KINGDOMS

KINGDOMS

Former roads led to Oz, mine goes to Uxbridge;

A settlement in the suburbs that is a fifteen Minute

Walk from my home. Not a palace, as such,

To consumerism’s slick kingdom, more like an outhouse,

But which has swiftly become in reflection as mythical

To me as old Rome. Which legendary roads

Once arced there before contagion carved that grand city;

The site for Sorrentino, and Caeser, Fellini and two

Or three of my friends. And another nation state,

Let’s be frank, that has been less than quick to the rescue;

As no God saves yet or graces the efforts of man

Near his end. Or, certainly, man as he was, out on a limb

Or rib beside woman; estranged now from each other

And the spaces once conquered and reached by a car.

I have been less than 500 yards from my house

During this ‘is it a month?’ of confinement, as Uxbridge

Gleams now beyond me like some sort of compromised

Shangri-La. A place that may no longer exist, though

Apparently, there’s still Tescos, an M&S, and a Homebase

And inevitably, or so it would seem, a Primark.

But now that sweatshop front has been closed

And the Uxbridge cures no fouled river. Wherever

And if ever it stood, such connection has been severed

And strewn, cut by time. Which has not marched on.

Time has stalled. And taken all journeys with it.

With life itself clearly folded along an ominous

And possibly spiked dotted line. This line represents

Space and step, that everyone must undertake now

With caution as we forego premonition and do

What we must to survive. Which is to live meal and meal

In an ongoing romance of location, but not

Of a Venice that’s clotted, or even those calm country

Lanes; but of places like here: Zone 6 on the tube map,

Which has robbed Science Fiction of genre as the one

In which we all feature does not even have its own name.

We don’t know where we are, and so are prowling

Our kitchens, like Zombies, searching for scraps,

Treating others, if snatched on the street like a threat.

We talk to our gardens and screens as if those with sense

Were Altzheimic, as something slick wipes us

Of even the will or need to forget. We are captive,

Contained but I think about Michael Moorcock’s

Dreaming city; in its turns and spires I glimpse a renewal

Of sorts and feel heat. Let every house now embed

And become a true castle. Let the nation states better Brexit

And become a Universal Union, street by street.

That double U will enhance and assist individuals,

And let no thief try to govern and no liar command,

While as we wait. Perhaps then, settlements like the ghettos

Of old and my Uxbridge will become the museums

To the time before wisdom straightened this sad twist

Of fate. We should work on that as we’re kept and become

Our own world of nations. In which all information is open

And can be seen and shared on the screen. Then fresh

Exchanges will work and we will know how and why

We need shielding. Perhaps then we’ll fuel sleeping

And learn and see through each window

How to shape by day some fresh dream.

I feel completely alone, but recognise now,

I’m a city. And so I call to each Kingdom,

Forge a treaty with me,

Share my scheme.

David Erdos April 21st 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.