Wednesday 24 April 2024

Frank Field – d. April 23rd 2024

Politics is a long walk, not a cab on expenses.
It does not speed through our darker towns
swerving round the fallen, past the crowds.
It is the service of the outstretched hand,
the conversation, the trying to understand. 

Derek Underwood – d. April 15th 2024

Some lives are a slow turn of the arm, same
line and length day after day; others deceive
with variation, changes of pace and angle,
occasional days that skid through fast,
that you can only stand up and applaud.

Peter Higgs – d. April 8th 2024

The universe is barely credible,
its mass in excess of what is visible,
its meaning opaque, intangible.
Most of us exist and die, illegible
and void. Others are indelible,
named by every atom, irreducible.

Clarence ‘Frogman’ Henry – d. April 7th 2024

It’s not easy in the Big Easy, friend,
and making it big is the biggest joke,
but a bluesman’s a bluesman right to the end,
and life’s hard, and then you croak. 

Friday 5 April 2024

Keith LeBlanc – d. April 2024

You sit down to play; the kit becomes
an orchestra, a symphony of drums,
super-heavy, hi-hat like a ticking bomb,
paranoid snare and depth-charge toms,
kick-drum beating rebellion in sixteenths,
no compromise, no sell-out, no relief.

Chris Cross – d. March 25th 2024

Sooner or later we will return
to an Eden of our own; yours
will be lush and romantic, bass
amped up and folded back until
it becomes a hymn to lost youth.

Steve Harley – d. March 17th 2024

Even through the soup of medium wave
I heard that glimmer of guitar, a six-string
smile, riffing like a wink. Song devises codes
of joy; you broke every one, over and over.

Karl Wallinger – d. March 10th 2024

Some songs blunder in,
shouting their own names,
angry, but with no solutions.
Others wear different skin,
turn inertia into flames,
kindle private revolutions. 

Eric Carmen – d. March 2024

America wears a disguise of song,
usually too long,
torn between the loud and the lush,
and always too much.
You sang anguish into a soft spell
all by yourself,
and when I dial you on the telephone
nobody’s home. 

Tony Green – d. March 4th 2024

In One! A double - no, a treble bed.
In Two! The only colours; black and red.
In Three! The working man and his pleasures.
And Bully’s Special Prize! The drama of small measures.