I’ve left some leaflets ‘n some booklets.
I’ve not been here in fucking ages!
The road runs riv’ring currents, coursing crashless swirls of traffic.
Nurtured’s the roots of grass that grows again.
As the sunlight stole away, the counter-culture quarter lit the dusk.
Waves of ways of making artwork from life. Scores of sounds – electronic, acoustic. Walls sprayed with all kinds of colours – dark, bright. Generations giving new life to it.
“I thought we should sit ‘round, relate our stories, friend to friend. We each know something of this place. Let’s share it, this night, face to face.”
It is a song of poems – different parts in different verse throughout a night exchanging stories.
Each of us with tales ‘n layered lives to be disclosed…
Pied white ‘n dull-green ‘n shim’ring black, treasuring the trove you’ve gathered.
The fire of the dragon’s protest-flame marks only its self ‘n message.
The road’s become community.