jingle jingle!

jingle jingle!

4.9.16

I WON’T DREAM IN ZWOLLE AGAIN (BLUES)




























 







I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
My poems have drowned in its streets.
My songs about the town
Lie stock-still in its ways.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Its birds peck at my brow.
Church bells drown my cries
And echo across lost days.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Whatever happened to me?
What was I thinking about
To believe I could make roots here?

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
The translator is coming for me.
He’ll tell me to head home
Back to the cell of my room.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
The yellow train awaits me.
She’ll dart me down to Schipol
To perch on my favourite stool.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Its hotel rooms are starless. 
They are full of dreadful maids
And the government’s inspectors.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Its market’s fruit is rotting.
Drains full of scraps of news
And the bones of flat musicians.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Its daughters do nothing for me.
They are hooked up with the city’s poets
And their lingerie’s too complex.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
There were good times and they’ve passed.
There were days we danced by the canals
But even they aren’t endless.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Its lights became red and dangerous.
Its intellectual garrets are small
And its writers are even smaller.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
I’ll leave it to local drunks.
They can drink their fill for me
Since you know I’ve supped enough.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
I hate to break its heart.
I learnt to see its beauty
But I loved it to destruction.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
Let some other poet touch its map.
The wind just laughed in my face
As I leapt into the dark.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
My luggage is full of pain.
I need to take care of the rest of my life
To seek beds in different towns.

I won’t dream in Zwolle again,
I’ve crouched too long on its hill.
My fingers have all turned blue
In the swollen pursuit of what’s past. 




KEITH ARMSTRONG

the jingling geordie

My photo
whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
poet and raconteur