A Ring Of Expletives Around My Head Going Over Every Bridge On The River Thames

Wretched, displaced, childhood truncated
'miss my friends and the rain on the rocks
sullen anger is a miserable defence
I'm crying in the spoils of the empire

Voiceless, cross-eyed, misshapen, dumb
I'm living behind the skirting board
A ring of expletives around my head
going over every bridge on the river Thames

Sixteen seasons rock and roll
memories fade in the clamour
Street names become poems and the underground
is a map of opportunity and freedom

The Stones, Chelsea and Mary Quant
Slone Square, The Kinks and The Old Kent Road
The statues are smaller then they first appeared
But the government has purchased Polaris

There is no malice in this place
just 8 million contending ambitions
Now and then I find some with me aligned
And occasional small acts of kindness

by Sean Joyce

Comments (4)

The Cat All day I inevitably encounter a cat here and there In the shadow of trees or out in the sun, around the pile of fallen leaves; I catch sight of him, deeply engrossed like a bee, with his own self Embedded in the skeleton of white soil Having successfully spotted some bones of fishes somewhere; But still, nevertheless, he scratches at the trunk of the Krishnachura tree All day he moves about stalking the sun. Now he shows up here The next moment he is lost somewhere. I spot him in the autumn dusk playing around As if, with his white paws, he is patting the supple body of the saffron sun; Then he nets up the tiny balls of darkness with his paw And spreads them throughout the world. Translated by Faizul Latif Chowdhury
A poem by Jibanananda Das, a Bengali poet (1899-1954 The Cat All day I inevitably encounter a cat here and there In the shadow of trees or out in the sun, around the pile of fallen leaves; I catch sight of him, deeply engrossed like a bee, with his own self Embedded in the skeleton of white soil Having successfully spotted some bones of fishes somewhere; But still, nevertheless, he scratches at the trunk of the Krishnachura tree All day he moves about stalking the sun. Now he shows up here The next moment he is lost somewhere. I spot him in the autumn dusk playing around As if, with his white paws, he is patting the supple body of the saffron sun; Then he nets up the tiny balls of darkness with his paw And spreads them throughout the world. Translated by Faizul Latif Chowdhury
someone needs to create a new word in the english language...one that means genius, strength, grace, wisdom, mischief, artistry, etc. all rolled up into one...just for this poem.
Although I say it with love, I may never say 'stupid kitty' again.