[a rock opera poem in 3 parts]
The Hungry Years: 1
Getting ready to go
It takes two hours just to crimp my hair,
To ease the thigh-length boots on, smooth and slow,
With a leather skirt that's barely there.
Getting ready to dance
I can hear the music in my head
Catch the mirror's smoky kohl-rimmed glance,
Feel the rhythm stomp with boots of lead.
Getting ready to burst
Once-heavy heart is clamouring to speed
Almost ready now, I burn, I thirst
A distant roar of thunder fuels my need
Getting ready to rock
I can feel the tides of waving hair
We're driving fast against the racing clock
We turn another corner - and we're there.
The Hungry Years: 2
Hungry Years Nights
Pounding hard rock
my sister's face through haloes of smoke
shows her undisguised mirth at the antics
on the dance floor, as
rainbow amoebas of light pass over the walls and
in the frenzy of flying hair
She's making faces over Tom's shoulder
as he smiles, unaware
she's making her cigarette packet dance across the table
she points out all the tarty women,
Nods to the beat,
swigging Newcastle Brown.
Punks stand sentry around the walls, like
preening moussed spikes, adjusting facial rings.
A large biker thumps his fist on the bar to the music,
grinning like a child.
One of the tarts trips on her heels.
We all laugh.
The vision fades. Back in the present,
I begin to read Beth's email from America, slowly,
trying to make it last.
She is happy
but she misses us.
We miss her too.
The Hungry Years 3:
Why not take my arms too,
My legs; why not cut me,
Kill my friends,
Black out my eyes?
What the hell is it about,
All this change for no reason,
The unbroken being fixed anyway,
The unthinkable happening,
The closing-down, shutting up,
finality of it all?
Now we force ourselves out to local pubs
Or the working mens' club,
Watching grannies dance with children,
Aunties with uncles,
We breathe their cigarette smoke,
Suffering others just to enjoy each other.
So I dream of The Hungry Years, in Brighton,
And wonder why it ever had to close.
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|Reviewed by Robin Ouzman Hislop
|reminds me of adolescent days when i lived in brighton but that was long ago time of gary farr son of tommy farr the boxer & our drunken raves
but the writing is cool its pure realism warts & all which also gives it
a very real integrity se va bien hasta siempre robin
|Reviewed by andrea coltman
|Memories mould us into being who we are and you versed these memories so beautifully...really enjoyed...best wishes Andrea|
|Reviewed by Regis Auffray
|Memories... ...You say it so well in these verses, Sara. Thank you for sharing this offering. Love and peace. Regis|
|Reviewed by Marco Landi
|I have to read it few times and yes....The hungry years is insightful
|Reviewed by na na (Reader)
|Excellent. Well written. Bill Murray|
|Reviewed by ***** ********* (Reader)
|"Waiting so long, I've been waiting so long/Look Back in Anger, driven by my voice..."
Ah, Bowie's lyrics from the "Christiane F." soundtrack... mid-calf lace-up Doc Martins with waffle-soles, black gloves with the fingers cut off, leather jackets with more zippers than a centipede has legs, T-shirts with rude slogans overlaid with black mesh waist-shirts, after-hours clubs where the Revolution in Cutting Edge music played until dawn, a perpetual sneer displaying disdain for the status quo, and guitars, guitars, guitars slashing the neon night with swords of razor-sharp sound. Ahhhhhh!
Thank you, Sara, for bringing it all back so clearly, if only for a moment!
Wonderful write: insightful, bittersweet, nostalgic, noisy and disreputable --- gonna read this again...!
|Reviewed by Jeff Mason
|It never does have to close. STAY HUNGRY! That's the best advice I can give. Live every moment you get, while you've got it. -- Jeff|
|Reviewed by jude forese
|life moves on, memories endure within it ... your poem rekindles the passion that made us what we are today ...|
|Reviewed by E. Richardson
|nice memory lane piece...poignant and strong...while we all know change is inevitable, it doesn't mean we like it...fortunately, we have our memories. Very well done, Sara|