For decades he handled our dreams
deftly feeding film in serpentine loops
through gates, sprockets and spindled spools
to release dead images from their celluloid cells with hot white light
streaming them down a shimmering beam
through an exhaled haar of tobacco-smoke
to miraculous resurrection on the silver screen.
Alone. Above us. Godlike.
He directed our dreams
and often our nightmares
while we sat in womb-warm darkness
enthralled in enchantment
excitement or fear.
is a minion who
to project perfect
through a multiplex’s
weaned on screens.
© Peter Bullen 2013, reproduced here with permission from the author.
The author writes: “Being born in 1936, going to the pictures was one of my greatest – and most regular – treats during the war. Later, in the 1950s, it was the first choice destination when courting. When I started my career as a reporter on a local newspaper I regularly enjoyed our free pass to the local cinemas! In Fleet Street, I worked for Beaverbook’s Farming Express, the Daily Mail and the Financial Times, writing about food and farming. When I retired, I graduated from the Open University after six years study with a BA (Hons) Literature which has given me the confidence to try and write poetry.”