WILLOW

Willow
 1973 /4

Willow was Joe Reynold's band. Joe was one of the sax players and I think Mick Broadhurst was another member. Joe was also a poet, played flute and sax and later, in 1979, played sax on Selecter tracks recorded at Coventry's Horizon studio - at least on Three Minute Hero. Joe also worked with A Band Called George in 1974.

Joe was the first musician to advertise in Hobo Magazine, basic as the ad was, it started us off.

Joe Reynolds contributed some poems to Hobo Magazine in 1974 - see below...

 
The is The Selecter on Top of the Pops 1979 ( from Neol Davis website) Joe Reynolds is the sax player in background.


Joe Reynolds has also played with Chris Jones Aggression (1970) and the reformed version of A Band Called George 1974.
 























Poems contributed to Hobo Magazine by Joe Reynolds

FOR DAYLIGHT ONLY - by Joe Reynolds 1972


Reflected spectrum on dew damp pane

Technicolour morning

Wisp away the sandman’s dust

Spraying wind to chill my face

Squealing seagulls whip the sky

Fingering foam claws the beach

Over the rock pool rapids.


Sandy lightening lizards

Moss covered rock wall walks

Spitting forks the bluebottle’s death

Sleepy venom adder

King of the anthill.


Red flamed circle kissed the crest

Rippling arrowheads across the waves

Captured second forgotten dusk

From the reaching cliffs echo

Cricket singing serenade the night

Tomorrow’s dawn will wake you



..............................

TRUTH by Joe Reynolds 1972

Behind the spot light

That shows

What’s for us

I find after looking, my truths    

Folding themselves up

To look small

And hiding behind each other

And towards the sides

Of that light

The countless confusions

Struggling to find themselves

Through the mist

That limps above them.

..............................


PROSTITUTE by Joe Reynolds 1972


Through the alleys,

Night lights

Strike the slabs

And pierce the road

She walks ever watchful,

Dreaming

Of  her non existing love

As profit

Rings the strings of her heart

Guilt and pride

Beneath her powder

Asking for her wage

Her mind all ablaze with dreams

As home she takes him

Pretence of not caring

Parrot fashion so straight

And upstairs

Her room

Her cold room

Nakedness in routine

That he must not see

A powder tear

As all her dreams

Of  silk and bells

And old friends drive her forward.


And he unsuspecting

He mustn't know

As her cheeks tighten

As her fingers try to relax

In fear she holds her throat

With a rock

And smiles

As he dresses

His clumsy pants

She laughs so loud

He runs leaving his underwear

Behind

She picks it up

Still laughter.

A wardrobe full

Of  past experience

And tears

If only one would stay

Could anyone ever come back

Or are they all married

Twisting

Her tears unfold

But listeners are as rare

As a unicorns horn

And who cares anyway

It’s her own stupid fault.






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