The first piece that I have written in months. I hope it is ok!
Previous Version
This is a previous version of Messrs Jenkins and Jones.
No sorry I do not follow,
“Surely you must?
Surely you should have heard?”
No I’m sorry but that is just not true.
God,
You say so little,
Yet you speak so much!
Chitter, chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter,
Fool!
For once I shall beg –
Sit there, say nothing.
That’s right sitting pretty!
“Silently?”
Good God, yes!
I shall read my sports page-
You can look antique.
...........
I have heard nothing,
I shall always know nothing,
I shall remain the fool.
..........
“Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favour fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.”
As a little boy-
I would build a vantage point,
With antique jewellery, marble gates,
Church graveyards, minarets,
Coffee cups, broken saucers,
Odds ends, sand castles
And castanets.
¬¬¬Yet I have seen nothing.
Lord I know nothing but,
The sun rises and the sun sets.
Between that moment and its realisation-
I sleep as one of the stuffed men.
I shall lick my wounds-
The red badge of courage adorned upon my breast.
“Heavenly father,
Welcome me to eternal rest-
This is the way my world ends-
Neither in fire or in ice.
And despite all that I have tasted and desired,
It won’t end with a bang upon the wave of a whimper
........
Heavenly father,
Take me I am yours,
But I have been buried already,
Amongst sand and fallen minarets.
“One of the stuffed men,
One of the hollow men,”
Above all one of the unlucky men-
Alone.”
(It has been said of us before-
But this is indeed the generation who look away-
Living in the decade of no looking back.
It is better that we know nothing and say nothing.)
Do you remember?
We were vulgar.
Little children we were vulgar,
Bathed in moonlight,
Your beautiful face-
So ugly with stars pockmarked
Across your skin.
You sang for me,
“Hark hark the dogs,
Do bark. The beggars are coming to town,
Some in rags and some in jags,
And one in a velvet gown.”
But let us not gesticulate any longer.
Of course you are still a pretty little girl.
Face framed in soft red curls.
But you aren’t the little girl I once knew.
Perhaps.....
“Of course I have doffed my cap,
To a host of rich men’s follies,
Come a girl has to eat.”
But where was I?
“And a girl must have a roof over her head.
So what if I gave a little pleasure?
It was only for money after all...
Being pretty does help-
I can still look in the mirror.
Don’t tell me I had, “ways out,”
Where were you?”
Looking away I would hazard at a guess.
“You refuse to see-
Yet it is happening before you!
This is the real world.”
..............
I have heard nothing.
I know nothing.
I remain the fool.
.............
The wind targets the bridges and the trees-
The rain targets the houses and the streets-
This shall be the way our empire falters.......
“I am looking away.”
(Jack and Jill went up the hill...
Jack fell down...
And Jill came tumbling after.)
I will admit-
I have dragged myself by
Upon your coat tails.
You left me with broken images that
I have turned into pockets-
Full of dust.
Don’t fear!
I tried to piece them together
It was however to be frank with you,
Impossible!
............
In memorandum!
“Didn’t you hear?
Don’t you care?
Regulus lost his son
And his son lost a father before him!
Mrs Jenkins and Mrs Jones ran away together,
Leaving Messrs Jenkins and Jones-
To their own devices.”
Silence please!
“But don’t you care?”
Enough please sit
Look antique!
Repeat after me-
“I have heard nothing,
I shall know nothing,
I will always remain the fool.”
“Heavenly father,
Welcome me to eternal rest.
My world ends-
Neither in fire or ice.
And despite all that I have tasted and desired,
It won’t end with a bang upon the wave of a whimper.”
^ Lovely.
Your writing is satire, which keeps someone such as myself very interested. I feel as though I could never walk this poetic road with you, that I can only watch, which I also enjoy. Writing poetry must be done for the self, for it's emotion to be translated correctly. I love your honesty and your willingness to stand not outside the box but directly ontop of it so it knows, you are no longer inside and refuse to forget whence you came.
wow! wow! wow! This is a great piece of art. It hold me true to the last second. Some of the verses are just amazing. I could only hope to write like this. Keep on writing for you have true talent. very very very good job!
“Heavenly father,
Welcome me to eternal rest.
My world ends-
Neither in fire or ice.
And despite all that I have tasted and desired,
It won’t end with a bang upon the wave of a whimper.”
^ Lovely.
Your writing is satire, which keeps someone such as myself very interested. I feel as though I could never walk this poetic road with you, that I can only watch, which I also enjoy. Writing poetry must be done for the self, for it's emotion to be translated correctly. I love your honesty and your willingness to stand not outside the box but directly ontop of it so it knows, you are no longer inside and refuse to forget whence you came.
Woah! So like this is esquiste(i tink dats how u spell it srry if i am wrong)
its very moving and very insperational i like it A LOT like seriously its awesome i mean there is no right word to descibe perfect but this is the closest poem to perfect i have seen I LOVE IT!!!!!!
luv ya
luv it A LOT
abbie
I love this. I like the brevity of the lines, it really helps convey the natural language you write in. I always appreciate that much more than long flowery lines about nothing. Maybe, shortening it a bit could help, just don't compromise what you're writing so it has more popular appeal. Your writing has that no matter the length. Great Stuff : )
I read this piece through twice I see sections topped by brilliant thought and others fill the difference.Yet I see something grand in you .I would say cut it shorter to the point and leave out the stuff that doesn't really gel.Only use the genius work throw the rest aside .It makes for a more coherent thought and point .You are touched by a magic i have felt a time or two myself now learn to control it
tate
i agree with sahar.... your writing style is pretty unique... and that's what makes your poetry worth reading... this was full of so many emotions... and the way you wrote , helps readers to connect with it... good read...
your style of writing,its queer,sad and unique,catchy i would say,little pieces so witty,it is as if you drag the reader into another world,short phrases,small worlds in them,its like sparkling bits of sand,so descriptive,i loved the use of refrences and the acrid bitterness,the ice and the snow,one of the very best was the collection part [as a little boy],it had a great deal of sarcastic touch to it,a bit of your heroes too,as you pictured the hectic rottenness of life,the pedagogy one creeps into,the loss of innocence in the epochs of time,comparing it with the end of time,the last ''i have heard nothing,i shall know nothing,i will always remain the fool''reminds me of an Arabic Quranic verse''they cannot hear,they cant speak,their hearts are branded''i loved it,its pure meditation,i would read it again,dont know whether i will get it,,,
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