no, not the old city

… and the old city is a wasting of time      there is nothing of value there
no return on that investment      those twenty years of purgatude
spent with an aspirational heart      every day      from the beginning
when to walk that way was something fresh and new      each pace
holding its own speed and reason      much like here      perhaps
here      in this newer place      with this newer purpose
so draped with the coatings      now      of experience      knowledge
perhaps it is not the purpose that has changed      not so very much

this though      this is not that ancient wreckage      with its labyrinth byways
foetid distractions      those twisted streets that follow like a tedious argument
renewed afresh upon boulevards and avenues that open      yawning black
in sickly      honeyed      invitation with each tempted visitation to that past      no
this is newer ground      these paths are fresh and open      look up
that blue is the sky      in this place it is mine      yours      ours      if you wish it
you and me      and the coloured blue of our own sky

no      let us not go near to the old city
there is nothing there for us      nothing

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© Frank Prem, 2002

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A poem drawing on the phrase ‘twisted streets that follow like a tedious argument’ taken from T. S. Eliot – ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’. This was a challenge set in another place a good long time ago. Participants each chose their own phrase and wrote their own piece. The whole was then assembled as an interactive, with links in the original leading to the offshoot.

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