When Kurt was murdered all those years
Ago now I sure didn’t think he’d still
Be remembered as a light in the darkness
Of early 90s gloom & yet here we are…
The press still eulogise him as a Martyr
For our glorious movement of slack &
Mindless self-destruction that seemed to
Rule a whole lot back then…
For me he, along with his mates, was just
The maker of a sweet beautiful noise that
Somehow tonight I sit here remembering…
The first time I hear the rabid punk rock
Roar of Sliver & how it blew me away
With its speeding frenzy of a young kid
Losing his mind….
I remember a day in that muddy field in
The garden of middle England with the
Rain & the wind & my tent blown away
But I just didn’t care as that Bank Holiday
Weekend had changed my life…
The Sunday began with a storm that
Broke all records & the Melvins doing
Their best at freaking out those full of
Teen spirit with an early rendition but
Some just got lost & never made the show…
Bradford Middleton lives in Brighton, England. Recent poems have been published at Fixator Press, Underbelly Press, Broken Teacup, Dear Booze, Horror Sleaze Trash, Mad Swirl, Thirteen Myna Birds and in The Good Press’ The Paper. His first collection is currently doing the rounds of various small press publishers.