“Dark Side of the Moon”
Thanks to all the people who visited my first blog poem last week. I was stunned by how many of you there were. The stats section in the blog told me which countries the visitors were from (not who they were). Unsurprisingly, most were from the UK but who were the five people in New Zealand and the two in the US?
This week’s poem is based on the work of Pink Floyd. I love the album “Dark Side of the Moon.” I would play it at home over and over again usually by putting a single bed between two great big Wharfedale speakers and lighting up a big fat joint and let the album flow over me like a wave.
In July 1975 I went to see them at a festival at Knebworth Park. It was a riotous weekend and my overwhelming memory is that of a fly past of spitfire planes and a rocket that ran down a wire from the back of the park to a hit a giant moon suspended over the stage.
For the second of my poems I chose “Money” as the track from the album to inspire a poem. I do the weekly lottery online and pick two random lines for the Saturday night draw. If my ticket wins the lottery people send me an email.
To hear the track click the link above and read the poem.
Schrödinger’s Lottery ticket
The email arrives at four o’clock on a Sunday morning
It will be titled “Good news about your lottery ticket”
In the last decade it has appeared four times
On every visit it has been for the minimum amount
Before I open the email I play a game
It is called Schrödinger’s Lottery ticket
My good news exists in two separate states
Either for the minimum amount or the elusive jackpot
As long as I don’t open the email I can dream
of the riches I will bestow on friends and family
The gratitude and the acclaim I will receive
The everyday differences it will make to my life
Then the doubts creep with the tales of betrayal
Broken friendships and fractured families
The heart breaking begging letters from strangers
The spoilt and rudderless offspring’s decline into drugs
If it is a really big win, I’ll need bodyguards and accountants
The big mansion on the hill will need an army of servants
In exclusive holiday resorts I will mix with golfers and freemasons
The three star Michelin dinners will make me as fat as a hippo
A speedy stab at the screen will resolve the paradox
Then reality collapses and the superimposition ends
One again I am poor along with my relatives and friends
But at least my children are safe from indolence and drug addiction