i sent a sigil through public broadcast
and cursed peoples' eyes to undulate
until, swollen enough, those oculus rubies
explode in a maelstrom of blood and pus.

through tv static, untuned, unhinged
a series of hexes float across snow
as muzak fades in and flesh fades out
'til senses give in and odd bells grow

off viewers' arms -- the flower's hue
based on the individual's willingness
to let hummingbirds feed on blood clots festered
through sweet-tasting nectar, golden, confined.

We drove past it every Thursday;
blank, bleach white walls.
Clean, block rectangular.

There was a garage
and sometimes a black car
in the driveway.

It stood out crowded by cluttered
town houses smothered in ivy,
with long grass, red brick or pebble-dashed.

Glass on the street and supermarket
bags on the path, traffic,
conventionality, routine, and teletext.

But his house stood out.
The closest vision of showbiz style
I could see with all I knew being

he grew up near here,
like me, and that must be it,
the very house where

he would live if still in this city.
Creating a myth to myself
that he was allusive but he was inside.

I’d wind down the car window
listening out for the sound of
his songs in the air,

or watch to see if anybody
opened the door, lights of cameras
in the seconds we pass the junction.

Of course, never saw him
on the Thursdays our car passed by
but knew he was very busy.

Eye sockets full of empty grasping hands. Penniless teletext marketers twinkling down bangers the lost boys cry. Be okay. Juicy covers, labeled lets do this again.

I recall the wonder of discovery and
The awesome Technicolor  
When you , taking me in your hand,
Perplexed the monarch of my affections  
And I was a spinster no longer

My cataracts bent themselves rectangle
As you made primetime of my matinee
Made me pixellated  

The world was square
And the Sky without limits
When I moved you into my private chamber

The pause button, having broken
Made us live in the moment  

Every sound wave a fluttering falsetto
That we dare not turn the channel over

You came to me in flat format
But you were the set top box of times now gone
I longed to open you up
And absorb your teletext- the sonnets of old

Primetime was a kaleidoscope
As I lay there in bed with you, my precious television
Suddenly this slim rectangular riddle, when switched on,
was a philanthropist without shackles  
The infinite gift that kept on giving

Mid-way through Holby City
20:20
Vision slipping
I lay there captivated by the elements of some fictional dame
And her fiery mane as it lights up the screen
The screen flickered 24 frames per second
And with it I slip into a familiar abyss

Ah, the reassuring comfort of my companion  
And how you lulled me to sleep  

Every press of the remote was a celebration of my admiration
Groping and clinging to it like some wilting tradition  

Night after night you kept me company
Breathing warmth and pointing your aerial towards me
As I begged Mr Murdoch to
Open my eyes and fill me with information

Nothing dared distract me from you
Though there are those that tried
Those who found themselves muted

I was glued
And when the schedules faded to shopping or teletext
I’d switch you off
And listen to you on standby
How your heavy breathing would soothe me

The red on/off light that burns brightly into the night
Lets me know that you are alive

I hide the remote from prying eyes
Beneath the pillow that, on top, sit’s the TV guide
My encyclopaedia to the stars  

How you have pleased me endlessly  
Illuminating me
Filling me with light

I swift you off and reach for the plug
When suddenly a shock of electricity runs through my body
I feel it in my bones
You are possessive
It reminds me that I am alive

End

Wasn't life simpler before the Internet
That Sunday phonecall to the parents
And a stroll to the bookies for a bet
Catch up on a Friday in the pub or local bar
Have a laugh and a chat with mates about,
The footy, the birds, their next best car
And always the one who will tell the odd little lie
About the women he's had and flings he's spun
But reality is sat in Fleet services eating a pork pie
Holidays on Teletext with the Algarve at 99 pound
Flicking through to the exchange rate quickly
Right, let's book, who's looking after the hound?
Kids had Short Circuit who could read a book in seconds and say Johnny 5 alive
Such a cumbersome machine on tank like tracks
But on this we all did thrive
When affairs were conducted in phone boxes and coffee shops
Where no one carried a camera to grass you up
And then the husband finds out to bang down the door,
Never mind, KNOCK KNOCK!
If they're simpler times now, then on your head be it
But give me that 20 minute load up cassette games, and the choke on my Punto FIAT
For I loved simpler times,
That's just the way that I see it.

JJB

Never take the past for granted
Teletext scores at TV Rental Window shop
for Saturday 4.45 results
Queues as long as sentences
Then to a night showing at the Scala Cinema
With an impromptu black cat at your lap
and cans of Dutch lager
for false courage
Then a breeze trip to Bradford
inspired by the movie
Bob Sue and Rita too
Breakfast at Manningham Lane
and a Kylie Minogue cassette
at a musical market fair.

Remember those days we'd all dress for a flight
Now all hoodies and trackie bottoms,
an almost ghastly sight
Remember those days your mum would call you in for tea
Sat down with just four channels,
with only one ITV
Remember those days when you only had one best friend
Not over a thousand nobody's, who just want to be on trend
Remember those days,
checking scores on Teletext
And looking for flights, that little bit cheaper, flick over onto Ceefax
Thoughts of better times,
when Freddie sang that,
these were the days of our lives
Well those day's will always ring true,
and hold hope,
in our nostalgic side

JJB

In the nascent days of silicon dreams,
A revolution brewed, more than it seemed,
In the heart of Britain, where innovation sparked,
The dawn of home computing, a journey embarked.

Amidst the clatter of typewriters, and ink's gentle flow,
A vision took shape, for the future to know,
A microcomputer, for every home and school,
To empower the curious, a powerful tool.

The BBC Micro, affectionately the B,
A marvel of tech, for all to see,
With its sturdy build and keyboard bright,
A beacon of knowledge, a guiding light.

From classrooms to living rooms, its presence spread,
Young minds were awakened, by what it said,
Programming in BASIC, their imaginations soared,
With each line of code, new worlds explored.

Acorn's creation, a jewel so fine,
With teletext and graphics, ahead of its time,
From Elite’s vast galaxies, to educational quests,
The BBC B shone among the best.

In the spirit of '80s, where dreams took flight,
The BBC B stood, a technological knight,
A bridge to the future, where data could roam,
A gateway to knowledge, from the comfort of home.

It was more than a machine, it was a spark,
Igniting passions, in the light and the dark,
A symbol of progress, a herald of change,
In the annals of history, its name will remain.

So here’s to the BBC Micro, a legend in kind,
A testament to the power of the human mind,
From the '70s dawn, to the stars above,
The BBC B, with all our love.