April 25, 2016

 

 

Tune into Tony’s Time Machine

on Wednesday 27th April

for a musical journey

of Tony’s travels

including USA,

 

and also on the Show

 

Tribute poems

by 

Harriet Blackbury 

dedicated to recent sad losses

in the Music Industry.

 

( The Show is repeated at the usual times

throughout the week)

 

 

 

April 23, 2016

 

 

A Legend’s Legend;

no greater respect,

bestowed on this artist,

who had such an effect

 

on the world of music;

far too early the pain,

as we mourn his loss –

on our lips – Purple Rain.

 

A musician, a singer.

A writer renown.

The artist formally known as Prince,

has now won the King’s crown.

 

 

Nothing compares 2 U, or ever will.  

 

 

 

 

April 14, 2016

 

 

They lost me for a while.

My life-style somewhat lacking;

their heads racking with self- blaming guilt.

For the monster they had built – no-one they knew.

No clue to why, but they stood by.

 

They lost me to adolescence.

A cop-out term, which found me slacking.

when tracking freedom’s sweet footpath anew.

Headstrong through wild winds, I heard their cry,

No clue to why, but they stood by.

 

They lost me for a while.

Their wilful child, born with adventure

running through the veins- no room for brains,

just seeking the unknown, atonement ever closer by.

No clue to why, but they stood by.

 

They lost me for a while.

Exhausting was that extra mile, that took it’s toll,

on two who’d done their best, and now sought rest.

He turned the key, but she said ‘Oh No’, with a sigh.

No clue to why, but she stood by.

 

They lost me for a while.

But we made up with a smile – our differences

accepted and then forever compartmentalised.

My dreams and aspirations made of different stuff.

No clue to why, but they stood by.

 

They lost me for a while.

Now I’ve lost them and shed a tear, but the drumbeat

of my back –up Band, ever constant in my ear.

No point to wonder why, the past with hindsight wets the eye..

for it’s my turn now, to do, the standing by.

 

 

 

 

 

And people came, hoping to fit in;

a new life willing to begin.

 

No sea too risky or too deep,

to sap their strength – no time to weep.

 

Each one battling fear and fright,

for a chance of freedom – knuckles white.

 

Survivors of life’s cruellest game;

to live in peace their only aim. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A hundred versions

of one person,

incredulously,

rolled into one.

 

Some laughable

beyond imagination.

Exaggeration expressed,

to cause sensation,

 

and gather momentum

with each telling,

as if a script

for Aaron Spelling.

 

A hundred versions

of one person,

coming to light

now they are gone.

 

Rumours and lies

and much mischief,

will likely,

always follow grief,

 

and gather moss

where corpse now dwelling.

The truth, the truth,

only Pentothal telling.

 

 

 

 

Four hundred years

since he left this earth.

Yet this gift so tacky,

and of little worth.

 

And not in keeping

with what he was about.

Purists of his word,

now scream and shout.

 

Leaving little doubt

how they do feel,

at the thought of his skyline,

with a Ferris wheel.

 

 

 

 

I forgot she hummed of nicotine.

I forgot how high the stakes.

My body ached to see her,

but my mind put on the brakes.

 

I worried for her well being.

I worried about her cough.

But she was hooked for life,

and told me to bugger off !

 

 

 

 

 

Vague shadows of a life now past;

a ticking time-bomb, beating fast.

A melting moment, soon dissolved,

when so in love, when so involved.

 

Vague glimpses of those vibrant rooms;

such laughter once, now catacombs.

And only echoes left behind,

as each word spoken, brought to mind.

 

Vague hopes of meeting – not a chance;

a fool indeed, who dares, a backward glance.

Why kill the dream, the mind holds pure?

Though the pain of loss, hard to endure!

 

Vague memories finally put to bed;

no more, thoughts linger in the head.

An exorcism, now executed

No more, the heart is persecuted.

 

Vague thoughts of everything I do,

from the last second that you withdrew.

In truth, a blur, a tormented hell;

a lone existence – this empty shell.

 

Vague shadows of a life now through;

you’re done with me, I’m done with you.

So tightly hands held ‘goodbye grips’,

til the last touch of finger tips.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Needing a side-kick

comes at a price.

Questioning one’s judgement,

once, maybe twice.

 

Needing some ‘me’ time,

away from myself.

An out of body experience,

leaving me on the shelf.

 

Needing some freedom –

choking on stifled air.

But life is a beggar,

when nobody’s there.

 

Needing an overall;

the engine to re-tune.

Now you’ve gone to God’s heaven,

I’ll be joining you real soon.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh frown that came

and crumpled skin so fair,

when asked to expand on that which

caused an anxious glare.

 

Such agony that touched

ones very being,

as tears welled up,

distress, what we were seeing.

 

Oh time – the Boss

of one’s past misdemeanours.

Now dirty washing

taken to the cleaners.

 

Oh past, no tide

can ever hope to change.

Someone, somewhere will know

the truth, however strange.

 

Oh guilt, so heavy

on one’s shoulders still.

That never can be remedied

by any kind of pill.

 

Yet memory, so exacting,

in fine detail, chooses to recall,

that of which now matters,

really, not at all!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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