THE POETRY CAFE

 

 

THE POETRY CAFE’ [Cafe Grande, Dudley]               revised                                                           

 

In the land of Mordor, where the furnaces roared,

And the grass was blasted black,

You can stand on a hill that looks out to the Urals,

Toward Tolstoy, and Pasternak.

 

Ghosts of industry haunt the museums,

And the town shuts down after dark.

Where numb was the colour of the afternoon sky,

And at night, ablaze with red sparks.

 

Black-Country bards breathe tortured vowels,

And the letter H is superfluous,

Where caverns once sang as the pick-axes rang,

Mining the tunnels below us.

 

Voices take flight in the pitch-dark night,

Finding their mark with a groan.

While homeless bodies lie dead in the street,

You steal the idea for a poem.

 

Lyrical licentious streams of consciousness

Gather dust on shelves.

You can model yourself on whoever you like,

And sing a song of myself.

 

Whitman and Wilde speak of heavenly bliss,

As they lie on leaves of grass.

But the Judas-Kiss of Lord Alfred Douglas

Will eventually come to pass.

 

Ezra Pound stands accused with his modernist muse,

While we serve up his head on a platter.

And Eliot reflects on his mentor’s neglect,

What happened in Italy still matters.

 

Discordant diversions make familiar assertions

That come true in the fullness of time.

While the ghost of beat culture feeds like a vulture,

On the carcass of meter and rhyme.

 

Young men howl as their minds are destroyed

By nightmares in peyote dreams,

That tells of a future of furious fire,

While B52 engines scream.

 

Newport, electrified, retreats petrified,

‘Like A Rolling Stone’ is let loose.

If Dylan’s visions could only be seen,

They’d put his neck in a noose.

 

You have nothing to lose but your vanity,

So step up and have your say.

Just bare your soul; let your stories be told,

Down at the Poetry Café.                            

◄ IMOGEN - 10 months old

LAST THOUGHTS ON FIDEL ►

Comments

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raypool

Thu 6th Jun 2019 23:21

An impressive take on the motivation of the poetic leaps of faith that seem to exclude romanticism - scouring the streets and the urban legends that reveal the underbelly of our times. Very powerful and clever poem Trevor I must say.
The gritty rhyming style punches away and has some wonderful twists and turns ending in a climactic last verse.
I hope you are proud of this - I would be.

Ray

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afishamongmany

Thu 6th Jun 2019 15:16

Hope to see you there one of these days Trevor. Is the coffee any good?
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Don Matthews

Thu 6th Jun 2019 04:26

Nice one....😎

<Deleted User> (21487)

Wed 5th Jun 2019 20:49

Trevor

This should be performed with a gently strumming guitar - it has such a good rhythm to it.

I enjoyed it, thank you.
Dorothy

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Brian Maryon

Wed 5th Jun 2019 18:49

Bostin' Trev!

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