High over Fitzrovia
a helicopter sings
for men who insist that
war is obsolete
and the world three
quarters red.
Beneath a dark brood
we who have nothing
have nothing to lose
Black-cab vibrates,
lips roused against yours.
Nakedness plunges
the bar-room’s a hot geyser
intimacy of ethanol
in clinical disarray.
I can’t sign for credit or
drink from an ice-luge
my body made a promise
it can’t afford to keep.
I feel with my fingers
this silkiest of nights
will always be thirsty
but never runs dry.
Somewhere out there
I’ve a home in the city
a table, a staircase,
a rent-book and you.
Comments
john_silver | October 9, 2008 - 12:44
There's some absolutely gorgeous turns of phrase in this and the last stanza is extraordinarily synthetic. The rest of the poem occasionally lacks some sense of direction, and the phrase "at the brink of desperation" grates terribly with the originality and generally more subdued / less lamenting tone of the rest. Other than that this is a remarkable piece of work.
...so much so, in fact, that if you've got nothing against it I'd like to lift the phrase "Somewhere out there / I've a home in the city" to build a poem of my own around it (with some modifications). :P Let me know by private message if you don't answer here within the next two days.
Great job. Ciao,
- JS.
poetjude | October 9, 2008 - 14:22
Thanks for the crit. I have removed '"at the brink of desperation" ' as I think you are right. It needs some more work on it.
Help yourself to the phrase... you are very welcome to it!
jude
luigi_pagano | October 10, 2008 - 10:55
Absolutely brilliant. This is the kind of poem I wish I had written. It grabbed my attention with the opening stanza which I find superb. Saying well done seems too understated but I can't find the right superlative.
Bradene | October 11, 2008 - 16:25
A great poem agree with all above, especially Luigi about the 1st stanza. Val