Rock reggae renegade
gushes schemes, dreams
and related themes
with as many strands
as his medusa dreadlocks.
Got the gift, keen to heal the rift
smitten with the tunes he's written.
Repeats everything in detail
in case you haven't listened
Streams of consciousness
turn to a flood
dumping concepts in my lap.
Have to shout to throw one back.
On leveraging a suitable spot
you can make yourself heard
in a three-way cacophony.
with the couple from Torbay
as they answer each others' questions.
in a series of endlessly interwoven
The stand-up drummer
is always on stage.
Holds court from his lounge chair
waxing loud and long,
blocking the TV view
with soap box statements
on the state we're in.
Machinegun sentences closely linked
to prevent interlopers
jumping his train of thought.
past and future merging, yappitty yap.
Have to listen carefully
and keep him on track.
Jon from northern parts
journey full of false starts.
Dreams and visions
tall tales from the past,
always in some kind of strife
Juggling six daughters and a patient wife.
When life gets too hard
there's always another yarn.
As long as someone's listening
what's the harm?
I drop in to see Nomad
on the Northland run.
We jump the consciousness stream.
He surveys the world with the weathered eyes
of a former British Marine,
mind dumping, always some theory to try.
There must be a reason so we keep asking why.
About databases and social graces
and difficulty between the races.
Waiting for 'steam engining time'
as the roses burst into bloom.
How the years come and go so soon.
in bursty conversations.
Upward inflections deflect interjections.
No freeloaders on this thought train
got to earn your way in
Word packets collide in mid-sentence
finding each other on the other side
when the echoes subside.
Hard friends sit back informed,
exhausted but satisfied.
- Keith Newman 1986-2001