BLINK AND MISS IT

A poem I was moved to write by something I observed at the Sidecar gig. No matter how absorbed in the music I am part of me is still taking in my environment and watching Ryley Walker at Sidecar the other night I was aware of two people arguing to my left. That is the genesis of this post's poem. 

Blink and miss it beauty

the kind that winds you in

falls, lifts, time changes,

a labyrinth in sound.

She moves, eyes closed,

spins on the spot, amazed,

almost synchronised

but here’s the Minotaur,

patience paper thin,

as you can tell by his face.

She flees through the maze of people.

They will stand by a wall

and she will talk and he will listen

as the gig ends without them.

He buys her a tour shirt

some kind of peace offering,

to paper over the cracks only they know.

I am standing behind him

in the merchandising queue thinking

it’s too little, too late.

The photographs are of murals in Vic, Catalunya. 

On Wednesday I went to Bristol, to the Fleece to see Ryley Walker again. If anything he was even better than last time.
Here's some footage of him playing Roundabout, sterling stuff.

Until next time.