' chips where sea gulls poop
Fish 'n' chips with nip on the nose
Fish 'n' chips with nip on the toes
Fish 'n' chips is rubbish food, but
Fish 'n' chips taste so good
Fish 'n' chips and mountain sides
Fish 'n' chips on the Clyde !.

Sometimes, poetry is meant to be heard and not read...

The Clyde is the Clyde river in Western Scotland
Peter Hall Jul 21

The first sun shines at half past four
The red dirt makes a grass-less floor
This is a life of unique brand
For him they call "the Kimberley man".

The fans are never cool enough
On leathered skin built Kimberley tough
But how do you tell the tourist fleet
You never get used to Kimberley heat.

But there's a thinking that takes it slow
In rhythm with Ord River's flow
There's more to life than comfort and money
Like fishing for Barra without the hurry.

Albino gekko's' eat the flys
While the blue tailed kooka's laughs and crys
Crocs and dragons and wallabies too
Live with the Owl who gives two hoots.

The Kimberley man is silently proud
Like a Kimberley king with a Kimberley crown
Of views a virtuoso would say
Is fit for a concert that he would play.

Wet season build up is only released
By cracking black clouds that sets you free
From humid sighs in front of the fan
And the unsaid life of the Kimberley man.

My son lives in the Kimberley in the outback of Australia...a true Kimberley man
Peter Hall Jul 21

People walking down town on Life Street
With apple earphones in their ears,
Blocking out the noise of the traffic
Contemplating dealing with their fears,
They look for bling while window shopping
To brighten up the mask they made themselves
Trying to fill empty lives with something
But there's nothing on the shelves.

How long before they will realize
That road has nothing in their stores,
Nothing that will give the satisfaction
To take away the reason they're bored,
The things that they thought would be so exciting
Has made them see that they have learnt,
The only thing Life street has to offer
Was the law of diminishing returns.


But they just keep on window shopping
Even though they know it is absurd,
Because that's the way the ants keep on creeping
And they want to keep up with the herd,
So they learn to enjoy the numbing boredom
Because they know nothing else,
While hoping something just appears
Around the corner on the next shelf.

But there will always be another fashion
That will tickle boredom's itch,
And give them strength to keep on walking
While keeping fashion houses rich,
But changing wives and cars and horses
Or wishing they were thin or tall,
Will just defer the problem
That they are just plain bored.

Peter Hall Jul 21

A soldier of the cross
Knows the fiery darts
That try to cut through truth
To wound the softened heart,
The breastplate does its job
Protecting bloodied faith
Paid for by the One
Who loves to keep it safe.

A soldier of the cross
Holds up steely shields
Protecting the whole body
The Holy Spirit seals,
From enemy attack
And what the scoundrel shoots:
Accusing, constant lies
Without an ounce of truth.

A soldier of the cross
Hardness often endures
Draws from Who's within
To rest and feel secure,
For the Captain of the Army
Is powerful and wise
To use the enemy's war
For a soldier's good and right.

A soldier of the cross
Exhibits bodily marks
Resembling the same
As the murdered Christ,
The wounds become a badge
Never hidden in a drawer
He might lose a few battles
But will never lose the war.

Peter Hall Jul 21

Lipstick smears on her centre piece
That was botoxed till it's a crime
It's time for the Friday night ritual
To make it past closing time.

There's no way to beat the boredom
The emotion instructs the mind
Unless you keep the tradition
To play way past closing time.

Though she thinks she is hot
The size of her dress belies
The cold that is hers outside
Way past the closing time.

She loves the super attention
But knows it's a deep as their eye
But she takes it while it's on offer
Hopes it lasts until closing time.

Her subjects begin to leave
Bellies full of alcohol slime
Emptiness begins to fill her
Cos she knows that it's closing time.

The taxi ride home seems a blur
As the keys let her stagger inside
So she can do it again
That's the promise of closing time.

Peter Hall Jul 21

I am the snow
I come and go
With a melted soul
I make rivers flow.

I am the storm
I'm cold and warm
I quickly change form
So I can transform.

I am the sea
I am the deep
I'm life underneath
So I am carefree.

I am the sun
Never outdone
Clouds cannot shun
What I have begun.

I am the rain
Droughts never gain
I feed food chains
I don't stay in drains.

I am the clouds
Constant sky shrouds
Love being in a crowd
Black & white proud.

I'm what is seen
The Mother Earth queen
A spiritual cuisine
Can you see what I mean ?.

Peter Hall Jul 21

Line upon line
Faith upon faith
We are transformed
Grace upon grace.

By faith and patience
We inherit
Promises given
Gradually cherished.

First the seed
Then the stem
His Word & Spirit
Fills the head.

Transformation
A slowish burn
From the Seed
And soiled turned.

Mark 4:28 "For the earth yields crops by itself: first the blade, then the head, after that the full grain in the head"
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