Music rumbles, a gale behind the haphazard tents. Complaining in jest, he
Washes his hands. The babywipe streaked with bitter filth; tossed
Away onto the tip beneath our feet, constructed above a landfill
From fifty years ago.
The landfill was topped over; municipal fields. The ghostly stench, an unwanted
Soul, haunts locals. We always return, a grimy pilgrimage for
The indie generation. Do you remember the first time?
Dust devils spiralled in the dry heat. Memories -
Of night sounds, smells, sipping tea with lonely Samaritans.
Every day twisted. Now, we check the programme, stay off the boat till three.
Life’s topped over a messy youth.
Author notes
One of Britains major music festivals is on an old tip. That is why there are areas you can't camp, and why fires keep going even when doused out!
A contest entry
- 48 Hour Contest!!!!!!!!!!! by Celticmoon.
300 points, ended June 25, 2007, 11 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Evocative...
Anyone who ever crawled from a foot odour tent into a damp and smoke laden morning hung with the stench of a hundred thousand dampened enthusiasms, from Woodstock to Glastonbury, cannot help but smell the damp wood smoke and overfull urinals in your piece - thanks for the memories...
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I've never seen an acrostic like this, intriguing. You take us on a wonderful journey of your words, excellent penning, good luck in this contest. My pleasure to read, you are a talent
~Tia
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You have written this piece well. Though perhaps shortening the lines to create a more evened flow would enhance this piece a bit? Thank you for entering and good luck!
Blessings
celticmoon
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Yes I was thinking of doing that
There is a vague acrostic structure to it but I'm considering just restructuring it into free verse.
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