Saturday, August 28, 2010

An American poet at the Bookfest

Onto centre stage he leapt.
Behind bright yellow specs he kept
His eyes hidden from intrusive evening Edinburgh sun.
I’m American. I’ve come
To share some thoughts with you,
My feeling of homesickness, the soft dew
Glistening on Connecticut,
My mother’s constant angst, but
But then to lighten the serious tone.
I’ll deal with masturbation - all my own.

It’s over now, so why look back.
We won that war didn’t we.
I’ve already forgotten all I learned about Iraq.
The war on terror I understand.
We’ve go to stand strong, but
Where the fuck’s Afghanistan?
Don’t ask me. That’s a place I will not go,
A book kept closed, along with rendition and Guantanamo.

Here in my champagne bubble’s the place I like best.
For all the rest, I couldn’t care less.
The sound of my voice, the feel of your thigh,
Life’s so simple, no need to ask why.

Apologies to all the good American poets! It was just my like to find this one!

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous1:21 AM

    You have a gift. Best blog for radical poetry. Should be entered for 'best in the country, no best in the world' competition.