In another room
An age away
Rips the night apart
We curl a tune
A line of thought
Limping like a broken dream
To drown, face down
In our puddles of beer and tea
Washed ashore in perpetuity
on our islands of cakes
In those valleys of skunks
Through a portent,
Diverse from ours, away,
Reaps the rewards of climbing the stars
Of sacrifices moody and unwholesome
Compromising breath of the soul itself,
Each in reward for renown
For compensation so vast and improbable that
merely reaching the heart of others,
Has immeasurably enhanced
The quality as well as status
Each of us – in this other world – enjoy.
Some blurred echo of those thoughts
Retain a tenuous grip in the
Blank planes of
My particular memories.
Forging bearable apology
For having squandered
And exhausted such energy.
accompanies the blissful trite –
expressionless bile –
that is here present.
Along the way
the slag of a light known as day
(though it’s furthest away
from his mind)
lazily, calling for soulless repent
from a murkier past:
There, our municipal pit
All thoughts and feelings enter
is full, brimming
with nameless creations!
No claimers and nobody looks for,
or asks for, their namers –
till they’re called from the nights.
This bubbling hubbub of babies and boobies
This packed rack of scooters, of trikes and of buggies
Steaming hot flat-whites and freezing cold smoothies
And tapas treats, chocolate sweets, all kinds of lovelies.
Here where the roads cross, facing the old cross
Where crosswords fill time or just buoy the headline’s dross
Where pizza gets eaten by Saturday dads
Where Friday lunch mums dish the news good and sad.
This raucous in calm, our oasis of mania
Awaits you in plain sight down Beckenham high street
The pit at the back for your kids to go batty in
Entices the spectrum of lively South London in.