Poetry Forum

.

Any volunteers for this mystic, dazzling colored picture?

Once, when I took ecstacy,
I ended up in Brixton, being sick
against a wall, and I was even more
of a mess after that.

And we made the cabbie stop
because we didn't trust the stranger
whose pale face had reeked sincerity
when we jumped in with him

outside the Blue Cat Bar.
Made the cabbie stop, flicked a tenner over,
held each other's hands like children's favourite toys.
I remember my head being in Austria,

my legs in some kind of technicolour syrup,
and a man with a blue hoodie walked across us,
jabbing the pavement with an umbrella,
even though it wasn't raining.

Waitin’ for the bus

It’s cold outside
and I’m sitting in the dark
with a kaleidoscope of
light pouring through
the window.
No more coins to feed
the electricity meter,
my TV’s broke anyway.
So I smile, while watching
Charlie Chaplin wait
for his bus. Knowing it left
a full ten minutes ago….

.

Waitin' for the Bus

Silhouetted against night lights;
loneliness fills up his backpack.
Leaning on his umbrella staff,
he wonders where to go, for what.

Gormless Gus
was waiting for the bus
with his head on upside down.
He thought it travelled
up to the hills
but it only went down town.
As he fell upstairs
he was caught underwares
by a giant marauding hen,
so he hailed a taxi floating by,
and sailed back home again.