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Sonnet from London

Behind the double decker bus of pain
Above the underground belief in motion
Within walled gardens of the blooms’ delight
There may be clues that lead to 40B
Near Paddington Station and Little Venice’s
Canals grown derelict in elegance
Where I would like to travel in my dreams.
When science falters at its many schemes
The days grow weary where they pitch their tents
The night falls from what daily darkness does
Then I would like to be and not to be
While sitting in the brightness of your bright
Unvanishing and pleasant resting notion
Of eating chips and drinking bright champagne

Comments

  1. Louise Orrock says

    I don’t want to be seen online reading poems. Unfortunately I can’t do anything in private. Also my chromebook has been broken and I get gassed at this one reading. Since you like religion, interestingly I was offered a Romanian/English bible in the street yesterday, initially said it would be a waste of paper as I had bibles at home but then took one. This morning I had a visit from the mental health services asking if I wanted their support.

    They then slyly say something about the police and emails: I also had a call from the mental health services not long ago after reporting to the Metropolitan Police – reference number written down – that I had incontrovertible evidence of trespassing: they removed one faucet and replaced it with another one in recent months. No reply. I don’t mean to say I am the only one with problems but: alter/altar.

    • Rufus McCain says

      Thanks Louise, I enjoyed this. You have a flair for the kafkaesque (marvelously darkly humourous) and your comments add another dimension to our weird, haphazard blog. I think you may be the last faithful reader. I hope you’re doing okay. I’d like to meet you someday, maybe in the post-pandemic life of your home country, and wish you well face to face.

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