chris's rose hill flat, 15 june 2004

In My Flat
In my flat everything
Seems to be wearing out.
But I like old worn pennies
Victorian school books
Tattered newspapers
Old tomes, old Penguins

A name in the Flyleaf
Adds charm to a book.
I am a collector you see.
The room has never
Been dusted
So it is like a Rowlandson
Cartoon of a bookshop.

All I need is parchment
And a quill pen
I then could declare
Myself a Hermit
In a cell in an imaginary
Monastery
I would not need money
Hark, hark the dogs
Do bark
The beggars have
Come to town.

Christopher Baily
Monday 26 November 2001 7am

© estate of christopher baily

Furniture

How we furnish our rooms
Dictates the manner of our lives.
In this room where I write
The Housing Office
Bought the furniture for me
The bed, the sofa, the arm-chair
& A chest of drawers.
I lie on the bed, it is dark
And the bookshelves & tables
Are my own
Somehow it all seems temporary
When Christie upped sticks & left
Rillington Place
He sold the mahogany furniture for a tenner
Furniture is the last to go,
When we are dead.

Christopher Baily

Sunday 6 January 2002 4.45pm