The Spindly Showman. Poem by Warren Paul Glover
The spindly showman/Shuffled on stage/Dressed as black as night
The spindly showman/Shuffled on stage/Dressed as black as night
I was still home reading Nina Simone.
A short poem about COVID, porridge and a Fiona Apple song.
she would go about her way, tending to everyone while Billy and his bandmates they would jam and stray but always they’d come home to stay
The keyboard sonatas of Domenico Scarlatti (1685–1757), and a poem I wrote about them, have a close connection to my favourite rental place, an historic mansion in Newtown, Geelong.
You see Clarence wore an old “Lou” reed like a bamboo cravat and a fine felt suit of ebony the colour of half the keys on a honkytonk piano named Hank
I peer into the rear-view mirror/ at my sister’s baby face/The tears brimming
Flashback to the sixties, people living in the cities you got beatniks crossed with hippies sporting horizontal stripes and small goatees play a jazzy, minor chord, learn to smoke, renounce the lord
day one and two Zep II, day three and four Zep IV, four sticks/ the ciggie slim-jims keeping company with Bonham fills of tom-tom
And though not the worst/ part of our on-again off-again ways,/ the latest loss of you stings me anew