Once more, I am thinking about writing -
coils are uncoiling,
snakes study the intricate anatomy
of legs and next steps.
My audience of one
must be propped up as if yet still alive,
geriatric words must be given their shots.
I can tell it's going to be a performance,
the poem is even now going off script.
It babbles; the entire cast of 'Hamilton'
has just walked out in protest.
Only Prokofiev and his 3rd piano concerto
can save me now, his notes are jungle drums
for the hard of hearing,
however, the write is not a musical
or a concert. It's, it's err...
Anyway, it is almost teatime.
Already the critiques
are sharpening their pencils.
I pull apart my white fancy actors' shirt,
buttons pop exposing the telltale signs
of recent romantic heart surgery.
Now an overwrought muse is yelling in my ear.
Dammit,
I simply cannot write another thing
under these circumstances.
I box up the coiling snakes,
exit left.
The jungle drums have throbbed in Neasden
The message has swiftly spread about
So if you’re travelling around the area
Its suggested you carefully watch out
For the call has been answered
The length and breadth of our fair land
Certain heroes not been found reticent
Back here at the nation’s command
It started with just our Lawrence
But his example aroused so many more
Now in the back streets of Neasden
Camps our own elite camel corps
The camel’s throaty braying
Out sounds morning cocks
And the borough has no need now
For any morning alarm clocks
They are dedicated veterans
Fierce warriors to a man
All there craving for action
Since this campaign began
It’s a sight of heart stopping beauty
A hundred and thirty camels smart and neat
All drawn up in parade order
Down the whole length of our street
The nation owes it all to Lawrence
Who without any idle flaunting
Knew just where his duty lay
And was not found wanting
The jungle drums have throbbed in Neasden
The message has swiftly spread about
So if you’re travelling around the area
Its suggested you carefully watch out
In the pitch black night
The forest, an orchestra
A jungle drum beats
Like a strong heart beat, sends out a warning signal
The natives are restless, they know that danger is near
Mothers grab the little ones as they play
Fear fills every bone in their bodies from the call
Every eye watches, if he should appear
Slowly and quietly, he stalks his prey
With spears in hand, the village guards are tense
He is invisible, but they know that he is out there
They pray that the drums will drive him away
Sometimes that is their best defense
The hungry eyes of the Lion looks everywhere
For the weakest one he will slay
The Sun is like a furnace, the breeze is still
Monkeys swing from vine to vine, the birds sing
Jungle animals play in the river water
Slowly and determined the lion moves in on his kill
With lighting speed and a single leap, he has the poor thing
Scared animals flea, the river run bloody water
Another page has turned in the jungle book, life goes on
The lion is full, return to the ocean of tall grass
The villagers rejoice, that they were not his prey
Will he return at another dawn?
They will continue to look for his movement in the tall grass
Tomorrow, what will the jungle drums have to say?
Like
Broken thumbs
on jungle drums
the mind benumbs in time,
incessant beat
beneath the sheets
of pouring rain aligns
the monsoon with the swelling pain
of never going home again
I feel the rhythm in my brain
I'm soon to lose my mind
The cargo floats
on past the docks,
the vessel takes a thousand shocks,
the universe around us rocks,
we're waiting for a sign.
Some transient message
in the air,
some sanctifying that you care,
we've taken all that we can bear,
It's not that faith is blind,
It's just this everlasting night,
is filled with horrors
burning bright,
our hearts can't take another fright
or hope is left behind.
reach out a hand and help a friend,
out of the dark ,
where we have been,
it's been a year
since I fell in,
the choice therefore..............
is thine.
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