Mystery Flight

An otherworldly flying machine landed in the lake
as vertically as the cliff diving daredevils before it.
The roof opened, like the shutter on a camera,
to reveal a stage. Sound smiths glided into position.

‘I’m Opal Flame and we are Stone Fireworks,’
the front woman roared
with the intensity of a concussion bomb.
She launched into the first verse,
of a song she hadn’t written yet.

‘Strang strums her chords of inspiration,
Drummond’s tropical ocean eyes blaze
with freestyle motor cross concentration.
From the semi darkened stage to the sea
her furious beats meld with my recitation.

The flaming canyon on my dress says I’m wild
The river between claims my beauty is serene.
The glint in my eye says I’m anything but mild.

Forget the album, my spirit needs renewing;
the storm flies, it’s a manic medley brewing;
Stone Fireworks is a geyser of sublime tricks,
bolder than Mandela, as different as Hendrix.

Drummond’s sticks are a blurry dance,
a wizard’s soaring chords take a chance,
I’m catapulted into an adlibbing trance;
Stone Fireworks

In flight writing and reciting igniting;
between Adelaide and Belgrade,
Budapest and Bucharest,
there’s no time to book a rest.

At the top for a geo age,
we float to centre stage,
to melt the world’s rage.
Stone Fireworks

In flight writing and reciting igniting;
our rhythm is robotic, the beat hypnotic,
the retreat amniotic – Stone Fireworks.

Asteroid sized opals strike black holes, on a 3D screen.
It’s the dullest of doldrums after all your ears have seen.

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