Obscure References Poem by Roy Blokker

In the halls of the Frankish King
Transplanted to a bombed out hill
Overlooking the Waal, I stood
At the kitchen hearth, a bridge too far
Linking old and new, then and now
Like some mighty Tardis tearful Rose.
Why not go back that far? But as
I stand in a city rebuilt from the Krieg,
Feathers from ash, I know that time
Is linear, progressing, relentless, forward,
Enemy. Yet it flows and ebbs
And backwashes over me, for me,
Time Lord,
Locked not in its steady forward path
But lost in what was, what might be,
Written and unwritten. I rant.
Feels good. I rage, and keep them all
Safe, in the deceptive endless chamber,
Playful in the fields of my mind,
And much beloved, with you. With
Thousands and thousands of squiggled pages
Left for a posterity that will never come.
With Janie dancing with my father
At their level best in the apartment
On Mar Vista his son her admirer his wife
Looking on. All dead. All dead but me.
The very Ages belong to me.The inevitable will take me in
Its sweet time, but today time,