In the "Warwick Arms".
There's a girl wearing fake fur
of yesteryear's youth, weighing
out sexiness in the number
of beers she can afford.
How much oblivion
an unimaginative mind can take
is equal to the power of
a beached whale
drawing it's last breath.
The Russian wipes his moustache
turns around & smirks
that she's somewhat
under-dressed for the long winter.
Going to Japan.
Pink rain:
I could walk through it,
sweet-wrapped.
And the rice-blank past
would be ample weight in my hand.
Like that of roses, remembered.
In a Murakami bar,
octopi would reach out
& dangle questions.
As a thousand pair of eyes
ask me to give the lesson
no-one ever taught me.
That they alone know.
That only pink rain understands.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 2:57 PM UTC
In the "Warwick Arms".
There's a girl wearing fake fur
of yesteryear's youth, weighing
out sexiness in the number
of beers she can afford.
How much oblivion
an unimaginative mind can take
is equal to the power of
a beached whale
drawing it's last breath.
The Russian wipes his moustache
turns around & smirks
that she's somewhat
under-dressed for the long winter.
Going to Japan.
Pink rain:
I could walk through it,
sweet-wrapped.
And the rice-blank past
would be ample weight in my hand.
Like that of roses, remembered.
In a Murakami bar,
octopi would reach out
& dangle questions.
As a thousand pair of eyes
ask me to give the lesson
no-one ever taught me.
That they alone know.
That only pink rain understands.
' The Warwick Arms' is a pub near me....the poem is a sketch of the time a Russian friend of ours came to stay with us for a few days & how we went there for a drink..
by 'Pink rain' in the second poem I mean Cherry Blossom, for which Japan is famous...& by Murakami bar I guess I was thinking of Haruki Murakami, one of Japan's most famous novelists...
These are old poems from way back, written about four years ago...I never got to Japan & don't know if I'll ever go there now but who cares, at least I have a poem about it....
