TO THE TUNE OF THE GUARDS WHISTLE

kissing

She is blithe in Fantasia now

Not a care in the world

I suspect

 

Be it of legend or of history

The word of the vanquished

Is legitimate evidence

A reflection of what once was

 

She knew the way out

Turned the door handle

Found it locked

I knew where

The key was stored

Thankfully

 

Not that I cared back then

I had the resolve to

Kick the door in regardless

Before the Jackboot had

Hankered for the self-same thing

Albeit with pernicious bent

 

As for her

She held a benevolent gun to

My temple

Offered me the choice

I declined

 

The weapon was more

Nuisance than a relevance

A mere nothing

My intellect blown to Kingdom come?

In hindsight maybe that

Would have been for the best

 

Time was running out

In a fit of panic

I had paid for her ticket

Carried her bags

A last ever kiss

To the tune of the guards whistle

Waved my goodbyes

 

Waited until the steam train

Pulled away from the platform

Out of the station

Until she and it were safe

And out of sight

 

That was the day

Hitler would have had her shoes

To gift a blue eyed servant

Her lingerie for an aristocrat’s wife

Her wrist for a tattoo

Gold fillings for a Swiss bank vault

Her watch for Eva

Her eradication for a

Bespectacled statistician to

Studiously record

 

I could never allow that

 

Still she got away

New York was

Where the liner

Was due to dock

A place of

Raucous immaculate liberty still

 

Me?

I am but ash

 

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25 thoughts on “TO THE TUNE OF THE GUARDS WHISTLE

    1. Thank you young Marissa – I had this story in mind for years. Once when I thought I had the patience to write a fictional book this was the skeleton story. Now it is a poem of sorts.

    1. You’ve made my day. A poem (of sorts) based on a fiction was worrying me pre-post. I feel better about it now – and thanks for tweet thing I just noticed – that as well is appreciated.

  1. all the bones of a historical novel masterfully arranged in a most superb poem – this piece is a perfect example of what Plato meant when he wrote “Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history”

    1. Cheers – you are the second person today to make my day! Odd combination of words – whatever it matters not. That period of history whether in fact or in fiction haunts me. Thanks again.

    1. Cheers – back to a few skits tomorrow yet the poem urge still grabs me a bit. Liked the post you put on today – the wife had to tell me about it as it didn’t appear on ‘Blogs I Follow.’

      1. Just realized it’s the bloody Nobel Prize Committee screwing with me cause I’ve been pestering them so much lately about my award. If they think not making my followers aware when I post new posts is gonna stop me, they’d better think again. It won’t! Damn bastards!

      1. You’re not serious? Your so called “stabs” are nothing short of genius! Which is probably why you don’t even realize the gift you have, because it comes so easily to you that it doesn’t feel like the hard work other people would have to do to create a poem half as good as yours.

      2. You are good for ego young Rachel. Do you know we went to the new, much heralded and talked about Turner Contemporary Gallery in Margate yesterday (it’s even free to get in!) and I’ve never seen so much rubbish called ‘art’ in my life. In one room in particular there were arty types swooning over a load of white bin liners held together by cloths pegs and the whole lot hanging from the ceiling. One bloke was repeatedly saying ‘Wow, this is amazing.’ ‘Bollocks it is’ I threw in as I walked by – thought he might throw a punch the look he gave me! I asked George – who fancied seeing the place for his take. He pointed out that whilst it was crap the fact that no one else had done it before probably made it art. And the guy who put this together is probably making fortunes!

      3. That’s funny! And it would be even funnier if all those people who were calling it art were asked to step aside then the curator came over and said, “Excuse me folks. This is not an exhibit. We had ceiling damage when it rained last and this is where our roof is under construction. Please move along.” I think you should go back and say that. 🙂

      4. I suppose art is a subjective thing but I like to see a painting or whatever and be blown away with the thought that it is brilliant and that I couldn’t have done it – hence I appreciate the artists skill. But some of the stuff we saw was so useless. Luckily they roll over the exhibitions so next time around there may be some better stuff. We went to Folkestone yesterday and found places we didn’t know existed in this otherwise shabby town just 12 or so miles away. Shirl put some shots on Facebook – really excellent sea front. We’ll have to take you there one day.

      5. I can’t wait! Yeah, I LOVED her FB photos. The one of you two kissing was great! 🙂 I know what you mean about the art… I feel that way too, and it also makes me feel a little envious (I guess envious?) when I see someone make so much money on something anyone could do blindfolded and they just happened to be lucky enough to know the right people to promote it properly. I appreciate art that looks like it was a lot of work, not like the artist closed his eyes and spilled paint on the canvas. Was this at the town where the new house is or the one you’re leaving?

      6. Tell you what the photography of people like Man Ray and Robert Capa (especially Capa) reveals more art and passion than a bloke who gets to show his plastic bags and clothes pegs in the Turner Gallery any day of any week!
        The photos were taken in Folkestone about 5 miles from the new place. It has grown on me since discovering all that Victorian architecture – sublime; you can squeeze history out of the air on that seafront. Also Folkestone is where one catches the train to France from! Shirley wants to move right now of course – the delays are driving her insane!

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