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The Cruellest Month
THE CRUELLEST MONTH
On the twenty-first
Ten years ago
Your son
Claimed this annual
Memorial.
On the twenty-fifth
Two years ago
My wife
Stepped up
To take her own place.
Shoulder to shoulder they,
Shoulder to shoulder we.
Another burden,
Beacon, memorial.
Nothing but memory
Stands the test of time.
And some day
One day,
One fatal day
Not even that.
Holiday In Berlin: Republished
HOLIDAY IN BERLIN
The slow times between afternoon traffic
Cold coffee on bungalow verandahs
May sometimes serve to remind
Silk rustle of passing clouds
How once in laughter jetting
Above frail flutes of the ocean’s smile
Wan Europe and far away
To gray freeway boulevards of Berlin
For afternoon walks ginger-soft as cats
With smiles ever less frequent
And for some reason more and more drinking
Dwarf fools in a sad circus
Creating the right spectacle for them
Lay readers of the lesson
Stumbling the important words
Unsure repeating such words each morning
Parodies spraycan the scent of daisies
Chinese whispers total loss of meaning
Carrying it between two
Nervous to the breaking point
Too fragile a vase to save
From arrows of sleet or rain
Through dagger edge adventures
Between avenues of trees whose tired leaves
Only appeared distantly
For to disappear again
Though a tree is dead fungus will survive
Sitting through the dusk of putrefaction
Mildewed walls of cafés and hotel rooms
Daily decomposing and composing
Faded brown and smudged copy
Needed for long past deadlines
Like reporters of the nineteen thirties
Recording one another
In desperate impatience
Dumbly fumbling a bedroom door handle
Until sad days of doom now really dawned
Forced empty slipstream Atlantic returns
Where vapor trails reel two times
Across tangled cotton clouds
Three days apart and strangers
And the wet runways of final descent
Do glisten whose tyremarks are like tears
Descending the handshake passengerway
In the drizzle scarcely shaken from sleep
Opening eyes to look up at the sky
Just as now from bungalows
The sky will never seem the same again
(And of course it never did)
~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~
This poem has a soundtrack! It was composed while listening to the track sequence ‘Holiday In Berlin, Full-Blown > Aybe Sea’ (from Frank Zappa’s “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” album) set on ‘Repeat’. If you don’t own the album you can find the tracks on YouTube.
While listening, it’s not too hard to work out how the stanzas relate to each section of the music and vice versa.
Really it’s just your typical boy meets girl, boy loses girl scenario. Same old same old. (Or boy meets and loses boy, as there’s a nod or two to Christopher Isherwood.)
A verbal/musical movie for the mind (and heart). Enjoy.
Good Mourning: Shadorma
GOOD MOURNING
Deep sadness
A moment later
Peace returns
Let it be
Everything falls into place
As if it was meant
Leftovers
LEFTOVERS
Trying to use up
These bits and pieces
She never finished
Cornflour
Paper tissues
(Bless you)
I don’t use much of either
See, me, I prefer cotton
Prefer wholemeal
It’s eighteen months
And there’s plenty left yet
She doesn’t need them now
In Mourning Still: Shadorma
IN MOURNING STILL
He ventures,
“Here’s a suggestion:
Share laughter
Together.”
She points to the iron gates.
The sign reads “Keep Out”
Faded Photos: Cinqku
FADED PHOTOS
Lost love
Long past days
Present echoes
Whisper among the trees
Old news
…..
…..
Dear Ones Lost
DEAR ONES LOST
Where are you now?
Where are you now?
Where are you now?
Missing you terribly
But that’s our fault
Not yours
Or is it?
Or else not?
For you are I
As I play you
In your absence
Asking where am I?
Asking where am I?
Asking where am I?
Ben Naga 