Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Cambridge Ghost Walk (Poem)

(Note: I wrote this poem as a student at Cambridge University's Summer Programme. I went to the U.K. with a small group of fellow English students and a couple of professor, all of whom I miss dearly, and had the experience of a lifetime. Not only were we taking courses with amazing professors, just the idea of walking through history was mind-boggling. This poem is an attempt to capture that feeling. The people mentioned are Rick, my amazing friend and fellow English student, who's one of the most fantastic writers I have ever met, and Nicole, a German student we met there.)

Cambridge Ghost Walk

Walk through Newham,
coming from Sidwick,
Concert Hall melody still in me.
The ancient Cam wakes
old memories,
of dead sages,
forgotten clerics,
and old feelings.

Nicole and Rick talk,
about Germans and Latins
and old Rocks.
I fall behind,
walking past the bridge
that exact science made,
looking at the stars,
sniffing the cold air.

Darwin strolled down here.
So did Tennyson.
Before days of glory,
before householding
and eternal flames.
Young, starless,
minds full of ideas,
ideas full of possibility.

Past the Anchor.
A drink.
Maybe later.

Gloomy goodnight,
I walk gently.
The stars show in the
but not in the

Corner of Trumpington,
almost there.

I catch up
with Rick and Nicole.

Hey guys, wait
for me.
Memories that
aren’t mine
vanish as a
ghost walk
draws to a close.
Ghosts of
Darwin and Tennyson
fade, don’t ever go
I sigh.

There is St. Cats,
we are


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