Friday, 4 May 2018


Vigilant readers of this blog will know that I recently moved house. This first poem is a found poem. When we were house hunting I made notes on my phone about each of the properties we looked at. I was trawling through the rough drafts of poems I occasionally scrawl on my phone, when I found the notes. Looked at in the cold light, many days later, I could see the outline of a poem.

Stone Parrot Close

a ten minute brisk walk from the shops.

combined kitchen and living area

two compact bedrooms.

on street parking

and the cars on the A-road sound like surf 

I have a habit of looking through the vinyl in charity [thrift/oppo] shops. The gleanings these days are not what they were. The growth in the popularity of vinyl, while welcomed, has reduced the number of finds and generally raised the prices to silly levels.
I always encounter at least one Johnny Mathis lp and usually another by the band leader James Last. There are always copies of Andrew Lloyd Webber's efforts, which speaks for itself...

Soundtrack for a Charity Shop

Johnny Mathis of course,
James Last is second,
as capitalism masquerading as culture manifests
in endless rows of cheap popular classics,
and more copies than you would want to imagine
of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Requiem,
that I assume were only played the once.
Next an invitation somewhere I never want to go,
Fifty Top Tune Banjo Party!
It is raining outside,
I have no coat
but sodden clothing seems
somehow strangely appealing.

I can only shift through old vinyl for a short time these days, I think I must be getting old.
On the new vinyl front Anna Ternheim has a live recording out, The Winter Tapes that is splendid. It is beautifully recorded.
But as we brought in the May on Tuesday morning I shall end with the Watersons singing Hal-An-Tow.
Music doesn't get much better than this.
Until next time.

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