Fearful Room

Sitting in that

Fearful room:

After the question –

Ridiculous but necessary –

Before investigations can

Lead to  the


The answer.


Wishes are never horses ;

Only dishonest beggars ride.




“Back to life,

Back to reality…”

“We’re not here today …”

The lady answering the ‘phone

Lied so sweetly,

And we shared a knowing smile –

Me, willing to overlook

Her temporary falsehood –

She, forgiving my eavesdropping.


I always push the doors

I need to pull

And close the windows

I ought to keep open.




Roadmender Rock’n’Roll

It’s automatic. Happens without, it seems any conscious direction from my brain. Into the hall – matt black walls, matt black floor – no seats – find a space. Enough space. With a view of the stage – or the parts that I am hoping will be the significant ones. I want to  be able to see the singer (the main reason I came) and the guitarist.
Then, without too much preamble – some overture that is not too grandiose, but somehow reminiscent of Als Sprach Zarathustra and, er, maybe the  Clockwork Orange soundtrack– the band are on-stage. Straight into the first song and again, without too much thinking, my body is moving. The sound is good, the volume pleasantly loud, the vocals maybe a little indistinct (but who’s picky right?)
I am comfortable with this crowded space; there’s a guy at my ten o’clock waving his arms and a pint of beer, somewhat crazily – but he’s happy and as long as the beer stays in the mug …
Where, and when did we all learn to dance on the spot? With our feet, more or less glued to the floor. Leaning, swaying, just occasionally getting nudged gently by an anonymous neighbour who is doing, pretty much, the same thing … or of course bumping into another. We don’t know each other right? But we’re all here for the same thing. To be entertained, to pay homage, to be reminded, to learn a little something, to be part of a live-concert magic that, sorry, cannot be properly replaced with even the best of You-Tube videos (though I will look at them; goes without saying.
 It’s a skill, this movement, a science and an art-form. Not always glamorous or attractive. But beautiful for its simplicity and lack of aggression. Some moves are reminiscent of the captive-in-a-plane gymnastics to ward off DVT, I think shamelessly. But all are a response to the venue, the atmosphere, the band and the music I guess. And the show is a good one. Some people pass by; toilet, cigarette or bar breaks I imagine. But it’s done without words. Without upset. There are no aisles, we make our own rules for the duration. And live by them.
The beer stays in the plastic container until it is swallowed.
28th October, 2012

How Much

How much you know –

You, the powerful, the ungodly –

We can never guess.


Be careful not to use

The nows

To judge

The thens;

When, we fervently hope –

Things were different enough.


We huddle together,

Innocent comforts,

Waiting for cues

For clues,

For bones.



To A Doodle

It was, truly, nothing

When I began – mere

Automatic scribble –

Then suggestions began

To surface, gasping,

Grasping for recognition.

Now, is it a

Saucer or a jet-wing?

You would think I should know;

The pencil is in my hand

After all …


But, still I hesitate;

Delaying decision:

My fingers begin

To twitch again.




Waiting for love,

For love and coffee;

Lively backbeat,

While I’m training

And paying for

The songs I forgot,

Cushions and the sun.

Even on the rainy days,

When I couldn’t see

The strings,

Purple and night-black:

Waiting for love,

For love and coffee –

One more time –

Lively backbeat …

See the Face ?

See the face in the doodle tree?

See something in music?

A room too big, too still

Without it?

Some piece of faith:

A life, not quite, without it?

A little silver-black,

Feather-light melody-memory;

As simple, as inevitable

As falling.

Green at the eve –

The kind that

bends straight lines –

Green at the finish:

We’re not expecting people

Any more.



Once she climbed the

Devil’s Staircase,

For me, for you,

With heritage-proud

Power in her roaring voice.

Now, atomic bat,

Drifting gracefully

Into history.


Supreme silver tiger,

Aggressive aluminium angel;

Somewhere between now

And past high sky circles.

Quietly saving civilisation

Until we could, ungratefully,

Reject you.