BACK TO THE WAVES

A neo-New Wave Musical Theatre work, for solo actor.

Faded pictures on

folded postcards

remind me of places

that I’ve never seen.

Simple scenes of a

sunlit shoreline that

seem so familiar to

me though I never have been.

Clouds are listing, they

calmly linger.

The longer the shadow

the farther I roam.

See the poster then—

see the promise:

all of this beauty,

the blue sea, the gold sand, a home.

Take me back to the waves.

Take me back to that unfamiliar shore.

Let me recall what I’ve never seen before.

Take me back to the waves.

Fairer weather is

faintly whispering that

with spring we’ll see

winter’s not all it seems.

Count the days down ’til

clouds disperse, still re-

treating to vices when

life is just lifeless daydreams.

Take me back to the waves.

Take me back to that unfamiliar shore.

Let me recall what I’ve never seen before.

Take me back to the waves.

So, I sit under

smouldering skylines and

measure my life out in

cigarette ends.

End of day comes with

a decision; a

bright, burning vision of

living a life of weekends.

Take me back to the waves.

Take me back to that unfamiliar shore.

Let me recall what I’ve never seen before.

Take me back to the waves.

There is light—

The light is growing,

fading…

There is sea—

The sea is swelling,

draining…

There is ground.

The ground obeys.

And there,

the waves.

But where am I?

Where am I

now that I am here?

There’s the

presence of the sea—

that ought to be

an indication.

And the

sailboats in the bay

that bob and sway

with resignation.

And the sunlight in my eyes,

a seagulls discontented cries,

the sand, the spray;

all seem to say

I’m by the sea.

Here the

land comes to an end;

an edge descend-

ing into ocean.

And col-

lected on the ground

are pebbles round-

ed by the motion

of the waves which ebb and flow;

which rearrange what’s left below

the blue and grey;

which seems to say

I’m by the sea.

The rocks, the clay,

which seem to say

I’m by the sea.

A perfect day.

What’s left to say?

I’m by the sea.

And I’m alone.

I’m quite alone.

Not quite alone!

Little Birdie peers at a puddle;

Little Birdie ponders a paddle.

Maybe take a dip?

Maybe just a toe?

Careful not to slip!

Maybe take it slow?

Little Birdie sees a reflection;

Little Birdie makes a connection.

Little Birdie now

starts to realise:

Not a bird who swims,

But a bird who flies.

Fly away!

When you’ve got wings

why would you stay?

So fly.

Please, try to fly.

Little Birdie, stuck—getting fatter.

Little Birdie, what is the matter?

Something overhead

Soaring in the breeze.

Little wings a-spread,

doing as they please.

Little Birdie shirks apprehension;

Little Birdie makes the ascension,

Closer to the blurs

cluttering the sky:

Other little birds

learning how to fly.

Fly away!

When you’ve got wings

why would you stay?

So fly.

Please, try to fly.

Raise your eyes to the skies

that unfold for you now.

Look ahead,

all is clear.

You’ll ascend up to end-

lessly billowing clouds.

See—you’ve no-

thing to fear.

And although there is no

net to catch you, you know

that’s no reason to stall.

The horizon’s the prize

on which everything hangs.

Raise your wings,

heed the call.

Give your all.

If you fall

then you fall—

Better that

than not trying

at all.

Little Birdie it’s now or never.

All the sky is yours, if you’re clever.

Lifted on a breeze,

seize the chance and try.

So you take a jump,

and then you—

—find you’re only flapping and flailing.

Now the wind has dropped and your failing.

Falling with a twist,

spinning quickly round,

further from the cliff,

drifting to the ground.

Little Birdie, you didn’t make it.

Little Birdie, get up and shake it

off. There are other cliffs

left for you to climb.

Flying isn’t hard,

all you need is time.

Little Birdie, brave and resilient.

Little Birdie, aren’t you brilliant?

Knowing what you are

means you’ve got to try.

Even if you don’t

really want to fly.

Fly away!

When you’ve got wings

why would you stay?

So fly.

Please, try to—

And the harbour bell rings

in my ears.

And the little bird sings

hoping some-

body hears.

And the harbour bell rings

in my ears.

And the song the bird sings

is a song

of the years passing by,

And of fears

of the sky.

But as tears

start to dry,

Little Birdie

asks: “why?”

The sky grows dark,

the stars appear.

Though it's unclear

exactly what it was

that brought me here.

The scene serenely come to light:

the endless ocean of the night.

But high above

that restless sea;

a hundred thousand lamps

which burn and beckon,

bright and free.

They are the sirens of the sky.

They sing their song and I reply.

Why would I complain

if I get stardust in my eyes?

Surely all the pain

is worth a hundred endless starry skies?

Starlight starts to wane

and you're left on your own

to realise:

gazing skyward doesn't mean

that you'll become a star.

I gaze on them,

I dream they see.

And for a moment I

believe their gleam is

meant for me.

But I don’t glimmer like a star.

How could they see me from so far?

They shine with hope.

They shine with grace.

They light a pathway from

a million miles

out in space.

I seek an answer from above.

I seek to know if stars can love.

Why would I complain

if I get stardust in my eyes?

Surely all the pain

is worth a hundred endless starry skies?

Starlight starts to wane

and you're left on your own

to realise:

gazing skyward doesn't mean

that you'll become a star.

So you close your eyes

and in the dark you’re free.

Could the empty skies

be what you long to see?

But without a guide

to help you on your way,

How can you decide

the path you take each day?

Come what may

the stars display

the only way.

So still you say:

“Why would I complain

if I get stardust in my eyes?

Surely all the pain

is worth a thousand endless starry skies?”

Starlight starts to wane

and you're left on your own

to realise:

gazing skyward doesn't mean

that you'll become a star—

And the harbour bell rings

in my ears.

And the little bird sings

knowing no-

one will hear…

Whispering waves,

moonless sky,

the silent roar

of time passing by.

Sand underfoot,

Salt in my mouth,

The wind at my back

as I face to the South

recalling when I watched you go.

Praying for calms;

Imagining tempests;

resigning myself not to know.

So I’ll look to

the empty horizon,

keeping my eyes on

the un-giving sea.

And I’ll build a lighthouse,

and I’ll be its keeper

and light up the deep where

I know you can see.

Praying that one day

you may see this lighthouse and

let this light guide you to shore.

Let this light guide you to shore.

Murmuring waves,

Clouds rolling by.

Rememb’ring the sun

that once filled the sky.

No promises made,

no promises broken.

All that we said

was wordlessly spoken;

the vow that we’ve known from the start.

I hold the mem’ry

of truth in your eyes

just as the waves hold my heart.

So I’ll look to

the empty horizon,

keeping my eyes on

the un-giving sea.

And I’ll build a lighthouse,

and I’ll be its keeper

and light up the deep where

I know you can see.

Praying that one day

you may see this lighthouse and

let this light guide you to shore.

Let this light guide you to shore.

Stars may guide you

to somewhere new.

A place to provide you

with all that you’re due.

And sirens will sing of

what life could be.

Changing your course

for the chance to be free.

But siren songs beckon

with lies and they deafen

our hearts to what’s true.

The ocean may change you

and though she lays claim to

you, part of you knew

that no storm can undo

what is deep within you,

what is beckoning true.

So I’ll look to

the empty horizon,

keeping my eyes on

the un-giving sea.

And I’ll build a lighthouse,

and I’ll be its keeper

and light up the deep where

I know you can see.

Praying that one day

you may see this lighthouse and

let this light guide you to shore.

Let this light guide you to shore.

But the song has a life

of is own,

In the darkness it grows

like a seed gently sown.

And the song’s not a bird

or a star,

Nor the light from the light

-house that shows you how far

you have come.

What is tomorrow?

A love as bright

and as silent

as a sunrise?

What is tomorrow?

A love as bright

and as silent

as a sunrise?

Something small

from the dark,

that turns the sky

to flame!

But sunrises don’t last that long,

And the hope of the sun’s not the song.

Take me back to the waves.

A moment of space,

an empty sky.

A feeling of grace

and I at last see why

that I am here.

I am here.

And the moment expands,

And the footprints behind me

are washed away.

And I hear the song.

I hear it clearly

within me.

And I here it go

On and on and on!

This never ending song

goes on and on and on

and on.

That far away shore

is always far.

But there isn’t more

to life than were you are

and I am here.

I am here.

And the moment expands,

And the shoreline before me

is washed anew.

And I hear the song.

I hear it clearly

within me.

And I here it go

On and on and on!

This never ending song

goes on and on and on,

And on…

I.S.

April 2025, London