The Fleapit

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.

2 thoughts on “The Fleapit

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