Hello Poetry Lovers, how do you like my new look? Pretty glam, eh?
Now don’t faint but I’m actually going to share one of my own poems with you today. About an institution that shaped most of our lives, the cinema, or to some of us, the fleapit.
All the magic and wonder of celluloid unfolded for us in these rathole buildings. I remember the trailers were wonderous for me. I recall those better than the films! Anyway, this is The Fleapit – I hope you enjoy it.
Oh you fleapit, you!
I was under your spell,
especially when you showed Jack
Wild films.
And Ryan’s Daughter
And Carry On Henry
And Ring of Bright Water.
I loved your lack of balcony seats,
no airs and graces for you,
unlike the posh Embassy over the road.
Mind you, you didn’t half
show some crap –
The Magnificent Seven
Deadly Sins, wasn’t it?
You knew your time was up;
your rivals showing premium films,
being divided up into three cinemas.
You couldn’t compete, with your
lethargic lettering, wonkily displaying
Big Jake.
But like John Wayne, your star
had dimmed.
Along with your torn posters and cheap lollies.
No Kiora drink could save you now.
Goodbye and thanks.
I’m off to the multiplex.
Good luck with the Bingo,
then later on as a Turkish grocers.
HM 2017
Wasn’t that a hoot?! This is part one about our past cinemas, keep your eyes peeled for part two. Same time, same channel.
Heather Moulson 
I’ve always loved this poem. Ax
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Thank you x
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