ON NEW FEARS DAY by David Erdos - Poem 27 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

  Poem 27 from THE PEOPLES PRISON

ON NEW FEARS DAY (January 1st 2021)

 

 

If you’re waiting for change, I’ll still suggest caution

As we enter this new year near bionic, defended we hope

And part changed; altered perhaps in a permanent way,

 

More suspicious and amputated from Europe and our

Previous rates of exchange. What sort of deal has been

Done in the name of a country, by first syllable Statesmen

 

And Stateswomen too with no skill in the handling of styles

That will dictate our survival, or even substance: which one

Describes us; what will we be; cull or kill? The semi colons

 

Abound if you were to look at the page of this poem;

Punctuation’s expectation and introduction for the unknown.

I closed my eyes around 3, so by the time I’d roused,

 

Morning’s over. As you clear the fireworks from your garden,

Or the booze from your bowel, which bird’s flown? The raven

Who perched on roof and tree, like a warning, or white Dove,

 

Or Eagle fluttering across every field? like the Christmas

Week we will waste this day in rest, fearing action,

In which to go through the motions and the fresh illusion

 

Of work sees us yield to the same thing again; the same

Stuck wheels mud will cling to. And yet in that mulch

And earth omen, I recognise we can plough. And upturn

 

Other plots, and fresh tones from green pastures,

Before Sci-Fi’s former fears cease all function,

And the rules, rhymes and reasons are forcefully fused

 

With real doubt. The Nouvelle Vague would seem

To have become the next genre. So just beware,

When that sharpens the focus they pull spears

 

Stormcloud. Its cold today. My friend J is walking

Through Kew, prizing flowers. May those blooms

Bring him colour. If the words I plant still keep growing

 

And I carry on with these poems, I through these motions

Will measure hope and harm. This soil’s loud, even

If it is stained and my plough is stuck I caught glimpses

 

Of some other future on some other world where stars shout.

They are calling our names. We just have to learn how to listen.

And so it begins. From the prison, the committed soul eases out. 

 CAT AS CURE, or, THE FELINE FAVOUR

 

 

 

I’ve become a cat. I eat, sleep and spend a great deal of time

Thinking something. Sat staring out at the window I rarely

See the garden beyond. Nor, do I piss in it, as I pace my rooms,

 

Ghost tail flexing, my eyes set and ready for something

To - with fresh agility - pounce upon. Something to chase;

Some shrill pitch that I tilt my head towards in a second:

 

Some scent, or resonance rising far beyond the scope

Of most men. Instincts attuned, and with an ancient

History that’s Egyptian, the suburban cat still defeats me

 

It even sounds and moves like a song. Without language,

Its theme says more to me than most reading. It has a sense

Of mystery always, while I have become a told tale. And so

 

I try every day to ape this beast by which I am mastered.

A cat is cruel but smells cancer. It is a comfort and cure

That can’t fail. As everything pales I wish I could ease

 

Rheumatism. As I pause, a purr is heard through

The silence. I am yet to shave but my whiskers,

Unlike the cat’s mark no scale. My beard does not

 

Allow me to pass between enforced limits.

Having no cat, I call to them. Outside in the street

Tonight, they’ll be talking. With all of the city’s houses

 

Made pet shops, our grilles glaze and gauze us;

 

As ours are now the skins up for sale. 

 

 

 

 

 

David Erdos, January 2nd 2021

 

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.