The Beat Goes On

Gold cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Sun, 01 Mar 2015
  • 10813 reads
32 comments
 
Durham Buildings reeks
of spliff, of fish and chips
and oysters, spaghetti
and semen, reefers and roses –
Yamahas – run on ether. 
 
Two doors down,
the Pattersons
are at it again
hammer and tongs.
 
Their brat, likewise,
banging away - he
on his new drum-kit, 
nearly busts a gut
to drown them out.  
 
Not forgetting, how could I,
the new kids on the block?
Romeo with his Juliet...
twenty-first century style...
 
a washing line...
his socks and her smalls
adorn their balcony
but it doesn't dampen
their ardour...
 
a sort of tempo rubato,
a variation on a theme,
as cornices quake
and breeze blocks jive.
 
Piss-ridden stairwells resound
to a sweet discordant euphony
of climactic ecstasies. 
 
The squeak and the scrape 
of bedsteads, decimates 
distempered walls, 
annihilates Artexed ceilings; 
cracks concrete floors.
 
Shagged out – so we lie back
on satin sheets; watch
as neon signs melt
into the moonlight...  
 
whilst raindrops on the skylight
freak out in six-eight time 
to the unstoppable,
incomparable. 
rhapsody of life.
 
Certificate 15
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Inspiration Point (work that responds to our weekly writing cue)

Comments

Submitted by hilary west on

This is a great one, SSS. Much enjoyed with its sense of reality and beauty too. It's gone golden too !

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Thanks, hilary, and yes it hassmiley

SSS

 

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