Random Poem

The Poetry Table

Hello, I received your letter last week
Only there was no time to read it until today’s twilight
I will meet you at the café where celestial stars and moons rays trickle through
The prison like bone cage of glass and modern metal
Must we meet there? It is hardly a café, more a bar where drunks drink away shillings
I shiver whenever one of them passes me, reeking of wasted pennies and his wife’s blood
They hit their wives and children

Can you bear that play of shame in front of your eyes? The bartender
He doles out the beer and gin which makes men violent, it is his living I know but
It is not ours to see the pun of slurring words meant to offend us

You mentioned in your letter that you are worried about our studies
It may worsen, that is sure, but we needn’t be swept up by its spurs and whips into captivity
We have found a gentle zephyr of freedom now have we not?
Do not fret over going to the easy life, it only restrains our thoughts
Moreover, where would that leave us in any case? Back where we started, again

I have found a hostel near the university and it is relatively comfortable
It is merely a single bedded room with a toilet, a bath and a small kitchen
The rent is a lot cheaper without room servicing although the manager checks every month
My slate and ink is stowed away in my wardrobe
Too many people stray from their rooms at night to search for outlets of lust
I have too often heard a secret woman’s secret vomiting
Through the bared thin walls of plaster and weak concrete
She lies in the room above me singing ballads in a rap voice unsuited unless in love

And you? How is your training for the veterinarian career?
Do the people at the hostel and your lodgings suit your taste?
Alternatively, are the plains stretched before your horizon as bleak as the Arctic scene?
Pray that it is more merry and gay rather than garish and crude.

Shall we go to Lourdes once we graduate? A breath of fresh air
Spiritual release and a holiday would do my haggard soul and body major renewal
Catholics take that place as a religious pilgrimage, where holy water floes
I would gladly take the chance to go to Mary’s meeting point
Where miracles, I hearsay, have been done
Much more the miracle of letting my pen freely flow once more
Perhaps a plot will be of you and me ending differently than now

Love, your dearest friend, Muse of the Misnamed, Misnomer

God bless you my sister.

Reply my poem soon, even a note will serve your purpose.