Part IX: Welcome to the Wonky House

in London i stayed at "The Wonky House" (my friend's cheap sharehouse)

(Back in London, this narrative poem is non-linear �" I am not sorry. While there, I stayed with a friend who lived in a share house lovingly christened The Wonky House because its foundations are sinking on one side cum the tower of Pisa. They were all very nice, welcoming, and even had me mark my stay there with a finger-painting on the wall.)

all roads lead
to the Wonky House
welcome!
They make me feel welcome
put your left hand against the wall
trace it
with the colour of your choice
then do a pretty picture
on a ring-back note
and plast it right here
right
over here.

Welcome to the Wonky House
here's the place to be
“Here is the place where I hang out
this is the place for me,”

Says Chris who sleeps on the futon bed
(I have taken the couch)
“Come stay with me,” Chris had said,
and here tonight I slouch

In the Wonky House!
In the Wonky House!
in the Wonky House,
on the floor
So here in London I shall stay
for just two nights
“I wish I could stay more,”
I say
Chris sighs and he sighs
the smiles it away.

No country larger in size
then here in the UK
Geographically of course
it's rather small
but in density not at all!

There’s larger than life Sherlock Holmes
standing ‘round Baker Street
There’s Regent Park, old museums
and plenty of people to meet!

The lights! The lights
that shine through Soho
a crowd of doves do take flight
to and fro, to and fro

London brige, The Buroughs
Leicester Square
from the peak to the meadows
I’ve been there! everywhere!

A detour through Drury Lane
then off to see a show
when nights come down with ceaseless rain
back to the Wonky House we go

The Wonky House, The Wonky House
London’s hidden gem.
Where Robbie lights it up all night
and the Devil sleeps in the den

(manipulating the shower, to
turn it hot then cold
the wiring was never really thought through
and ideas are born and sold).

The Wonky House, The Wonky House
all roads lead to the Wonky House
what a wonderful place to be
certainly the place for me…

Yet I don’t stay long
Two nights and then I’m gone again. Quick hello’s
and goodbyes           
have been characteristic throughout my life

I’ve been hell-bent on adventure
it’s a journey I chose to take,   but with each
path I cut through
I leave something behind
walk away
with no more than a memory;   and perhaps
a few scratches
   when I’m unlucky.

Then,
I grab my backpack
in the early hours
that can hardly be called morning
I keep my goodbyes brief
that is my style:
      “Farewell, mein Freund”
(who speaks a little German)
“See you    Yugo.”
                 “Sure.”
I take off �"

There will always be a home for me, as long as I do not stop. I move quick. Others, I’m slow. As long as I don’t stop, no matter how slow, how steep, I must go on with no reason than to go on…
like the life of a stray dog.

I howl at the empty sky

a new moon
a few stars
that light pollution
plucks them out
like a sickle harvests grain
a Black Hand reaches
over us
in its grip
   Ben Z. incapacitated
in his alcohol-induced
sweshpool, hanging

on to his bedsheet
his half-naked body, on the floor
the tiles rub against his knees
leaving a red mark.
It's 4p.m
and already dark.

I came back
not home   but
rather the place I’ve called ‘home’
the past fortnight
one dim light
in the corner of the room
next to the phone
when I left a concerned
hastily written message
for Ben
   the M.I.A
veteran hero/wounded returnee
the self-maiming, erratic, love sick
poet in progress.

“When you write that masterpiece,
   it will be your magnum opus
then, you have my permission to die.”

It will never happen.
That’s the point,
this is part X
and it goes untitled
entitled “X” like in algebra
an unknown
only ‘x’ here does not
remain constant.
It changes with every reading.

 

Author's Note

this one is pretty self-explanatory. in London, i stayed with a friend and his artsy housemates, who lived in what they lovingly called "The Wonky House." apparently, the foundations were sinking, along with a bunch of other building problems (gotta love england). they showed me their wall of fingerpainting and asked me to draw something on it. im not a painter, but i did my best. and we had a big cabal, i was sorry i could only stay two nights.

Reviews

[GlendaK]

Hi Ern, I love the few scratches, ect you left behind "when I'm unlucky". I agree with Lorry, it sounds like the "crooked house" poem. You said you wish you could have stayed longer, yikes!
Anyway, it's a fun and really awesome piece I can't do justice with mere words. The vision I got was great! Thanks, friend.

[Lorry]

Ha! I've not heard of the wonky house but I have heard of the wonky pub. I think it's called the crooked house, which was badly damaged in a fire snd the owners demolished it... illegally as it turns out.
Now they've been ordered to rebuilding exactly as was before the fire and I'm sure it made the news. I'll copy a link at the end if I can find one.
Anyhow, I love how these thinks become almost a tradition or a landmark in the guide to a particular city, but yo not only meet the tenants but stay there too is a great snd somewhat unique tale to store away for constant retelling.
Most countries would be embarrassed at not getting it quite right, but here in the UK it is almost a point of pride and it certainly is seen with affection.
I bet the original builder is turning in his grave at his posthumous fame, after most likely never being trusted to build anything again in his own lifetime! 😃

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-stoke-staffordshire-68414524