NOTE ON SAD WALK POEMS
First, I listened to the beautiful music of Sad Walk. I wrote a poem called Sad Walk, about a morning when I walked my dog a few hours after hearing the news of the death of my adopted daughter Boty Goodwin and the world seemed cold and grey. I wrote it so that the words fit some of Chet Baker’s solos, but not exactly.
I prepared the poem for posting. But then I thought that the music of Sad Walk wasn’t simply sad. It has beauty that fits any mood. So, I wrote a cheerful poem on a similar pattern and called it Glad Walk. Then, a child’s bad dream poem called Bad Walk. Then, remembering my father at the seaside—Dad Walk. And finally, since nonsense makes sense to me, Mad Walk.
Adrian Mitchell, Shadow Poet Laureate, May 30th 2004.
▲▲▲
SAD WALK
down a dark purple
tarmac path
under a sky
full of ashes and smoke
broken-down trees
pale yellow moon
near the edge of the world
on the edge
now the heart is grey
even grass is grey
and the city traffic
keeps screaming and screaming
where have you gone?
Down a dark purple
Tarmac path . . .
▲▲▲
GLAD WALK
walk up the silver
tower stairs
into a sky
of a zillion stars
zebras may grace
friendly giraffes
take their ease in the light
of the moon
as my eyes delight
in the singing grass
and the flying foxes
are diving and soaring
I take your hand
walk up the silver
tower stairs . . .
▲▲▲
BAD WALK
over the high wall’s
razor wire
plunge to a moat
where the crocodiles lurk
stumble through thorns
into the swamp
till you feel yourself sink
into dark
as you gasp your last
you are grasped and raised
back into the air by
the hand of an ogre
who laughs and throws you
over the high wall’s
razor wire . . .
▲▲▲
DAD WALK
lie by a rockpool
watch the green
hair of seaweed
and the flickering fish
climb up a rock
big as a house
you can almost see France
from the top
we will dam the stream
running down the beach
will we’ve formed a salt lake
so deep we’ll swim and then
flood mum’s deckchair
lie by a rockpool
watch the green . . .
▲▲▲
MAD WALK
roundabout backwards
songs of cheese
chanted through teeth
of potatohead spooks
accelerate
past logic bog
pay the beggars of time
with an owl
safari me out
for the glue’s in flower
and the nightmare police
are all kens and barbies
marching in flames
roundabout backwards
songs of cheese . . .
