Old Friends

The sitting tenants in my alleyways.

 

                            They are embarassing friends

                            I`ve tried to lose,

                            but they stick in my craw

                            like undigested food

                            waiting for an enzyme.

 

                            The hymns.

                            Tucked away, they wait.

                            I learned them unwillingly,

                            subliminally,

                            on forcefed Chapel Sundays.

                            They crept into my narrow passages,

                            lurking and inconspicuous,

                            waiting for my mind

                            to wander in.

 

                            While I feast on pragmatics

                            they stay unnoticed,

                            but suddenly a Wesleyan  tune

                            will replace my Bob Dylan mantra

                            and snap at me,

                            lolling and licking and frolicking

                            just as a pup commands attention.

 

                            My mouth will interface

                            with an old alleyway

                            and my lips will form words

                            that blow in the wind.

Reviews

[Jimmy Yetts]

Difficult to completely depart from the way you were raised--at least, that's what this poem said to me. I haven't been to mass in over fifty years; yet, at times, I still think of myself as "a good Catholic boy."
Your work has impact, Pete.

[Pete Langley]

So glad you enjoyed, Frankie...and thanks kindly for the visit. P.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

there might be a new tune, but the old music is still blowin' in my wind...

and those tunes are like "old friends, old friends who sat on the park bench like bookends"
my book begins and ends with music....and it is mostly the sixties...

and often i ask myself "how does it feel, to be on your own, like a complete unknown, like a rolling stone"--living in the wrong decade now.

[Pete Langley]

Ha ha I have to admit that I have an old tune playing away in my head most of the time....not a very long playlist but discerning, I hope. Thanks, mate. P.

[Einstein Noodle]

oh my oh my! Peter .. i love your stuff! as you should know .. Bobby D! yes .. is he kidding me .. Frank Sinatra tuned to the key of ?????? ... i am a die hard fan of the artists of the 60-70's .. and some can still ring my bell... but Bobby should embrace graceful ... and lay back to relax .. i was at a concert of his a couple years ago and the mythos i held was the only thing that kept me there .. cheering .. it was happy/sad .. bitter/sweet .. but your poem is so much more ..
we all have ways and means about us ... anchors of our indoctrinations .. God bless you (and all) who can at least hear the new tune :) what a fine piece of poetry .. very fine stuff says i!
E.

[Pete Langley]

Too kind by far, Gene...but thank you, mate.