Mark Tapley

Mark Tapley Poems

Show me, old one, the fragile empty dawns
That break in bleak waves over Soul Mountain
For I seek solace in the silence of the unborn
Hidden deep inside the womb of morning
...

Painted Lady Painted Lady, your wings are soft as night
They give you a certain sheen of blue when brought into the light

Before I die I'd like to hear you sing
...

Wintertime is on my brow
My soul is greyed and tainted
Today is past, when is now
The future needs to be repainted
...

Black Mariah Number One
Blotting out the burnt-out sun
Cackling Fakir on the roof
Spikes and swords and tiger's tooth
...

Like the tree yearns for the sky
And stretches his knotty limbs towards her
So for thee yearn I
And so toward thee do I stretch my fingers
...

It is the Land of Folklore
Where dreams drift by in a dull roar
And the smell of burning petrol
...

Mark Tapley Biography

Mark Tapley is the body-servant to Martin Chuzzlewit. According to his biographer Charles Dickens, he is first traceable as an ostler for the Blue Dragon Inn in Salisbury, and is in love with the widowed landlady Mrs Lupin. He departs the pub and goes to London shortly after this first appearance. When Chuzzlewitt arrives in London to emigrate to The United States, he meets Mark, who offers himself to be Martin's travelling companion and servant. After Mark and Martin are swindled into buying a marsh along the Mississippi, they return home to England. Mark gets engaged to Mrs Lupin, takes over the Blue Dragon Inn and renames it the Jolly Tapley. He is then lost track of. His manuscripts were found in Paris, where he is believed to have traveled at least twice before his death on the road sometime around 1883 (he would have been aboout 70 by then) .)

The Best Poem Of Mark Tapley

Soul Mountain Blues

Show me, old one, the fragile empty dawns
That break in bleak waves over Soul Mountain
For I seek solace in the silence of the unborn
Hidden deep inside the womb of morning

Give me the shelter of the tender light
That rises like soft smoke from the misty lakes
For I seek the lonely aftermath of night
When I feel no hunger and have no thirts to slake

Tell me the secrets of the daytime moon
That softens the glare of the sun and basks
In crests and waves of melted gold and soon
To die, hovers there like an empty mask

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