Diuturnity's Bite

Poem By Richard George

On Thameslink home from Brighton
where I'd spent the day waiting
for the roar of grey to turn to gold
and silence, like an alchemist,
I glimpsed you at a station;

girl who rhymed and swam when I
was paddling - with a pushchair,
sucking the socket of nicotine.
Even through the grease
and scratched graffiti I could see

you were unhappy. We're a pair,
if that's any consolation:
drink is my elixir of death,
my eyes are fraying floaters
and I've lost a tooth, for ever.

Ten years on. Infinity
has blinked: 'Never again'.
Our low tides gleaming far out in the dawn
are concreted over now,
old as ammonites.

But cheerily, like Falstaff,
I am fasting-forward
my remaining spool of life.
I'll buy you cider at sunset
in the bar at the end of the line.

Comments about Diuturnity's Bite

There is no comment submitted by members.


Rating Card

5,0 out of 5
1 total ratings

Other poems of GEORGE

Eclipse: A Haiku Sequence

Imperceptible
at first, sunlight changing; then
dusky, or faded,

A Walking Sadness

The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,

Halcyon And After

It was May or June, I met you:


Business, something or other.

Sylvia Plath's Cats

Their breath was clean, or harsh and sour
according to her moods:
and when they sensed a coming storm
they crept into corners.

Marie Celeste

Now I may never see you again
I can think of no one else:
I wait on platforms, hair in the wind
But trains all leave the past

7/7: Before And After

The dark young man
with the curls of the Maghreb
is in an altercation
with the ghost