Jungleland

A poem, some words, based on the lyrics of Jungleland, a Bruce Springsteen song. First you see his lyrics, then my words.

Jungleland

The rangers had a homecoming in harlem late last night
And the magic rat drove his sleek machine over the jersey state line
Barefoot girl sitting on the hood of a dodge
Drinking warm beer in the soft summer rain
The rat pulls into town rolls up his pants
Together they take a stab at romance and disappear down flamingo lane

Well the maximum lawman run down flamingo chasing the rat
and the barefoot girl
And the kids round here look just like shadows always quiet, holding hands
From the churches to the jails tonight all is silence in the world
As we take our stand down in jungleland

The midnight gangs assembled and picked a rendezvous for the night
They’ll meet ‘neath that giant exxon sign that brings this fair city light
Man there’s an opera out on the turnpike
There’s a ballet being fought out in the alley
Until the local cops, cherry tops, rips this holy night
The streets alive as secret debts are paid
Contacts made, they vanished unseen
Kids flash guitars just like switch-blades hustling for the record machine
The hungry and the hunted explode into rocknroll bands
That face off against each other out in the street down in jungleland

In the parking lot the visionaries dress in the latest rage
Inside the backstreet girls are dancing to the records that the D. J. Plays
Lonely-hearted lovers struggle in dark corners
Desperate as the night moves on, just a look and a whisper, and they’re gone

Beneath the city two hearts beat
Soul engines running through a night so tender in a bedroom locked
In whispers of soft refusal and then surrender in the tunnels uptown
The rats own dream guns him down as shots echo down them hallways in the night
No one watches when the ambulance pulls away
Or as the girl shuts out the bedroom light

Outside the streets on fire in a real death waltz
Between flesh and what’s fantasy and the poets down here
Don’t write nothing at all, they just stand back and let it all be
And in the quick of the night they reach for their moment
And try to make an honest stand but they wind up wounded, not even dead
Tonight in jungleland
———————————————————————————–

Twicedoubleyou
Jungleland

Yes, the poet here stands back, but writes like crazy
drafts of night and day, though wounded, nót to let things be
in trying to see a glance of the ambulance pulling away
and in showing off, even embracing that girl’s nightlight,
to softly whisper the surrender and to translate hurt
of rat and barefoot girl

Yes, the poet stands back, but waltzes on, solitarily
in surviving two hearts, words locked in a bedroom’s mind
for not to throw darts (in lovers’ eyes), for to take stand
and to get back on a something called track,
since there is no sounding board
here in jungleland

 

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Over Twicedoubleyou

Hello! My name is Wendy. I love writing, sharing and creating. On 'Twicedoubleyou' I write small stories and poetry about life, spirit and things that keep my head and soul alive or that is reflecting, touching my inner world. On my page 'Kekke Koekjes' you can read about my home made sugarfree cookies and order them. And on 'Twicedoubleyou Travels' you read all about my adventures whilst traveling. There is a translation bar on the blog. On 'Workshops' and 'Agenda' you will find information about my workshops in creative writing. Feel free to join, follow me or respond. Or mail: twicedoubleyou@gmail.com/ twicedoubleyou@hotmail.com. Thank you for your digital visit!
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