Lament for Apollo



Through Grey Street
I stagger

Clothed in silver

Dreaming of Apollo



My lips are blackened

My fingers numb

The prospect of warmth ahead

Somewhere, why doubt?



I’ve seen his bow arched over the river

His flaming arrows around the market place

Yet men seem distant

They count their pennies and sigh

Drink ale and forget



From the sweltering heavens

Apollo aimed at us by the Tyne

But then he argued with Dionysus

Over wine and theatre

And grew weary himself



The Swing Bridge bears a glorious scarlet

The stalls at Monument sell sizzling sausages

And I shiver

Day after day after day



Whilst Apollo heads on a cruise ship for Hyperborea

To bathe naked with the muses

I look out to the world from this tiny window

Open the latch, drop

My last burning desire in the stove

2 comments:

  1. You (also) have a very attractive name! Thank you for giving me your blog address backstage during Tallis...
    Fancy the Apollo coincidence - Tiens!
    ChrisGriff x

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  2. 'My last burning desire in the stove'

    Really? And forsake the eternal, attracting, temptational damnation of the flames? ;-)

    No, dear, 'better reign in hell, than serve in heaven'. I loved the poem, though.

    Greetings from London.

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