Arcady

Feelings.

Despise, despise the crampings

And the madness of my youth

I'm trying hard to realise

I'm trying to talk of truth

But this is all so foreign to me

I never speak and think

I'm dying for a drink I say

Or the juice of the poppy

I'm trying to gulp a cup of tea

I'm trying to read the Telegraph

 

I'm trying not to understand

But to feel what I should be

 

They'll think I'm schizophrenic mad

(Of all the things I could be)

To presume that old Tom Eliot wrote

Of Verity and me

Of me and my friend Verity

And the struggle to be free

 

But who the damn hell gives a damn

A daming damnation, you

What could you possibly realise?

What images do you visualise?

Sir, I'm only trying to make it

Through to half past three

 

And then I'll interview myself

With a greater clarity

 

I'll say: so Sam, so Sam, old sport

What don't you understand?

There's nothing left to die for

'Cept a whispering, off hand

Don't you wish you were in Arcady

And not in Eng-er-land?

 

I wish I was an actor

On the way to a trap and stage

Then there'd be finality

Not musings on reality

And some time when I could remove the mask

And say, now I'm showing you

Me

Reviews

[Freder Fredersen (aka G..]

The struggles of a true poet are heavy. But those times when the mask is removed and the truth is told are golden.

Love it!

Cheers!
G