Bradford Middleton


I’m pouring through a folder of old poems

Like an old drunk downing some wine when I find

One that writes of a Thursday night and

A need to escape.  A need to get out

And into it, to lose myself, give myself over

To the madness of the night

Outside and, right now as I sit here, no

Longer able to remember just how long

It’s been since I last did that.  When i last

Set foot out there at this middle of night

Time of half-eight I can’t remember but

I know this, it’s been longer than days,

It’s even been longer than a week,

Hell even a month, a few at least since this

God-damn mess somehow managed

To ruin our pubs and my nights have been

Lost instead to just another old black&white

Movie and some words for a new novel.

Tonight though with my jazz grooving

Nicely and the words slowly beginning to

Flow i think i’ll just do the same again;

More writing mad poetical words

Instead of bold novelistic tones of torment

And horror as i sit nursing my five pound

Wine and smoking the beauty that soothes

My mind and calms it into not wanting to

Ever go out there again.

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