The Red Rose of Palookaville (re-edited)

Cherry

By ralph

Fri, 05 Sep 2008
  • 2441 reads
4 comments
 

Raining blood on Bleaker Street bedlam.
Dead horses, broken carts.
The phone box a mad motel,
for gin soaked, screaming hearts.

Not a taxicab left in Palookaville.
A trumpet mutes out sad news.
For a kebab-stabbed boy, who went raving mad,
cos little Ruby sucked him so blue.

Christ! Betrayal left him drowning.
A dirty bed paddles the beast.
Clinging forever, a murder of love.
His famine before her feast.

Maybe he’ll get a tattoo.
A red rose for any other crime.
He’ll hide it on his shoulder blade,
and let it weep from time to time.

Certificate U
Poem
Cigarettes, Beer and Love
Love

Comments

Submitted by john_silver on
Uhmmm, I know it was me who suggested the editing, but I think the metre has come at the expense of the sense of phrase. Trimetre is very short and snappy, while I feel the tone of the poem was originally closer to natural speech. Perhaps tetrametre might have fit better? Sorry if I sounded contradictory! I thought the original was already very good as it was and just required revision of a few of the lines, not a major overhaul of the poem.

Submitted by Dan Ryder on
brilliant poem

Submitted by ralph on
Well. I think I prefer this version now. It does read better. There is a Bleaker Street in New York. I've never been there, but the name conjures up a dark and weary place. The actual place I had in mind was Kennington, South London, a city suburb that I used to know well and fell out with a few years ago. Thanks for your comments on this one. Versions of it have been kicking around for a while, but I was never happy with the metre. I think I'll stick now. Dont want to wring all the life out of it. Ralph

 

Submitted by DavidK on
Nit-picking maybe, but it's Bleecker Street in New York (Dutch origin, I guess). I know it well; it's not that bleak, however.