Tag Archives: Christy Hall

Hampstead

Northern line, leafy-sub – Hampstead; the station here has lifts, a moment, not even that, during which I might have hooked a finger through your loose jean loop, or pulled a face or two. Then to blow your baby hair, … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Oregon Bonfires

An Oregon bonfire    feels like no other when it’s down on the beach    in the dark.    Stillness to the air, like the redwood forests further south. Back there, at the border:    grazing elk groups, poles-totemed, busts of bigfoot. The Sequoia … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment

Departures

Soon enough, in a matter of days, you will be gone. Everything about everything that has happened between us has built up to this – these last days. For now, I can feel you moving through the same streets that … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | 2 Comments

Checkpoints are Toll Bridges

Checkpoints are toll bridges, underpasses are points of reference and pillars of memory; played out over the soundtrack of pop/rock on a clapped-out tape deck. Street signs, miles and miles, are nostalgic; place-names as ex-girlfriends, flash past: Lincoln, Peterborough, Cambridge, … Continue reading

Posted in Poetry | Tagged | Leave a comment