Saturday 11th April



Church bells ring melodies with missing teeth,
name that tune. 5am, 6am, 7am, 8,
‘Lord of The Dance’ & all’s well, sleepless but
Happy. Back on the streets of Amsterdam,
Dodging fleets of armoured bikes & trams,
Following canals to wherever, no need for maps,
We’re drifting, pressure off, in tune with everything,
Resonating. No snare drum skin or tuning folk, this
Is pure muscle relaxant, rolling with punches
Without the punches, just rolling, barely a summer
Breeze whispering between cartoon, toytown
Architecture, drunk listing buildings, lean into each
Other, eyes wide, smiling, benign, Watching over us,
Following metal twins, inset into blacktop,
coffee shop, stag boys staggering, dressed as
drag queens, real men & beers, chilled & smiling.
We turn, cut through, bee-line across the city,
Between churches, galleries, boutiques & head
Shops, the leaf, the red gold & green, fabulous
Structures of light & steel, big- eyed windows,
Everything here is about letting the light in, lifting
The spirits, looking up & out. The Bimhuis, a path
Under the rails, illuminated icicles dangle beneath
Rail bridges, mugger-less alleys, cruise ships
Disgorge house bands, dance bands dressed in
Themes, to tiny cars waiting as we steam along the
Quay, the pilgrimage converging on Jazz, free form,
Improvised, cut free memories of Sydney Opera
& Brighton Dome, “Have you ever seen them play?”
“No, but I’ve played with them”
The Necks, via Sydney & Berlin, Tony, Lloyd &
Chris, slip out into a hushed room, though the
Rhythm of coughs & adjusted butts amuses me,
The tilts of heads & wives & girlfriends suffering
In tow about to pay their dues, The Necks wait
Quiet for the muse, kiss the strings, the keys,
The skins & I’m grinning all the way back to
The bells.



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