Abroad-Thoughts, From Home


I want to be abroad again,
Escape the earnest everyday,
Enjoy the drains, the traffic signs,
The maps, the shops, be blinded by
The cheapest jewellery on the tray.

 I'd like to be a stranger here,
Feel strange and urgent, conscious of
My every step on clever streets
So far from the complacency
Of kerb to step to key to knob.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

World's End

Waiting at the border, it becomes clear: She stands at the edge of the flat earth, The world of her dead father's country behind her, Free fall fate ahead. Surrendering herself To this unknown, she can relent a little, fill her lungs, Feel looked after by the blindness to come. She blinks and, scanning rifled men's tired eyes, Knows everything at once. Knees still lock And seize after months in the smallest nooks; Realisations pepper her now As relief gives way to pain. Forcing a smile at the guards, she curses This brink that lets her see and feel herself again. '...they know I know, they know I know...' plays over in her head And she trips slowly into warm space.
Read more

Sick

When the city breathes you hold your breath. The fog will penetrate your lungs And eat away until there's nothing left. From a garden wall a song is sung. It hovers over lonely souls And wrestles with the pylons' leaden hum. At the traffic lights the notion grows That nothing can hold back the death And everything we knew was predisposed. As she takes her pulse her senses numb. The mask and gloves melt into one And fuse into a new protective flesh.  With the sirens on they feel at rest. There's just a hundred metres left But this is not the way their story goes. Why the city stopped we still don't know. They say it tired of everything And simply couldn't face another day.
Read more

Two Photographs of the Same Poet, Years Apart

While I was busy growing up you were busy getting old, altered from handsome dark-haired party Prof to this sombre grey-bearded power fixing me from the back cover. My turn now to watch things move that should be staying put, look at the young being young, refreshed by long nights in the elements. There's one good thing in all of this: my words resemble theirs but have more weight, the strength to haul and hoist them renewed. Ah yes, the wisdom versus youth debate, and I'd broker both though process perseveres amid the jokes. So there you are smiling, relaxed with glass in hand - all those unborn words - and here, everything bursting out through the eyes.
Read more