(SR) I: The Return of the Rose
THE RETURN OF THE ROSE
You find no man at all intellectual who is willing to leave London. No sir. When a man is tired of London he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford
Dr Samuel Johnson
INITIATA
BENEVENUTO
THE SONNEVERSE
FROM MY…
KENT
LONDON
CAMDEN MARKET
NOW THAT I AM TWENTY FIVE
COMMUTER LOVE: PART 1
WHEN THE DOME WAS BUILT
POET’S CORNER
RAILRIDER
ARTISTRY OF LUST
COMMUTER LOVE: Part 2
——————–
INITIATA
This is a poem for the Facebook Age,
Verse slinging zeitgeist butterflies in nets,
Ultimate ‘selfie’ swept across the page,
A blog gone viral… want to read… then lets!
For Homer, it was proud Achilles’ wrath,
For Virgil, it was Aeneas exil’d,
These led brave Dante down th’infernal path,
That Milton, Gods & Mortals reconcil’d.
For Wordsworth, it was all a world within,
For Byron how a poet moves thro’ men,
Sithen, no proper epic ‘as there bin,
Until the day I pluck’d & preen’d my pen;
Encourag’d by that manna-blasted gang,
I cast myself amang &, spangling, sang…
*********
BENEVENUTO
…I am the Silver Rose & in these words confide;
‘Tis better to have lived than to have died,
& in these lives of highlights that we lead,
Preserve them in plush pots where poets pour their mead.
These are occasions ‘twyx two kindred minds,
Whose love of poesia absolute
Brings those to raptures, whom, in numbers finds
A marching drummer & a lilting lute.
To thee, I leave my sonnetries in trust,
Dear reader, as in these see me alive;
Tho’ most of them will join me in the dust,
I hope the better handful will survive,
For tho’ my soul in this no longer grows,
While we share this, still lives ‘The Silver Rose.’
*********
THE SONNEVERSE
Every stanza is a planet,
Every sonnet is a star,
Fourteen sonnets constellations make,
But brighter skies by far
Are galaxies of constellations,
Fourteen in each one,
Epic, stretching, metaverses,
& when one’s works are done,
The better host of sonnets choose,
Two sets of precious gems,
Where whispers from thy gypsy muse
Infuse like diadems,
Crowning the sonneteer who sings
Like Ceasar did to petty kings.
*********
FROM MY…
From My Mum: every single moment of my life
From My Dad; my assurity & love of sports
From Grandma; my kindness & my smiles
From Nicky; the longevity of true friendship
From Glenda; a love of, & a home in, Scotland
From Emily; a family, & her adoration
From Alan; the fact that bass guitars play me
From Shelley & Byron; Italy, then, now & forever
From Burnley; my wonderful football club
From Shakespeare; the need to create a folio
From Homer; the need to create three epic poems
From The Muses: my art & my meaning
From The Baron; a home to complete my work
From The Universe; signs thro’ which I’ll follow
*********
KENT
I’d enter’d England by the milky cliffs
Arise round Dover, from the shores of France
My ferry had traversed the Gallic trench
That Ceasar & the Conqueror once forc’d,
A thousand & a thousand years ago;
From thither Kentish garden golden grew,
Relique of Anglo-Saxon Andreadswald,
Peopl’d by leopard-leaping Eurostars,
The rugged gulls of Margate & Ramsgate,
Rochester castle, Canterbury’s charm –
Dwelling on Chaucer’s lucid charisma,
Working half-way twyx Aneirin & I –
& now, the River Medway, to the heart
Of England’s soul, where the old Thames doth flow!
*********
LONDON
So, this is London still, a dream has flash’d
Since first I fled here, some mad year long pass’d,
In every street the feet of destiny
Have stamp’d a mark’d upon its history,
How snowflake different each face appears,
BY ruddy river’s roll, are souls set free,
Or is this more a penitentiary,
No more great place than crocodiles have tears?
But knowing not the towers of Tashkent
Nor writing haiku thro’ a Nippon night
Sat underground, assuming new intent
To Waterloo, up into the sunlight,
I’ll make myself take roads unwalk’d before –
What tides shall break me forth? & to what shore?
*********
CAMDEN MARKET
Returning from foreign places been,
With many fine tales to tell thy friends,
Check out the crux of your music scene,
Go trawl yesteryear’s retroing trends.
Down hustle-bustle, store-lin’d road, vibes
Blare, blur as one – this southern Afflecks
Fun Mecca to London’s fashion tribes.
…Chick on the sixties stall smells of sex…
Rummaging scarves, suedes & velvet pants,
Pondering Ben Sherman shirt to choose,
She serves a geezer… I seize my chance
Along with new pair of cool, blue shoes…
At my worn-out Ellese’s funeral;
Soles gone to shoe heaven, the rest plopp’d in the canal.
*********
NOW THAT I AM TWENTY FIVE
Now the landlords shouted, “Sup up!” at some jam night down Camden,
Time has come for me to sum up some cool stuff which have done;
Well, I’ve have had mi share o’ ladies, & some of ’em together,
Play’d football round the counties proudly for mi Lancashire,
I have drunk the Dublin ferry, compos’d poesy midst Pompeii,
Trudged thro’ muddy Glastonbury off mi nut to see Brown play,
I have master’d Fare Evasion, troubadour’d thro’ all my crimes
(Except one ‘boitelle du vin’ they’ve reported in the Times),
I’ve watch’d Burnley win at Wembley, been a champion at chess,
Dodg’d the workplace prison mis’ry, sonneteering, free from stress,
I have written wicked albums, form’d a company of kings,
Chas’d Napoleon thro’ Belgium… these, & many other things,
For I’m flush with understanding what it means to be alive –
With a spirit so demanding now that I am Twenty-Five!
*********
COMMUTER LOVE: PART 1
Two singers fell in love upon a train
Before they shar’d a melody – erewhile
There is a hierarchy of soulmates –
Steep, stepp’d pyramids of impurities -,
The topmost is a plinth of perfection,
For Hugh & Lesley theirs’ a lower rung,
Tho’ rare, a hundred million to one,
When even best of lovers fatal flaw’d,
“This is my station…” “Perhaps…” “Yes?” “Perhaps
We could connect, meet again & reconvene
This wonderful distraction to our lives?”
‘She’s hesitated far too long,’ he thought,
But broke impending doom with a rapture;
“This is my station too, I’ll buy you lunch.”
*********
WHEN THE DOME WAS BUILT
At this stage of Mankind’s devolution,
We live in an age of air pollution,
Fat-cats & taxes, taxi fares, faxes,
Serial killers, silky leg waxes,
Condoms, modems, gimmicks, gadgets, gizmos,
Two rubber ducks & comic book heroes,
Football… rock & roll… catwalk… movie stars,
Recession, depression & wonder bras,
Four packs & prozac, pylon countryside,
Anarchist daughter, schoolboy suicide,
Just-add-water, slaughter of Mother Earth,
Demise of religion, pagan rebirth,
Not one inch left of this globe to explore,
The whole world itchin’ for its third World War!
*********
POET’S CORNER
Mine art asleep, yet… she dreams in beauty,
Paints tangible scenes to adorn the page,
Illuminous thoughts to milk this strange age
For mellowing souls, sing a song freely,
Whose notes of triumphant resplendency,
Shoot lumunous stars cross an opaque stage,
Rare spirits releas’d from a mortal cage,
I have a new song for thee, poetry!
In raptures receiving the sacred states
Of enlighten’d mind, its virtuous heart
& resurgent soul, I’ll follow the fates,
For tis a fine thing to live life as art,
To champion Renaissance, join the brave
Who sought this greatest glory of the grave.
*********
RAILRIDER
I hop on a train
little fuss
few passengers
watch me sit
a black woman
a young punk
old man twiddles his tash
& in a flash
the train sets off
planes wing over London
& as we reach Brixton
my brain
pretends to be elsewhere
dreaming of mysterious fancies
*********
ARTISTRY OF LUST
A girl I gave a line to caught me up,
“Fancy a smoke?”… that’s what I call karma –
She’s an artist… Poets & painters,
‘Boets & Bainters!’ said King George the First.
We catch taxis to Clapham, she cooks up chi,
Post-gig glow, smoking skunk in my kitchen,
She’s fit-as-fuck in an unkempt kinda way.
We chat about life & poetry & music,
Then asks me if I wanna do some art
& strips down naked – she must mean life drawing.
Elegant & energetic she was my kinda lady,
I start to sketch her tits, think what the hell
Am I drawin’ em for, & pleasantly suggested
A congress of the Tiger, the Cat or the Deer…
*********
COMMUTER LOVE: Part 2
She shivers in vain under the old clock tower;
Drizzle spate, lover late, fizzling date.
“The 17.17 from Dover Priory
Has been diverted via Bat & Ball…”
She walks, morbidly, into Unwins,
Buys a bottle of cheap red Chianti
To take home to its depressing glass;
Tonight she’ll romance Albert Square
& a fisherman’s pie from Tescos –
Laced with white-hot jalapenos.
The EUREKA knock at the door
& Hugh stands there, slick-flicks wet hair,
& says, “Sorry, Leslie, I’ve had a total nightmare!”
“Drive next time,” she says, kissing him prodigously.
Mumble Words 