VIRAL AND VIRUS

VIRAL AND VIRUS

When asked to write about hope,

Hope’s constituent parts reconfigure.

How we think about such things,

Or define them is relative, no doubt

To each life. Would mine have been salvaged,

And changed if my parents had both lived,

For instance, and would I appear that much

Moreso, if she who is nameless had really

Become my first and last wife?

We just don’t know. I can’t say.

We really are what happens to us.

So, hope can now be for a future,

Or just for something nice to eat

Once bile cools. It can also rest with the hope

That those led back to work are not

Just the poorer prides, or cheap cattle;

Lambs nudged, to be slaughtered,

While the rich are fed and served

By trapped fools. Let us hope it’s not that

And that they are not about to succumb

Once more to contagion, and suffer in similar

Ways as those victims, exploited and used by

False rules. Let us hope, too, things have changed

And that each Government both believes and

Represents its home nation, with the Primed

Ministers and Headteachers knowing every pupils’

Name in the school. Not literally. Of course not.

But knowing, despite this, that every individual

Needs protection, in a lasting sense, as true

Desire more often than not, stays unquelled.

For instance, I watch romantic films all the time,

And cry through my aging. As the paradigms still

Enchant us the active tower of faith is soon

Felled. Love can come crushing down

If the declining days see it tested. And then,

Glow again every morning when you see

Their smiling face on the sheets. Or, it fails.

Today I took my time travel walk across

The emptied greens, to the river. Which is more

A brook now, or trickle, and saw a beer can

In the lover’s grass. That’s defeat. The special

And spatial moment displaced by the all too

Live ghosts of others, who taint the scene

I’d imagined and held her in, by this stream.

So, I have a hope this will end and allow a path

Back to find her, and I hope for a sea change

In people and in the powers who become

Foes to us all and faux lead. This is the hope

I extend as they plot or plan now against us,

Or shield the fact they know nothing

And there is little they can do to stop this.

If we could all partner up, there might be

Faster solutions. So, this is my called contribution

As I strive to become viral through a virus;

This is my infiltration. My captive call. My kept kiss.

Partner up. Seek me soon. Power up. Can you find me?

For real hope can be granted, once we all learn the trick.

It was William Burroughs who said, ‘Language is a Virus,’

So, talk to me across sickness. And let love and hope

Re-run madly as we revive the lost fields and full rivers

With a sweetly watered eye and soft click. It remains

Possible, even as my love is lost and a symptom.

But still I dream of her. And my parents too.

Time’s stitch splits.

David Erdos, May 14th 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.