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NaPoWriMo 27

April 28, 2012

Poem:  It’s very late for me and when I was out this evening there was a voice calling, sotto voce ‘you don’t need to write another poem’.  Then I went to a friends house and that small voice had recruited another internal friend whose name, if I recall correctly was Mr Sensible Pragmatist who chipped in ‘Look, it’s late.  You have to be up in the morning.  Go home and go to bed.’  Then I arrived home to find my son’s friend waiting for my son to return.  So we shot the breeze and suddenly there is a chorus calling ‘Forget the poem, forget the poem’ and I’m harkening unto the words of the chorus.  Then my son and another friend turned up and it’s 1.00 in the morning and beer and wine are being offered, by me!  The internal voices a siren call, with the allure of temptation ‘Heed us, there is no need to write.  Forget and drink, and let remorse be a feeling of the morning’.  But.  But.  I could not.  I could not listen.  I wrote instead of today.  What I noticed, experienced, enjoyed and for once have left me with a feeling of general contentment.  For this I give thanks.


Today I saw lots of taxis

Walking past the mosque
this Friday lunchtime
the pavements were piled
with zealous abandon.
Empty cabs,
CD’s inscribed in Koreanic quotes
swinging gently from rear view mirrors.
The drivers,
ensconced in the brotherhood
of common belief
pointing toward Mecca
praising Allah
And then, having done.
returning to their jobs.

Later I’m in a church
inside there is a celebration
of gods more ancient than Christ.
A beer festival
An unusual combination
where my praise
and thanks are aimed toward
Bacchus rather than the living God.
enjoying my pagan communion
with his gifts.
Not with body and blood
but pale and ale
whilst outside a line of taxis soberly waits
ready to take celebrants home.

  1. Very clever twisting


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