We called it the wireless,
glowing lime green on its own shelf
flanked by plastic posies;
votive offerings to a humming diety
intoning in alien accents.
Bidden never to lay hands on it
I'd surf the cramped waves
fleeing the prim Home Sevice.
Stuttgart, Stockholm, Athlone, Prague
crackled briefly in a fizz of static.
Wheezing accordians signalled Lyons,
Bonn goose-stepped by, a snarl of guttural chatter.
One hissing night I found Caroline
at dials end, one-nine-nine medium wave.
Right there, right then
wireless became radio.
No more sitting comfortably
this was strutting stuff -
tin can sounds across magic ether.
Speaker cloth puffed off the dust of years,
throbbing to a gale of rock 'n' roll,
the wind of change came blowin',
cool, ultra-cool breath fanning new flames.
Born to staid parents, Volume and Tone,
a brand new baby; Noise.
Caroline and I dated most nights,
I repeated her words to my friends-
until they scuppered us.
magnificent journey back to a time of discovery, wonder and enjoyment...great piece, Jimmy. -Tailor
Beat (get it! !) you to it, John. Amazing to see how far the world of sound has come from those rosy, cracking days. Get Emperor Rosko back on the waves, whaddya say? Jimmy
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
You know every thing that makes a good poem, its right there in your poem, you nailed it and i look forward to reading more of your work