
Thirty-three Gatecrash.
A scold of Jays sings along,
To spinning vinyl,
Heart thumping like,
A bass drums beat,
Getting me dancing again.
A murder of Crow’s jolts,
My memory of lost loves,
Long forgotten parties,
Dancing to chilled tunes,
Barefoot in the grass.
A Parliament of rook’s jive in,
Breaking my dreams of revolution,
Turning in my brain,
To Reggae, rock, Luna harp,
And beyond at 33 RPM.
A mischief of magpies cavorts,
And swirl around, in their.
Black and blue.
To sixties revolving 45’s’,
Enticing all to dance the twist,
At 33RPM.
A clattering of Jackdaws swoop,
In to gate crash my sound system,
Leaving once revolutionary,
Vinyl’s broken and scratched,
Never to party again.
© 20/06/2022 Rogleach
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