tonight the sky is heavy,
my shoulders like those of
a weary memory,
drooping down towards,
the icy floor,
frozen fag butts,
crunch under my fish,
finger frozen feet,
the wind enters through,
every cotton wool hole,
of my jumper,
a black angry cloud,
does not leave my head,
i have travelled 14 miles
tonight and it has not left me,
like a nagging thought,
trapped in the reppresive,
wells of my mind,
love notes on icy car windows,
a little reminder,
like that of the invisible pen,
for in the morning it will have,
dripped away under the stretching,
morning sun,
no one,
leaves such notes for me.
like a silent film star,
without the old fashioned black,
and white looks,
i hushly hover down the street,
no one notices me,
why should they,
i am only human,
and there are many of them,
flickering couloured lights,
on every house,
like a musical light show,
all in rhytmic rainbows,
inside those lovely warm
houses red faces,
cheekly contemplating,
cracking open the x mass
wine, or fine matured cheese,
i feel so hungry,
i feel like the little matchstick girl,
or tiny tim peering in,
the windows of the privelaged,
all these thoughts,
will melt away,
like those love notes,
on icy car windows,
once i have entered,
into sleep,
my dreams let me into,
the homes of those,
who are celebrating,
the fact that every
one else down this,
phoney long street
are also celebrating,
along with the toy companies,
and supermarkets,
and wine merchants,
and the acid indergestion,
boffins,
everyone is happy and celebrating
arn't they?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mr. Turner, Bravo...nice write. Wonderful images and wonderful sentiment. Impressive work.