Carl Halling

Soon after I’d paid
My sixty
Or seventy pence,
I found myself

I love, not just those
I knew back then,
But those
Who were young

‘Temper your enthusiasm,’
She said,
‘The extremes of your reactions;
You should have

The Infamous Myth
I was once in thrall to the infamous myth
Of the artiste souffrant

My Paris begins with
Those early days
As a conscious flâneur;
I recall the couple

my life story
is littered;
with the ghosts;
of golden;

Yesterday for my birthday,
I started off
with a bottle of wine...
I took the train

I was in a tawdry bar,
Or public house,
Being threatened,
For something I’d done.

I remember the grey slithers of rain,
The jocular driver,
As I boarded the bus
At Temple Meads,

This place is always a little lonely
At the noise and life;
I like solitude,
But not in places

Perhaps she lives
In our dreams alone,
She whose face is
Illumined

Stevie, we were free,
Stevie, you and me,
On that golden day,
Was it ’68?

One day, I’d like to go
In search of my past,;
Of the memories;

I knew you when you were a child,
I don’t recall you,
Although I tried

I feel a deep, deep sorrow,
As life nears its final page,
The hard times that come with age,
It’s enough to make a good man rage,

Kind faces smiling,
Nodding politely at words
They don’t seem to understand

You told me that your name was Maria,
And that you came
From the Netherlands,
But you looked more like a Latina,

Dear one, what did you say?
A dining hall, a distant day,
It seems it was time;
For goodbye

One summer’s eve in Spain,
I fled through an open window,
Butterflies aflight
In the very pit of me,

Yes, I regret
The scornful dissipation
Of my salad days
When I was strong,

I go back,
Though sometimes it’s filled with pain,
I go back,
’Cos nothing will be the same,’

It’s happening again,
Such unbearable pain,
And if my soul is crying
As my heart is breaking, then that’s fine…

As a young man,
I was always obsessed
By melancholy.
I saw deep sadness