Radio Odyssey

It’s that time again,
that airy hallmark intro, the vibrant brass ensemble.
Signpost to an hour long  journey where passage, paean and piece come out to play.
Odyssey for fantasist and literati alike.
An open invite to the madcap mind,
mine and those of others.
Each and every Sunday I’m religiously transported to exotic beaches way beyond the heavens.
Boundlessly I leap across the airwaves only to be stranded in some Middle Eastern plot,
the likes of which would put twin peaks to shame.
I flit medieval back streets like a ghost, cobblestone characters et al, melting pots beyond the daily grind, landmarks that I’ll never know in real life.
Out of body drama for us wishful thinkers.
Historic roles assumed but for an inkling, the icons I become, the rapid twists and turns of me the centre piece.
Maybe I’m that innocent abroad, a clueless hitchhiker, stony broke, wandering a land whose tongue I’ve yet to master,
or that moth-infested secret of the thirty year rule.
With a little latitude I’d silhouette my reverie landing on a poet’s scented flower or just as likely eavesdrop on some mocha sipping Monet, ceramic cup aloft, cast among the  butterflies, harvesting my thoughts on barren canvass.
Going back in time to famous childhoods
I’m some regal mother’s one and only joy, a fragile baby cradled by maternal soothing sounds.
Imagine for a moment me the swimmer, wallowing in oceans Maya blue,
Olympic medal chaser, fueled by adrenaline rushes,
the orchestrator sculpting delta winds so lyrical they stun the Sony user with their sweep.
But alas this wondrous flight ends far too soon, as that pulsing  brass arrangement slowly morphs into the haze.
Perhaps one day I’ll be the voice that hypnotizes dreary souls, 
filler of a void  with vivid wordscapes, teleporting lives to fourth dimensions.
There’s always hope