Let The Good Times Roll

A man alone, sat in silence,

wept and cried and laughed and died

and wished that it was over,

and wished that it had just begun,

and mourned the morning,

inhaled the night,

and missed the musing,

missed the bus

and left the Dawn, still standing,

waved at the good times

in the rear view mirror

and hurtled onwards, faster ever faster,

and tried to stop the rot,

but the rising damp kept rising,

damper and higher,

inch by soaking inch,

and chewed on dirt and rotting flesh,

trying to cleanse the palate

poured lemon juice and rock salt

onto freshly carved out wounds,

just to feel,

just to feel the emptiness

his hollow words conveyed,

he rammed a pen through his hand

and used the blood to smear the meaning

and doodle images in scarlet and rust,

and called it "The Impetigo Blues",

and thought it was

the best he'd ever writ,

and watched the thin red line crawling, 

 ...

slowly crawling,

towards his unwashed armpit

and lost a thumb, eventually,

Reviews

[NotUsinganymore]

Very beautiful poem. I enjoyed it throughouly! It had a great meaning, we all have bad days too so it's something many can relate to.

[gram linski]

Thanks Jung, glad you enjoyed, apart from the impetigo and losing a thumb,, lol that part is fairly personal

[NotUsinganymore]

Oh you lost your thumb before?

[Paul Bell]

The good old days, just not enough good old days. Okay, maybe not that day, that was a bad day.
But i suppose at the very end you'll be happy with just one more day.
But in saying that. Those were the days.

[gram linski]

Those were indeed the f*****g days, my friend, gone but not forgotten, the good the bad and the dangerous to know,

[jacob erin-cilberto]

"Come on baby let the good times roll, roll all night long"
I started singing that song when i saw the title...but surely there aren't enough good times left here for the speaker to sing.
He doesn't want to just exist falling apart...he is anxious for the end...but at the same time there are spurts when he feels the old times and wonders if he can recoup those days at all.

and pretty soon there will be nothing of him left as he rots...but one last great poem.
j.

[gram linski]

Always love your musical references, j. I have written a poem called the last great poem, don't know if it is worth the title, but I shall trawl through some dusty tomes, lol

[Chris Shaw]

Blimey. What a title. If these were the good times, what were the bad times like:) Seriously though gram, you do misery to bloody perfection. I have to agree with John. It is without doubt a work of art. Picasso will do nicely for me too.

Chris

[gram linski]

Thanks, Chris great compliment, Van Gogh was the guy that cut his ear off, Picasso was just a mad f****r, oh, wait a minute, gee thanks, lol

[Chris Shaw]

Ha ha. Happy Sunday :)

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Indeed a Picasso of a poem filled with blocks of ideas and references and colour. Go into the corner and cut yer feckin ear off bud!

[gram linski]

Well an ex of mine once tried to bite my earlobe off, and lost an earring, returned to sender three days later, don't know if that counts, lol, cheers,

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Lucky it wasn't yer c**k bro!

[gram linski]

I did get an apologetic blowjob later, the most nervous cum, known to man, lol