Hey steemers,
This is an original poem of mine called Hawkin's Bazaar, taken from my 2015 live album, Artefacts of Desire.
It’s a long, rambling set of stories and vignette’s from people’s lives; characters glimpsed and imagined. I wrote it in the cafeteria at a depressing office I worked in in Bristol, probably over ten years ago now. It was my attempt to write a Tom Wait’s song, and the meter is loosely based on the melody to Tom Traubert’s Blues. I did attempt to set it to music but it didn't quite come off.
I cut out quite a few stanzas for the performance, so have included the full version below.
Note: Hawkin's Bazaar is a gift shop chain. Not sure why I named the poem this, but I liked the sound of it and it kind of stuck.
Thanks for listening. Let me know what you think in comments and remember to up, resteem and follow me if you like what you hear.
Hawkins Bazaar
When Polly came to find you
the past was still behind you
and all the plans you made were still secure
But things can change so quickly
from sticky sweet to sickly
and enemies are founded on a kiss
But Polly was no sweetheart
with her hardened head and street heart
she toppled men with hardly any care
It was not that you were lonely
bitter sweet and homely
it’s just that she was aching for a kill
She grabbed your heart and strangled
left you battered, bruised and mangled
about your face your heavy thoughts were hung
But it didn’t seem to phase her
she went straight in with her taser wit
and ruthless charm, that’s plain to see
She left you gaunt and haggard
crucified and ragged
stumbling through the neon streets at night
Where you stumbled to the chamber
of some God-forsaken stranger
and threw your cards right in and bought the rounds
But your new found friends were ogres
broken souls and loners
the perfect place to hide your harrowed heart
But it didn’t last, it couldn’t
and no one thought it wouldn’t end this way
(I’m sure that fools aren’t blind);
Same as wounds don’t close but doors do
and mine don’t hurt as yours do
(I've cauterised too many times for that)
And now it’s time for my tale
I’m getting into full sale
I’ve sailed right by your ocean many times
In the absence of a stranger
and the comfort of a manger
the night has culled its quiet to the quick
In the stuff of honest legend
from Bermondsey to Bridgend
History has absentee'd its truth
So, do you know who has the answers
in the Board Rooms or the Dance Floors?
and do they ever think of them at all?
But me, I’m just a desk clerk
for a softly savage despot
Don’t ask for much, don’t care for much at all
I just focus on the numbers
while my conscience slowly crumbles
and as I sink I think of you again
Remember when the future
seemed custom built to suit you?
But now you’ve gone it seems so long ago
And I was just a child then
so carefree and so wild when
it seemed that all my dreams were cast in stone
But since you left I’ve faltered
from the path I never altered
in all the years you kept me in your home
Now it’s morning and it’s cold here
I’m resigned to growing old here
these spinning doors are kicking at my heels
Though I never planned to stay here
it gets me through the day, dear
if I can speak of you with humble sounds
though the light is slowly fading
the mighty beasts are trading
blows and cards and pleasantries of fear
Now I might be slightly jaded
and my jeans are slightly faded
my empty steps are hanging in the dark
But I know I can’t be broken
by some sentimental token
of simpler times and simpler points of view
I’m dead weight but I’m steady
over eager, over ready
over everyone I ever loved or lost
But it doesn’t make me bitter
to know that I’ll forget her
as soon as I am getting on my way
On my way to where? I don’t know
I have drifted, gone with the flow
and it’s always left me stranded on the shore
And on the docks I’ve wandered
through the warehouse, down the old road
that leads to places darker still than here
So if you see me in your headlights
amongst the freaks, amongst the deadbeats
don’t hide it isn’t you they’ve come to steal
True, they’ve seen no one quite like you
no one shine quite as bright as you
Our Lady Of The Church Of Wasted Saints
Who in shadows, holes and motels
brings pleasure from the brothels
where once she cut her cloth to fit her eyes
That once had shined serenely
sometimes emerald, sometimes seaweed
for Our Saviour On The Laminated Cross
I’m in the running for a favour
a hot meal or a saviour
and when it’s done I wont ask you to stay
We’ll just listen as the raindrops
annihilate the rooftops
embracing in our solemn little scene
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