In this dirty old city that never sleeps at all
West End walking looking 'round for thrills
West End talking meeting all the girls
lights come up as the sun sinks under
East End spending money comes and goes
East End bending breaking all the rules
bright lights blaze on the avenues
dark alley doings going on too
back streets side streets circus or square
striptease sordid Soho sleaze
trains in the underground resound in the air
don't get me wrong like the river life rolls on
opportunities are there ~ there for the taking
never mind another grey rainy day
possibilities are there ~ there for the making
you can't win unless you make your play
London town never lets me down
Tulip became orchid upon death,
As false as sordid love I held.
At his readiness, medley reduced to romance
Pure patched with strategy, pony Rosinanthe
Slick sleuth rotund from a thousand tutorials
Ideality frisked into quixotic filly deplorable
Avid lover Danton handles haggard hill driven
Hoof throb corruption chorales sin's provision
Ever after mantra mashed into lurid intervals
Putrid piebald frames racecourse, analytical
Etching on ranch entrance, ostler is cognizant
Required for pyxis stamina, rubies resplendent
Camofluer canters to sumer anonymous rural
Damsel plans her Danton's conclusion brutal
Mid August Triumphant Lament
Politics
Activities associated with
The governance of a country
As simple as
The administration of an organisation
But there is always power struggle
And greed for wealth
Politics become unusual
Because of power struggle
And greed for wealth
A sordid affair indeed
Conspiracy, canvassing
Scandal and bribery
All make things complex
And bring great sorrow to the people
Who are ignorant and innocent
Sometimes
We should blame the politicians
But not the political ideology
Are the sordid stories about the surreal,
sharp, stoney Greek isles known as Sirenum Scopuli,
supposedly inhabited by sexy, sultry, sirens,
who salaciously seduced stupefied shipwrecked sailors
by simply singing lascivious songs,
surely mythologic or surprisingly true?
Simple or fancy? Sordid or prance-y?
Lily or roses? Tiptoes on proses?
What kind of poem will my mind see today?
What will happen if I stop to pray?
Trixie, my muse, is laughing right now.
She has no idea the when or the how.
But when she comes full force into the fray
Poetry to my day is pure play….
Wilting in withering light
I'm afraid I lost the will to fight
Demons dance in the abyss
Between us monsters a soulless kiss
Impurities fill my mind
Perhaps how I'll be defined
Burn them like tea leaves
Nothing will be left for the thieves
I sing of all that could have been
Before the bottle and before the sin
Deep inside is the hero held down by this weight
Damned by a black fire fate
No deity ever sought to save me
So this tainted soul is all I have to set free
It brings me pain but I don't seek pity
Because the truth isn't pretty
In my hand is a blood filled chalice
Which I gaze upon with serene malice
Truthfully it's to hide the malaise
As I ready myself for the blaze
Wilting in withering light
I'm afraid I lost the will to fight
Demons dance in the abyss
As I meet the flame's fateful kiss
Rotten leaves
Disgust and wretch
What good then is with rains?
30/11/17
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
There's money___then there's love
Looking back at him __desiring
Brief encounters above
Husband's comments deriding
So handsome fire__home ice
Guilt, shame, remorse____desire
One last glimpse maybe twice
Marriage but children__can't transpire
Inner turmoil__wishing
Should I walk away now
Turn turn around running
We'll say the wedding's vow
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