All those old places
We all have them don’t we
Yet to be reminded
Is such a wonder-filled journey
Studio 58
Where the good folk congregated
To show themselves off
Also to be in with the in-crowd
And the downstairs bar
Where only young people would go
I forget its name
But it will have changed anyway
Slimline suits you said
Sold in the ready-to-wear shop
At the bottom of the arcade
Oh yes, with a very pushy salesman
Lights flicker in the mall
Taking time out to write
Thinking back
To when I studied the technicalities
And completed calculations
For lighting and illumination
I do know my sodium
From my argon mercury vapour
Also you too will remember
The neon lights in the discotheque
Where our white bits were made to glow
By the simplest
Of the light inventors trickery
Light emitting diodes
Now known as the ubiquitous LED
Were in their infancy
Tungsten, back then
Was the first choice
When the cost of energy was low
Quite a lot then has changed
For a little while
I mixed coloured paint
With oil on glass plates
Which I projected
To create
My own kaleidoscopic
Lava lamp effect
Walking on wet sand
Sometimes even in the sea
Out to the old castle
Climbing to the lookout
Walking on wet sand
Taking off our shoes and socks
To let the bare feet
Feel the waves of salty water
And slow-step into or over the rock pools
Sometimes even in the sea
Watching out for the surf gods
Also the less experienced
But equally jovial, belly boarders
Beginning as beginners do
Out to the old castle
Once a first line of defence
Against the foreign invaders
From the shores of France
Or flotilla’s from further afield
Climbing to the lookout
Master of all we see
As we shield our eyes
From the afternoon sunlight
Which glistens on the crests of incoming waves
At the roundabout
Count the bare branches
On the winter trees
Name the winds
Which could blow through
Listen to Virginia Woolf’s story
Of Mrs Dalloway
Oh for the roses
With their velvet petals
And a scent
Which any decent perfumer
Could turn into a veritable fortune
By one's own anxiety
That I could crush
A lamp bulb
In my bare hands
Yet could not utter
A meaningful word
Previously
Driving for twelve hours
Collecting
What had to be collected
Half way along
Several hundred miles
Across umpteen county lines
Tarmac under the wheels
Grinding the cogs and gears
Of excruciating torment
