THE TWO H’S


THE TWO H’S



I need a rest from the hate as people try
To be hopeful, but what indeed are the issues
From which that hope and hate are comprised?

Some belief in return and that things
Will work as we wish them, and that the world
We’ll meet will recover and not be deformed

Or defiled? Cummings won’t go. I receive
And sign the petitions. But they will be ignored.
No signed paper under their current steely

Gaze will win friends. These rulers know
They’ve got years and this is the reason I hate
Them. Regardless of party, as I have stated

Before: it’s the Them. These Semi-Gods
Who have started to create their own Bibles.
Detached from our real ones; as the houses

They make seek the cage that they will
Shield and patrol, or employ our protective forces
To do so; the Police as whipped Sheepdogs

Outbarking our small cries and rage. 
And yet from Monday, we’re freed. 
Six at a time can go out and with a ref,

Presumably play Five Aside Football.
But only against themselves, or some others,
As long as they do not tackle or mix

On the field. A football mirror image,
In fact. But why make this concession,
To ease as back while they trace us

Through the apps on our phones:
We’ll be sealed. The patina of the free
Without any of the substance, as we are

Lined up and shot at: Who’s scoring
Who, then and how? Elsewhere, Synagogues
Will regain one Rabbi and half a Minion,

And funerals admit mourners in a league
Table of grief, as prayers bow. It is literally
One foot in sun, while the other is rained on.

One life in numbers and another
Obscured into the words. As the dictates
Expand, the illusion grows with it,

And as we make moves within this,
We ruin the real. It’s absurd. We are on
More than eggshells, is air that we can

No longer trust, if I’m honest. If only we
Could peel it back like a curtain, to reveal
The screaming face next to us. It is like

That one Devil frame in The Exorcist.
Friedkin saw it. And now we see it too.
It is present. And the feeling it gives us

Becomes a battering ram to smash trust.
That’s where they have us, the THEM,
With each of us held under the new Dominion

Of Cummings, who builds on Brexit,
To show that our entrances and our exits
May have already been proscribed

And designed. If only my two sacred H’s
Were here: Heathcote Williams, Harold Pinter.
How they would have raged and wrought fire,

Burning each germ. But they died.
Life robs us of the voice but at least
We still have the writing. Here, hope and hate

Fuse together as with each resonant H,
Life’s described. I close my eyes, think of friends.
Two will have spent their day up a ladder.

Another with whom I have bantered
Made a sweet and touching call, for advice.
And then in the evening a quiz, with five

Old friends from school: prized connections,
The hope overflowing while a basin of hate
Holds my spite. Life will move now, for me,

Between the states I’m describing: Hope
And hate. Heathcote, Harold. Horror,
And humour – as I try to find it again,

When looking at these friends, who I
Now honour: Anthony, Ean, Simon,
Christien, Tony, Nick. Adam.

Richard D. Richard B. James.
Roger. Simon. Sue. Danielle. Dougal.
David. Sarah. John. Names as trick.

Julian. Alison. Rory. Kirsty. Gil.
Niall and Julie. Saira. Jan. Malcolm.
Max. John and Maggie. Philip. Renato.

Chris. Paul. Matt. Steve. Graham.
Peter. The list of course, is a sleeve
That the heart will be wearing,

But the names are all indications of how
We must power on. Hope seen through
Friends that the hateful still threaten.

And yet by recognising our H’s
We will regain our lost stature
And learn once again

To be strong.




David Erdos, May 30th 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.




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