A piece I cannot get any mag space or interest for. Any ideas of whys and wherefores?
(Think CSI, and then think oh aye)

Investigation
“All those slags, dancing…” (potential nightclub bomber)

Preliminary Report

Inside us all there is a dancefloor;
maybe somewhere we went just once,
waited for our life to begin, or
met someone, or where someone didn’t come

Preliminary Evidence

broken promises the answer-back of clothes
sparkly g-strings lift-up bras romance
ambiguous wedding veils hidden away or

Document Layer I

the tottering run forward of the boom years

Evidence

new dress, those shoes; hairstyle to match.
Tights or trousers? A-line or Laura Ashley?
Ballgown – a smash of golden chrysanthemums
or the swagged one, a Marie Antoinette strapless
in viscose and silk?

Document Layer II

young and open faces; steel and formica;
the fitted kitchens the snatched-back opportunities

Evidence II

three-day week power cuts repossessions
bad veins hysterectomies shadows
in the breast push chair baby sitter safe?
(Cold war the bomb blast
The Cold War nothing no one left)

Document Layer III

incendiaries, five-hundred pounders, nightly;
sheared house-fronts, poverty hanging its flags out;
the shabby underwear, smashed crockery….
Blood-blackened bricks.

Evidence III

back-slapped men slapped back the film star glam
the cutting room the killing floor Europe
North Africa, Burma bolted and barred the door -
bequeath in the blood a slick of sunk convoys

Conclusion

A few years of dancing; laughing, giddy;
the sudden nights along the marginal land
of postponements; snatched moments.

yeeeeees, well
I had not, you see, reckoned when posting this up that it would wipe out all the finer points of presentation, to whit, all the spacings that allow the clauses and fragments space to express.
Alas.
And nothing can be done to alter it.

A trifle digruntled perhaps?
yes

I enjoyed this

I like the sense of time how its woven and the thread can be extracted like a core throughout the whole piece. Some superb imagery

this is one I have to keep re reading.

It reminds me of the manic street preachers when you cant tell what the heck James Dean Bradley is singing you just think , yea that sounds good.

Thanks for sharing.

I particularly liked the way it evolves and the futility of existence is explored too. Was it brought about by the capture of a maniac and his impact upon those lives what they may have been?

Thanks for all your comments!

Rather put out that the way it's displayed is not the way it's written; that sort of ruins the effect.

The idea for this peice was the complete and utter annoyance at the club bomber's opnion that we brits are affluent and degenerate.
I started out trying to explain what makes us what we are: all the hardships, ruined lives, smashed ideals and promises. After the war we sent someone the America for a billion pound loan to see us over until we got back on our feet as a country cos wos utterly ruined. The person blew it, came over all pompous and the Americans hate that. So no loan. Which meant we had to go through the grim and horrible 1950s.
The piece was x3 as long so I looked at again and turned it into a show not explain piece all fragmented like evidence after a bomb blast that has to be pieced together and never quite fitting. Which is how I see the country.
I don't think it's too hard to see patterns and assonance and hidden rhyming underpins a lot too.
It's meant as a voyage.

There's probably stowaways!

Really getting into Sigor Ros at the moment!!!