When I was a boy, you were one

of the men I wanted to be, punk attitude

wrapped up in a skin of pounding music,

and whilst I could not play bass,

or any type of instrument, I still wanted

that naked, fire driven approach, to be angry,

to dwell in me; mean, moody and magnificent,

a bad boy with a good heart, now I

watch you on stage and you slap your bass,

you treat it rough and I think

can I do that with words, a Kerouac love, mean

moody and magnificent in forms of sonnets

and four lined rhymes, pound the fist against

English language whilst caressing it with

sensitivity, send the words out to war and count every

single one of them back in, a war not verbal assault,

not half inched mocking of vowels but a reminder

of the passion and beauty that a slapped bass can hold

before it cries out, screams the lines

of the song we all want to hear.

 

Dedicated to J.J. Burnel and The Stranglers.

Ian D. Hall 2018