(Pt.ll ) CABBAGE ROOM.
SITTING in this too warm room on a rainy afternoon
Stareing up through the cold wet window,
Feeling traped inside forever.
Lying on the splintered floor,
Glareing at the bolted door
Playing games of war, trying to kill
The rubble of reality.
Locked into this dusty cabbage room,
With only the sound of weather for company.
I want to play in the broken bricks,
Let my knees grow scabby, my elbows nicked
Dirty face and dripping wound left wanting,
For lack of love.
Yes ,I was a boy then; small and grubby,
But I ran with the English gang,
I had no time for girls,
And blind Bert feared to venture out
When war time urchins strode about.
My earliest memories rise unbidden.
Unwanted from their hidey holes
Deep within the bombed out craters.
Now I have no time for morrow.
Now there is no space for sorrow.
Dank dark, grey old city,
Full of November breath.
Bareing of the old at years death.
Who said that rain is beautifull?
Who told us wet streets are clean?
Yesterdays unheeded headlines lie,
In the gutters.Unneeded by a gluted people.
The Mirror reflects in the marbled puddles,
All the follies and and losses of the forties.
Lost when they threw away the old church steeple.
Too late now to throw stones.
At the water rippled targets on the Old Kent Road.
All my musings gather like ducks at the puddle pond,
As we stop ;dead, on the elevanth of November.
The very air is still and silent,
Even stray street dogs stop their markings
To pay respect to the unforgetable,
Fields of Flanders.
Where ever they may be ?
Nanny peels the fat from the potatoes
While Herbert coughs his Woodbine life
Away in a dank back bedroom.
I wait to wait for Coranation St.
To become my new reality.
Locked inside this fetid cole room,
With only cain for company.
Eating dripping bread
From last sabbaths foul food.
The wireless wails mournfull British doom at me.
As the empire withers around us.
And Ohh the damp !!!
Who said that rains clear?
Who said wet streets are beautifull ??
Part III
LIMBO
In this Limbo I inhabit, every thing is tinged in gray.
I search to feel the light anywhere in the caverns of choas.
Wandering between the night and day,
My stars have been eclipsed
And the shadows are omnipresent.
Even though I know and understand,
The movement of Bodies
With their resultant ebb and flow of emotions,
It does not aliviate the fear that comes from
The absolute coldness of empty space.
Condencing facts from the vapors of nuance.
Words of wisdom bring me warmth,
And from their sparkling embers
I can calculate the distance between them.
I extrapolate the longitude of hope,
And bring it into focus.
I dissern the latitude of youthfull folly,
And step
off
the
cliff.
In the begining there were the words
Words that were like rocks,
Lying heavy on my tounge.
Weighed down with meaning
Before density was discovered orrequired.
They were sharp edged and cutting,
And I tasted Iron in my mouth.
Spitting meteors of meter,
Ruined auguries creating a mosaic pattern
Of the future as they fall afoul of hot temper.
Obsidian black and flint flaked
Out of the caves of ignorance.
Granit vained hatred,
Rebounding off the Limey stoned walls.
Chopping and disecting the bodies and souls
In a bloodless butchery.
The Cronostic sand runs out in Vulcans forge
And a timeless wind chills my soul anew,
As my life leaks out in Limbo.
I light another cigerate and draw corrosion into my lungs
And then I see the children walking hand in hand.
They pass through the shadows of the tree
On which my hopes were hung.
Protected by their innocents from the evils of the land.
Smoking is not good for the soul,
But satisfies a burning desire of the body.
I spit phlegm deep into the mushy marsh
And strike a rotting log.
All around me the croaking of death.
Where once the fairy and the frog
Danced on water lillies and ate their fill,
Now only used condoms companioned by a Huggie
Floating on an oily sea.
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