edit 1 billy, Indie
The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?
The burnished boys from summer suns, stumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys.
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders will them
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with proud peer hubris; it's accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.
But deep in their eyes, sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.
Adrift on the dream-sea, one then the other, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.
TAK August 1998. Updated 2008.
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
edit 1 Thanks to each, with apologies to billy whose but I could not kick out.
bugger, i love getting me but busted out
i went through it and couldn't see where it had been edited 
The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?
The burnished boys from summer suns, stumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys.
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders will them
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with proud peer hubris; it's accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.
But deep in their eyes, sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.
Adrift on the dream-sea, one then the other, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.
TAK August 1998. Updated 2008.
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
edit 1 Thanks to each, with apologies to billy whose but I could not kick out.
bugger, i love getting me but busted out
i went through it and couldn't see where it had been edited (04-30-2012, 04:40 AM)tectak Wrote: original[/quote]
The burnished boys stand outside Inn, fuming unfashionably. Bad, bad boys.
Their bright albedos, with hair but a gesture,
parted no longer by mothers demented, or long departed.
Who washes behind the grey oyster shells?
Who spits on the hanky to rub?
Who chivvies and cherishes, loves and protects?
Who cares for and cuddles the bad, bad boys?
The burnished boys from summer suns, grumble and mumble. Bad, bad boys. is 'The' needed here?
Slack jawed and toothless,
drooped and dishevelled,
fish-eyed in tankards, bottoms high.
Two glasses will fill them, tight bladders will them,
to void like babies. Avoiding the shame
with proud peer hubris; it's accepted behaviour for bad, bad boys.
But deep in the eyes, in the sunken and sightless, in the dark that comes even to bad, bad boys;
Faint glints of memory slip to the surface,
Floating like motes on the corneal rheum .
Away on an ocean of Sunday sailing,
paddles and buckets, sand castles and suns;
Father’s tobacco, sweet burnt sugar, tart apples purloined by those bad, bad boys.
Adrift in the dream-sea, one then another, looks lost but remembers the bad, bad boys.
Do you remember? Which of us was it, who leapt in the water,
naked and shivered?It can’t have been me.
I would have remembered, but now that you tell of it, yes. Maybe.
Talk of the sum of all that you cherish.
Ah yes, we had good times, we bad, bad boys.
TAK August 1998. Updated 2008.
Originally posted elsewhere but though mauled by erthona some slight punctuation changes may appease. We shall see. Penultimate line particularly weak so open to suggestions.
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