Tarnished tombstone tower blocks
Stand stark against the sky,
Tags tattooed on cold grey walls
Invasive to the eye;
A weed-grown, worn-down walkway
To a door directs my feet,
A segue into squalor
Yet better than the street.
A corridor, unclean, unlit
Bin bags of refuse rot,
A lift long lavatorial
It works less oft than not.
Fourteen flights of stained stone steps
One less than fragrant lift,
Sweeter far the stairs may be
Sweeter's far less swift.
Flat 14F, my humble home
Yet still the best I've known,
Uninviting to the eye
The space within my own.
On life's loves and luxuries
My "social" is seldom spent,
No take-aways, no "X-box" games
On basics my cheques went.
Above the window in the lounge
A lingering damp patch lurks,
Duct tape is no solution but
As camouflage it works.
Cheap emulsion hides the tape
They both hide cracks as well,
As home it's far from heaven
Yet better far than hell.
Still I keep my kitchen kempt
My toilet's tired but clean,
My lot in life may lay me low
I won't myself demean.
At times my spirit's as rundown as
These tombstone tower blocks,
No mansion "mon maison" may be
Yet better than a box.
.
.
copyright DM Pamment 12th January 2012
Comments
Stan | January 12, 2012 - 16:18
I like the balancing between the squalor, but all the time the acknowledging that there's a lot worse.
'A segue into squalor' is such a good line - but that's one of many.
I lived in a 15-storey tower block like this for a few years, in South London. I always used to look at them all and think it looked like a giant graveyard, too.
You've captured the whole feeling of it there. Good poem.
Blessing | January 12, 2012 - 17:21
It's the type of poem that I'd like to capture in a time capsule so that in time others will know more about the diversity of how other people daily struggle - not just honky dory Jack's alright stuff. I liked the balancing of personal dignity against a vertical concrete jungle of squalor. Let's face it, Dickens wrote stories that looked under the carpet coexistant life. Well done.
kheldar | January 12, 2012 - 19:33
Thank you Stan the Man and Blessing for reading, commenting and enjoying. The idea of the tower blocks as tombstones was what started me on this poem but the balancing that you allude too soon took over as the central theme. I am particularly pleased that you recognised, and indeed liked, that idea.
Thank you both again,
Kheldar
P.S. and thank you to the Cherry Picking Robot too!
MistakenMagic | January 13, 2012 - 12:29
"No mansion "mon maison" may be
Yet better than a box."
- love the last lines, David. This poem has real soul, even if it may be about a somewhat soulless place! Well done on the cherries ;-)
Magic xxx
kheldar | January 13, 2012 - 19:08
Thanks so much for your supportive feedback Rebecca, as ever it means a lot.
:--) xxx