"bedsits" poems
How hard it is to breath when streetlights flicker across the faces of brick houses
and how lucky you must be to sleep below the stars, a new patch every eve
To the girl with high heels clacking on paving slabs, remorseful ears hear all
and with a shimmering bow in your hair the birds do sing in distant trees
- a song of you
What sort of feelings are these, when hedgerow heroics are ignored
and the tin can roofs in some shanty town are rusted, with babies sleeping below
The man with lackadaisical swinging arms is singing to the fruit bats, nighttime solitude
and disabled on his scooter, the obese man sells basketballs at cut prices to teens in tracksuits
- a deal for two
When hydrogen gambling men in suits blow holes in the world and sit back laughing
and when brown eyed rebels sing Allah hu akbar in mountainside dole drum, cavernous bedsits
The seas of some eternal land will rise with cleansing attributes to wash away the ******
and intoxicating blues men sing ballads of the end, with delectable imperatives, scorned by it all
- I will think of you
Oct 9, 2013
Oct 9, 2013 at 10:42 AM UTC
In my cage
There are forests and jungles
I fly above electricity cables
And sit on mountain peaks
Yet a cage
is a cage
is a cage
These eyes soak in trapped people
But the mind will never forget
Paradise awaits with
Freedom not bound
By coins that stack to the sky
Following the sun
Traipsing after it from country to island
Dying to soak in its light
Drab bedsits
Mundane days
Months
And before you know it
Years gone by
Mouldy rugs and numb fingers
They watch their breath cloud the air
Wistfully sigh and stroke patterns in
Condensed windows
Rusty metal
Squelchy mud
In a world of wants
Look what happens to
He who laughs a moment
Is accompanied with shadowing grief
He breaks the ocean in half
To be met
In a place where no one wants him
The temporary dwellers are
Reluctant to trust what the world has to offer
Come morning they must leave
In the end we will all leave
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 5:28 PM UTC