Through Grey Street
I stagger
Clothed in silver
Dreaming of Apollo
My lips are blackened
My fingers numb
The prospect of warmth ahead
Somewhere, why doubt?
I’ve seen his bow arched over the river
His flaming arrows around the market place
Yet men seem distant
They count their pennies and sigh
Drink ale and forget
From the sweltering heavens
Apollo aimed at us by the Tyne
But then he argued with Dionysus
Over wine and theatre
And grew weary himself
The Swing Bridge bears a glorious scarlet
The stalls at Monument sell sizzling sausages
And I shiver
Day after day after day
Whilst Apollo heads on a cruise ship for Hyperborea
To bathe naked with the muses
I look out to the world from this tiny window
Open the latch, drop
My last burning desire in the stove
You (also) have a very attractive name! Thank you for giving me your blog address backstage during Tallis...
ReplyDeleteFancy the Apollo coincidence - Tiens!
ChrisGriff x
'My last burning desire in the stove'
ReplyDeleteReally? And forsake the eternal, attracting, temptational damnation of the flames? ;-)
No, dear, 'better reign in hell, than serve in heaven'. I loved the poem, though.
Greetings from London.