The Record

This one was written in October 2013, shortly after I first joined a Creative Writing class. There was an exercise to write a Rhyme Royal to incorporate descriptive writing. Whereas I'd written the odd 'alternative lyric' to songs prior to this, this is really the first poem of note I wrote. (Note I wrote? Get my coat) Cheers, Ashley.

The Record

The touch, the feel of laminated sleeves.
A varied range of artwork comes and goes.
From this, a puff of air each movement leaves
A plastic smell of ink inside my nose.
But then, at last, I see the one that shows
A cursive logo I have sought for years…
The stylus drops; such music to my ears.

Why is it that the feedback feeds my soul?
Why does that bass warm the base of my spine?
No need to be at the Hollywood Bowl –
My eyes are closed but I can see just fine.
And as the singer sings the final line
The music fades – I hear the vinyl hiss –
My thoughts become clear and I reminisce.

The night was cool and the atmosphere hot.
The drizzle raised scent from her golden hair.
Did the weather bother us? Not a jot –
We were so ecstatic just to be there.
We watched as crisp lasers sliced through the air
And the band walked onto the stage once more,
Strapped on their guitars – the final encore.

A Les Paul axe struck the opening chord.
The crowd cheered and clapped in recognition.
The tickets were more than we could afford;
We’d scrimped and we’d saved to gain admission
So as not to miss this fine rendition.
‘Twas then we shared a smile through lashes’ drips
And tasted the jewelled drops on our lips.

Eyes open again, I pick up the sleeve
“Limited pressing”, it says on the top.
Soon, when she gets home, she will not believe
I found the disc in that charity shop
A piece of our past I just could not drop
Recording the time that finally let
Us share our first kiss – our future was set.