Tag Archives: poetry from Liverpool

Football Is F***** Again.

Revolutions have fought over less

and the French aristocrat, the English Knight and the

descendent of Mohammed agree on one thing,

the corruption of the battle field must be cleansed

and fire stormed right down its roots

and if takes the Marshal in his white Stetson and polished badge,

his deputies rooting through the rubbish of thirty

years of wasteland dust and paper trails that lead to one

man dressed in black and spouting his own gospel charm,

to help them bring down the despot of the so called

Football Is F***** Again. full post

(278 words, estimated 1:07 mins reading time)

Take A Letter.

There is a certain romance lost

when a communication comes out of the blue,

the modern love of the instant message received and crossed

is nothing to having a significant day made superior by a letter from you.

 

The hand writing, sincere, legible and carefully written,

has been pondered over, adjusted and cleaned by scraps

of paper unseen left by her own bin, tossed in by anguished hand and nail bitten

fingers as she gropes for the right, beautiful word, outlined by doodled maps.

 

Take A Letter. full post

(157 words, estimated 38 secs reading time)

A Brief Return For The Exiled Daughter Of Pharaohs.

The old scribe, worn out by years of writing

down the thoughts of kings and masters, of stable hands and squires,

the relentless drives of the damned and the dead, finally

finds solace in a discreet request from the much loved

daughter of Pharaohs  to meet by the banks of the Nile as

she slips into the country unnoticed by spies

as she ends her long self imposed exile which had left

the country in tatters and the old scribe with no patron

or friend.

 

A Brief Return For The Exiled Daughter Of Pharaohs. full post

(483 words, estimated 1:56 mins reading time)

The Star That Faded.

It’s difficult to remember you with clarity,

your face is but a shadow since you’ve gone,

you have left me with a feeling of emptiness, insanity

prevails as I think of you; the quick sprint in the Marathon.

 

You are missed as anniversaries are greeted at the back door

and the feeling of the incomplete fills my veins

the missing in life always leave a space that’s sore

I miss you in the ether now, your face, more losses, no gains.

 

But whose fault is it really that you are not here,

The Star That Faded. full post

(160 words, estimated 38 secs reading time)

Moon Raker Sky.

You may grasp for the gold under the soil

and all the platinum from the ground,

take whatever diamonds you need to impress, the coal the oil

take the flesh from my back if you wish, pound after pound.

 

Riches after all make this world go round.

The art of purchase, of ownership, of wealth and prosperity,

the conformation of a life well lived, of the jewel laden echo after the sound;

long may you reign, I will cheer if you wish but it’s not the life for me.

 

Moon Raker Sky. full post

(157 words, estimated 38 secs reading time)

On The Day That Banjo Don Came To Town.

The evening that Banjo Don came back to town,

the sun curtseyed in the west and nodded its approval

and smiled a boyish grin at the grand old man and his upturned frown;

the banjo acolytes, the notes all slightly out of tune and reluctant call

compared to the sound that their chosen master. Banjo Don

took to the streets and under a glowing sun

proved that the people had missed his sound, for no one can

play the strings with melodic ease or deliver a grin when playing for fun,

On The Day That Banjo Don Came To Town. full post

(325 words, estimated 1:18 mins reading time)

The Pressure Of A One Act Performance.

To watch or observe a friend on stage

that is the true question that never gets answered.

Whether you simply enjoy their performance,

and laugh and cry at their antics,

the feeling of sympathy when their character loses their way

and the cheer of adulation when they rise to be the hero

you have always known them to be, the simple act

of watching and then forgetting all they have been through

to bring that moment of truth to the part,

shrug it off and never worry where it  may

The Pressure Of A One Act Performance. full post

(311 words, estimated 1:15 mins reading time)

When The Chihuahua Chews Over The Options (And Walks Away).

There is an upside to having suffered with nightmares

all my life, the terror that has had me screaming out

at four in the morning as the feeling of cramp

sets in and the heart jolts me awake in some antique form

of Hypnic Jerk and the pain is compounded

by the

sweat of salted tears that kiss my lips and

run down past my nose,

gliding as if on a mountain range,

a single skier running over every pore but

with no tricks up its sleeve.

 

When The Chihuahua Chews Over The Options (And Walks Away). full post

(377 words, estimated 1:30 mins reading time)

Static And Still.

The ghost sits waiting patiently till I am half way

to a paradise of exhausted slumber before it somehow

manages to turn the radio over to medium wave.

The sound of the crisp digital broadcast suddenly lost,

abandoned into the vaporous ether like wisps of smoke

drifting out to sea and drowned out by the sound of Nelson’s drum

beating slowly as it recognises that some part of the country

is about to drown.  Not my part surely as I wake with groggy eyes

puffed up and swollen from the ghostly attack on my right

Static And Still. full post

(374 words, estimated 1:30 mins reading time)

On The Day I Met Shaun Goater.

On the day I met Shaun Goater, I realised I had met

a living legend of Blue persuasion,

one who ranked with Colin Bell, Peter Barnes,

Uve Rossler, Asa Hartford and Bert Trautmann

as the hand I wanted to shake for being themselves

when placing the blue shirt above all in the name of the Kippax

and the beauty in despair of being an exiled Citizen.

 

From the first game away at Birmingham City,

a bus journey from Selly Park, from where soon

a picture of Joe Corrigan would look down

On The Day I Met Shaun Goater. full post

(313 words, estimated 1:15 mins reading time)