Rob Ayling writes:
"Thom the World poet is an old mate of mine from way back in my history. Even pre-dating Voiceprint, when I was running "Otter Songs" and Tom's poetry tapes and guest appearances with Daevid Allen, Gilli Smyth Mother Gong are well known and highly regarded. It just felt right to include a daily poem from Thom on our Gonzo blog and when I approached him to do so, he replied with in seconds!!! Thom is a great talent and just wants to spread poetry, light and positive energy across the globe. If we at Gonzo can help him do that - why not? why not indeed!!" (The wondrous poetpic is by Jack McCabe, who I hope forgives me for scribbling all over it with Photoshop)
PUNK MUSEUM
MOSH PIT
So it's Saturday night
and the boys with beer cans in their raised hands
want to feel physical-so they push with a smile
and the waves of bodies squeeze and compress
then send pressure back to the source of the stress
and push and pull makes for vortices and eddies
in a waving crowd-where,up the front
volunteers move in to exert more hands
upon the soft bodies for whom this is their only
dance.
Perhaps this is as close as they may get
to being physical with someone else.
Mostly it is males with raised hands
and the level of violence is within their command
as they conduct symphonies of wave motions
through the crowds-small folks,making motion
where otherwise the wise would stand like poles
now they bend like wheat in a wind ripple effect
and a boy is propelled by the hands of the crowd
over the security barrier,then lowered down
No one seems hurt-in fact,they all laugh
as this is the band for whom they will move
themselves and others-these Butthole Surfers
who remind them of 80's punk Austin days-
of concerts and venues long closed down..
Yet,in their hands-they carry the telegram
that they can still make motion with their band-
So they roll,and they rock,
and they push ,and they shove
and this is the music that they most love
to be moved by the motion of the band on the stage
and forget they are playing to another lost age.
Thom The World Poet
So it's Saturday night
and the boys with beer cans in their raised hands
want to feel physical-so they push with a smile
and the waves of bodies squeeze and compress
then send pressure back to the source of the stress
and push and pull makes for vortices and eddies
in a waving crowd-where,up the front
volunteers move in to exert more hands
upon the soft bodies for whom this is their only
dance.
Perhaps this is as close as they may get
to being physical with someone else.
Mostly it is males with raised hands
and the level of violence is within their command
as they conduct symphonies of wave motions
through the crowds-small folks,making motion
where otherwise the wise would stand like poles
now they bend like wheat in a wind ripple effect
and a boy is propelled by the hands of the crowd
over the security barrier,then lowered down
No one seems hurt-in fact,they all laugh
as this is the band for whom they will move
themselves and others-these Butthole Surfers
who remind them of 80's punk Austin days-
of concerts and venues long closed down..
Yet,in their hands-they carry the telegram
that they can still make motion with their band-
So they roll,and they rock,
and they push ,and they shove
and this is the music that they most love
to be moved by the motion of the band on the stage
and forget they are playing to another lost age.
Thom The World Poet
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