Wojja Fink

I stumble on poets whom I’ve not before read
With visions of mountains to climb in my head
Old mysteries to learn buried deep in my heart
Viewed from a mind we’re a long way apart
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June in Hythe.

Down in Hythe by the river side
Where the reeds are growing five feet wide
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Saw Dylan Thomas last night in a dream,
with a silver banjo and dancing queen.
Said, “ Hi Dylan how’s your luck”.
He said, “I’m leaving here fast in a supercharged truck,
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From the back cover of a book called
Wonders of Spiritual Unfoldment
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It’s waist high in the back garden
Full of pink bell like flowers
And the bees can’t keep away
Beautiful greens with huge leaves
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Man’s life is laid in the loom of time
To a pattern he does not see
While the weavers and the shuttles fly
Till the dawn of eternity
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Pushed in their buggies or prams
by mum power,
wrapped in their finest
autumn toggs
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In ignorance I stumble
From day to day
From age to age
In loneliness I wander
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I’ve got tombstones in my eyes
My tears they feel like gravel
I see death upon the streets
Of every road I travel
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We’re English through and through down to our bones
Gave birth to the Queen and the Rolling Stones
We’re English through and through and we like to be alone
And we eat roast beef straight off the bone
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I forgot about Wyoming
Its name it sound so fine
I’d listen to the crickets and join in with a rhyme
The mountains and the rivers the names play rhythms in my ears
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Are they really worlds apart?
When both ring bells deep in the heart
Krishna sings in the Bagavad Gita
Christ’s words carry an inner metre
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After reading Hue Blues by Subroto Chaterjee


Colour me purple if not then in red
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I’d love to visit Montana and wander on the plains
And go camping in Yosemite and walk inside the rains
Catch a Greyhound bus, down the roads we’d dally
And make sure the driver stops in the middle of Monument Valley
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If I could write a poem
to light the mind of men
I’d sing it from the rooftops
In hills and vales and glen
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Should you die before your death
Peace is born on every breath
Beyond the tongue or hiss of lips
Beyond all thought that slowly drips
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Wojja sat alone one day with some rhyme
But felt ill at ease ‘because it wasn’t his time
He wrestled and tumbled and played dice with his words
But they just wouldn’t fly, like fledgling birds
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So you did, just like when your mam said
Don’t go near the fire you’ll get burnt
Said there’s a ghost in the cellar but wernt
Don’t speak with your mouthful but you often do
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Full of treasures from the East and the West
Pearls of wisdom by far they’re the best
Come all you poets sing all your songs
Sing it out loud where the glad heart belongs
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I have had enough of heart aches
And poets shouting pain
Words like empty sandcastles
Dissolve in tumbling rain
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