Antiques expert, copper miner, trapeze artist, I'm none of these. I scrape a living writing song lyrics. My stuff is about contemporary themes and usually tells a little story about surviving the complexities of modern life. Locked down due to the virus so I have more time thinking about poems.
the brass band wears black arm-bands now Ted is gone his lungs survived years down the pit and he was a master of the piston valve but now his trumpet lies idle its finger buttons at rest the mouthpiece cold, quite free from spittle the air that made Ted's lips vibrate is no more, the change of lip tension that varied those vibrations giving notes of different pitches, the valves diverting the breath to extend his range. when Ted's breath ran out the ventilator, a kind of trumpet in reverse blew air the other way for a while but though not short of valves there was little musical about it
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Midnight In Moira's Garden (20/09/2020)
Only The Shadow Of Her Face (19/09/2020)
She'll Soon Come Back I'm Sure (18/09/2020)
Winter In The Sky (16/09/2020)
Rain Doesn't Matter Now (15/09/2020)
Ginger And Fred (13/09/2020)
Saving Me For Later (12/09/2020)
Feline Grace (11/09/2020)
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