Paul Andrew Sneddon

Home

I’ve got a little Park
20W amp.
It sits under a table
in the bedroom.

I’ve owned it for 30 years,
and still some days,
when the rain tumbles down
and my feet can’t get on the ground,
I unwrap the wire,
I plug it in.

I unspool the guitar lead
and plug it into my guitar,
full of soul.

I turn the volume up,
make a chord on the fretboard,
and my hand hits the strings
no pick, no plectrum,
just connection.

And the notes wash over me,
and fill the room.
I feel them.
I hear them.
I am them.

I am home.

Front Step

I’ve never tried writing on the front step before.
The cars zip by on the road. Places to be, places to go.
I’m sitting here as the sun lights up the neighbourhood.

The warm air. Birds singing.
Songbirds flit back into the hedge. Summer is coming.

There are more people about now.
More buzz, more energy, more aggravation. All at once.

I sit back and take a deep breath.
It’s a good day to be alive.
You can feel the pulse of life picking up.

Raised voices. A commotion on the street.
Someone’s getting thrown off the bus over the way.
I wonder what they did.

Two voices shouting:
The bus driver “is a cunt.”
The passenger “is an arsehole.”

Then the door hisses shut and the bus pulls away.
Shouts. A crash.

The bus brakes slam.
I hear people running.

Here we go.
Some things never change.
The world keeps spinning.
Life goes on.

Back to the front step.

Catch a Spark

Dancing in the Dark

Funny how songs stick with you,
like they are just part of the air —
part of life.

I remember when I was a kid,
sitting in a pub in the morning.
There was a funeral:
black ties,
beer and wine,
sad eyes and perfume.

Someone crying softly,
sausage rolls and spilt wine,
morning light in the faded carpet,
cigarette smell drifting through.

This song was playing.
Someone was playing pool —
like a coiled spring,
pacing
round the table,
holding back.

All around,
worlds falling,
broken hearts,
never the same again.

I saw the future.
Joke’s on me, I guess.

Through the grim morning,
Bruce singing.
To start a fire,
you need a spark.

Dancing in the Dark.

Sometimes I hear it,
in the kitchen,
in the supermarket,
at a football match.

I still remember.

It’s a song sung after a few beers
with your pals.
It’s a song whispered at 5 a.m.,
alone with the world,
before the sun comes up.

Dancing in the Dark.

The beach is different this time of the morning. Your only companions are the seagulls and the occasional jogger. Come back in a few hours and there will be crowds of families, teenagers, and grandparents everywhere. No doubt the kiosk will be making a killing. Don’t get cornered by the old ones, they’ll talk your ear off about how the prices are going up and the coffee is never as good as it was before.

But that’s for later.

Today.
Right now.
In this moment.

I just have to breathe. A rare Scottish blue sky.
The sun behind me. That’s the price of living on the west coast. Come back this evening and there will be a beautiful sunset of red and yellows, like a painting or a dream.

But right now, all I need is here.

I take a look around.

I slip off my shoes and my socks. Feel the sand under my feet and between my toes. I look out to the water, crashing gently onto the beach. I look out and can see Arran across the water, ancient and mysterious in the morning light.

The early morning sunshine warms my face. I’m here to welcome a new day.

The smile across my face.

I jump over a couple of pools of water the tide has left behind.

As I reach the shoreline, the waves break gently, and I feel the cold water over my toes and feet. It feels like I can see for miles from here this morning, miles of beautiful blue.

When I was younger, I used to love spending hours in front of a screen or up in my room playing guitar.

These days, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than here. In the here and now. Under the sky.

I press play on my phone and the drums start up. I take a walk along the shore, with my feet in the water, the sun in my face, and the bass pumping.

I am alive, in the here and now.

Kings and Caesars

Kings and Caesars,
Back to the age —
Blood and fury;
It never went away.

A broken down piano,
Chords from the dark alley,
Holding onto something,
That already slipped from you.

Dreaming,
Dreaming of peace,
Justice,
Brotherhood,
Humanity.

Just seeing the tracks left behind,
As it disappeared over the hill —
Left blood and pain and predators,
Moving in for the kill.

Sad songs from a burning piano,
Calling out your name;
I know that song by memory —
Rise up, rise up again.