living poems: some new and alll original work

davidgoulding84@interpoems.com

          A LIFE IN THE DAY OF 

                   I am sunrise and in bed,

                             protected in the linen womb.

                   I shan’t get up and won’t come out.

                   But I do, and slip unwilling from     

                                                     the cradle,

                           hating the light, dawn and life.

                   Infancy and breakfast simply stuff 

                                  my stomach.

                   Forcibly awake to the crimson early

                               morning childhood

          where my nursery mind is not left to its

                               own resourceful games,

             but fed with healthy air and stale ideas:

                   stimulated, fired but all to a

                        shrouded formula.

                   Morning lengthens and matures

                              towards the lively spring

          of sun-dancing adolescence where the

                                light is blinding ecstasy,

      and the shadows black purgatorial holes,

          where each point gained is brandished

                                                      as an oscar

                   and each reversal can…..

                   put me off my lunch.

    Conventional and comfortable, the afternoon,

          where lucrative laziness can swagger

                              through an indolent life;

          where little is craved, sought, feared, lost

                                        or achieved.

     Sunny, affable, plain-sailing family tea

                      flicks straight to nothing doing,

                               doing nothing, evening,

     when I sometimes turn away from alcoholic

                            nonsense

     towards brief frenzied spurts of creativity,

     that, dead and quick, burn out like the old,

                               old and loose fags,

now ostracised but once the proud prerequisite

for all cool close-ups and every social function.

 

                    Soon,

                             so very soon,

                                          the late, late news

            and sad sex conscious shows

       bring my body to fatigue and leaves

                                      my mind to memories

                                                and sleep

                                 and .....                

CITY LUNCH

Brief longed for interval just slips away

  where millions hunger to be hungry

and rush, shuffle,dawdle, struggle for the sake

  of mechanical child-forgotten play.

I see some varaible habit as they all adjourn

  to carry on, not off, their work in unseen cases

to bars, parks and cafes, where their chases 
  to leave are only part of everyone’s return.

In that pin-prick of a fleeting hour
  we sometimes meet and casually create
a sheltered universe, in a cosmic state
  from elements not in any way sublime.

Lovers’ enchantments look banal to others.
  Who cares? Tomorrow then at one?
In time we can gently mock those others,
  sadly seeing ecstasy as just a bit of fun.