Joe Reynolds was a Poet, saxophonist /flautist and songwriter of the Coventry Jazz / Rock band Willow c 1973 /4 and who, in 1979 /80, sessioned on Sax with Two Tone band Selecter. Joe also joined a reformed version of A Band Called George (who had made the single NCB Man for the Bell label) in 1974. Earlier, in 1970, he had sessioned with the Chris Jones Aggression.
His early band – Willow (A Coventry jazz / Rock outfit) advertised regularly in HOBO. Joe was also in various other bands along the way.
Three Minute Hero and appeared with them on Top of the Pops. Joe is at the back in this picture from Top of the Pops – with the Sax. Pic from Neol Davies site.
FOR DAYLIGHT ONLY
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.
Behind the spot light
that shows
what’s for us
I find after looking, my truths
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.
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
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’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.
Really good writing.