Tuesday, 21 January 2014


That tune in my head again - “Golliwogg's Cake-walk”.
Marching men and machines to the horizon.
Beams of sunlight flicker off the brass.
Dour politicians, inflated by loathing, drink-in their might - their generous expense.


Turning down a side street,
Where cafés, ranged empty like theatres in mourning, await -
Their lone monochrome waiters humming, tapping feet.
Eyes follow me as I am quietly detained.

Collapsing in again...

Looking across my cell: Six feet.
A chink of tortured light arrives from nowhere.
Same year, same concrete.
Same Nile Delta stain weeping down the ghost-graffitied wall.

Colin Morgan  


  1. whew...that last stanza...trapped in a cell with just a bit of light...esp in light of the corruption in the first stanza...def a bit of story i would love to hear to fill in the spaces....

  2. this would be my worst nightmare.... kept prisoner in a little cell...heck... and you give us just enough hints to get our fantasy going...the nile delta stain...the side street walk...

  3. I always wonder if it's the right persons occupying the cells or if the worst crooks are walking free... I really like how you describe the creepyness of the cell

  4. The poem marches to its own cadence. I really like reading about the experience. More importantly, the piece let me feel like I was in the band.

  5. That last stanza packs quite a powerful punch.

  6. This is very good Colin I like the angle you have taken. Well done.

  7. Would love to find out more about this story - it draws me in. You recreate atmosphere very well with just a few well-chosen words 'theatres in mourning', 'same year, same concrete'.

  8. I felt the suffocation of breath & lungs as if someone threw me down the dark & morbid cell ~ "Same year, same concrete" ~ Really well done ~

  9. yes, there is a collapsing in, as the verses descend. ~