NOT MY DRUM

Betwixt my knees
‘t was my archaic drum
Still dinning in my ears
My time
My turn
My drum

Then a hideous monster attack
Crash-landed upon my drum
Crash-ended my tune
Sending a man to his doom
In a rat-race of fame
With vibrators of making and breaking
Like leaves trembling in the breeze
With birds in the choir of trebles
Though from baritone aria stables
Utterly disconcerting our pity deserving souls
As they rush back each into our hearts
At the sound of human voices

I met a man I know of old
Babbling down the dusty road -
The road is rocky
Steep is the rise
The world is like piggery
As an old-man I don’t cry
I had my time I still try
With my luggage in a trolley
I am ready to fly (meaning to die)

This hash clashing noise
From between our clingy clenching knees
The source of the class course of our sufferings
Palms with bubble like swellings
Paying our devoirs to an alien drum
An alien drum in my time
Not my drum, not my business
Lord have mercy

A SMALL LETTER t

No fine
Put him in jail
Hard labour
Half ration

Convicted!
Once more a jailbird
Las’ teardrop in court drained and dried
Involuntarily
Voraciously blood has been partially vacuumed
Parasitic insects to fill they gluttonized

Prison wall-
What paint can I use
To express my sorrow sorry story
Before the bell rings
For the clock is ticking

Dusty suffocating blankets folded
Into sofas are packed
A look of pleasure in cell appearance
Yet-
The moon and the stars of the night
Eager is mine eye to sight
The sun and the blue sky of day light
So I can tell the time-lag

Prison wall-
What paint can I use
To express my sorrow sorry story
Before the bell rings
For the clock is ticking

Out of the way are my chains
This isn’t my mother’s kitchen
I know
Yes-
I am but a prisoner serving time
Locked-up like a treasure in an iron box
Sporadically peeped at
Picked I pack and go no argument

Prison wall-
What paint can I use
To express my sorrow sorry story
Before the bell rings
For the clock is ticking

All-out
Hats off
Line up against the wall

Forward looking backward looking
Counting days to my freedom
Two by two we squad for count
Your tear stained face
Your ugly crying smile
Your sorry deaf ears
Your dreadful red eye
Have seen it all

Prison wall-
Now that the bell has rung
I know that I shall get bombed
From the juicy tail of I spliff
A small letter ‘t’ the mark of my crucifixion
Until we meet again
Prison wall

Website developed by Lynn Danzig