Auden and I
Sitting in
my cosy corner,
Conversing
with Auden
And sharing
a malt or two.
Black birds
flying towards the night.
Yes, Auden,
you know who.
The rich red
of the evening,
The fleeing
of the light,
Making
friendship for us pair,
For all his world as if I were really there.
From the
amber we spoke tight.
Birds and
clocks and time and grief,
And how life
gives
Then robs
the thief.
Auden and I,
Watching the
sky
In my corner
Close to the
sea.
We spoke of
streets and fogs and loves,
And how once
(a long time ago)
We were held
safe as a hand in a white kid glove.
And how the night encroaches.
And how the
light reproaches.
And how the
whisky helps
Auden and I.
And so with
the whisky and rhyme,
The crows
and ticks of time,
The slippers
and light,
The coming of
night,
And the
smell of kippers for tea.
Auden and me.
Auden and I.
Clink
crystal to the sky.
And how my
feet are cloven hooves
Dressed
inside my six league boots,
Travel
broadens every mind,
Life a
pageant made of mime,
Not every
pavement is smeared with grime,
The clocks
are keepers of our time,
And spirit
is stronger than barley wine.
The
conversation winds and rewinds.
W.H. Auden
and I
Making truth
of lie,
As the
evening gold goes by.
Emptying the
bottle together,
And contemplating
never.
This man of
letters and paper,
Bound in fog
and mist,
Wit as sharp
as a piercing rapier,
Speaks to me
as I gently get pissed.
My good
friend Auden and I.
No comments:
Post a Comment