Same Again? (A Night Out On The Town)


Sheathed in leather the necrophiles
Straddle Babylon the Whore
While Memphis Kingston blows
(Like Britain grating through the Seventies
I have passed my high water mark
And the wrack stinks along the shore

Like the Royal Navy after an armistice
Full of unwanted and unnecessary seamen
A slave to vile passions)
It says on the bog wall: “What I’d like to know
Is who put the cunt in Scunthorpe?”
Would that my own purpose were so clear

Playing pub games of ancient artifice
Shouldering a passage through the wrecks
Gone aground at the bar
Floundering among all this flesh
Whose strangest suggestions
Are dancing lessons from a siren

Pondering the steps to take
When grace is not enough
And Helen of Troy picks her nose in the ladies
God in the guise of the Lady Incarnadine
Who took from me even my faith
And left me to carry on

O Dear Departed that thought to find
A genital Jesus to save ya
A fallacy – that he might be internally yours
And by a coincidence of opposites
Confused the sacerdotal with the scatological and thought
The penis mightier than the sword


Republished from 2011.

About Ben Naga

The Spirit that graces me with its passing has no name and stems not from thoughts and words, though it gathers them up as it flows, but from feeling.

Posted on February 17, 2015, in Poetry, Republished and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 13 Comments.

  1. A good pint of bitter.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Just Another Soul

    I somehow like this a lot!

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Just Another Soul

    It reminds me of an old friend. He used to write a lot like this. Fond memories…

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Just Another Soul

    We lost touch.
    Oh my! You were brilliant from the very beginning. Forgive me for not being aware of your wise age.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Just Another Soul

    Definitely! 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Written in 1979, you say? (Funny, I just re-posted an old one from that same year.)
    Your poem is still so relevant, I thought it was new. Rich with ironies, plays on words, on observances. Not sure why, but it made me think of the days just before the fall of Ancient Rome. So-called cultures/civilizations are always on the brink of repeating history – with debauchery, corruption… that slow, insidious decline.
    I shall bookmark this and re-read, as once isn’t enough for such a rich poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  7. A wild ride, your poem does give me. More than one pint, more than two. Plenty enough for the Muse to be amused by your tale. 1979. I was writing lyrics to music back then. What a fine poet you are, my friend. Then and now. And a correct statement as ever, the soul is endless or infinite, whichever you prefer.

    Liked by 1 person

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