I still remember the meagre collection
- shirley bassey tihuana brass neil diamond's greatest hits -
and a couple of 45s
- one of which - tommy steele's confession - we never played -

but we would stack the rest
and dance until they dropped
- then dance some more

flared trousers swinging
- the green patterned pile carpet -
and my sisters osmond lp

later I asked my mother
what she did in the sixties
and where was her music


walking into town -
suddenly I am holding a man's hand
- broad - strong - yet childish
enough to seek a fathers love

blue slushie stained teeth grin at me
- a blob of chocolate ice cream under the nose -

every song I sing is boring


it was only when later
- cheque to cheque - without a washing machine -
that I understood the paucity of music

and my mother nods
in that most irritating of ways -
like when she reads over my shoulder -
or says she doesn't understand my poems
unless I read them aloud


it is only when writing
I understand the happiness
of experience

and see through the lies
of peddled shared guilt

◄ the republican mantra

Sonnet to 1680 ►


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M.C. Newberry

Tue 11th Aug 2015 16:18

Intriguing for its word-pictures - albeit that I'm not sure
about "the paucity of music" in any context - and I
enjoyed the casual evocation of mum leaning over the shoulder etc., These things strike the common
experience chord in our lives.

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sat 1st Aug 2015 14:24

You are, by choice, often difficult to follow. But I still enjoy your work. I do see the 'chapters' following a theme, I think. The final two lines seem to come from nowhere, not a continuation, not a summary - just - from nowhere. Like - read the next novel of my saga.

The title is excellent.

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