Zeppelin in the sitting room,
Friday and Saturday night dreams.
Hopes flying high like smoke rings
I never thought it would end.
Four fat bass strings, a blue drum kit
Electric guitar, a world brightened in sound.
A light at the end of the tunnel,
A way to get out of the dull small alleyways of a dying town.
Bundled up in an old post van, driving out into the night
Waiting for the underground to strike
The dervish, whirling frontman exhorts the crowd
To dream of a way out.
Anarchy and peace. A naivety…
well, maybe.
But for one shining minute, I thought that we might all be free.

  1. Thanks to everyone for liking this post.

    • Emma
    • April 3rd, 2013

    ell yeah friend. Zep sets us all free.

  2. I love this poem.

    I love the transcendent quality of flying high, zeppelin (Led or otherwise!) and dreaming of ways out (into success?). They are words of aspiration and ecstasy.


    • Thank you very much! When you said that there was a transcendental quality to the poem I looked at it again and can see there is a flying trope within the poem. As ever, thank you for the kind words (and the correction ha ha).

  3. Hi! You’ve been nominated for the Liebster Award! go here for all the info:

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