PRIVATE DRAMAS

I cannot remember where I took this photograph, or if it is the chair, the head or the fez that was £28. The scene just called out to be photographed.
A revised poem. You can read the earlier version here.

Human Geology

the band crank it out, urgent, loud,

such a brief time to impress

below them hands in the air

almost a single mass of flesh

caught up in their moment

others further away

drink, talk, laugh, vape

the festival the backdrop to their private dramas

everywhere

unnoticed in viz-vests

people paid by the hour,

stoop to collect cans into plastic bags

I know that when I last revised it I was concerned with layout and this time I have let the poem breathe more. It can be illuminating to play with layout. I think you have to live with a poem for some time before it reveals its true shape.
This next poem wrote itself. It is what I would call a character poem, rather than a poem based on experience.

so he gets older

his ghosts draw closer

elbow each other aside

hurl memories into his face

his life is far from calm

there can be no plain sailing through the storm

throughout his waking hours

his consciousness is wearing riot gear

the city of his self burns through the night

dreams are one long firefight

in this present one

he pretends he does not know the rules

but you too would deny all knowledge

with the muzzle in your face

more cold than interstellar space

and dawn five hours distant

It came as a series of images that I wrote down and linked later. Then I left it undisturbed for a couple of months. It is not yet complete.

This week I have been listening to lots of jazz. I think that could be my default setting these days, but here is something different.

I've long been a fan of Traffic and I've just found this video of Steve Winwood from 2012.

Until next time.