Preface
The poems in this collection attempt to depict
the splendour, warmth, humour and stoicism of Merseyside people and their
environment by taking a journey between its different places, past and present.
In this sense they echo the linked verse popularised by the Japanese masters in
bygone times; however, I acknowledge that many of my poems are not true haiku in the traditional Japanese sense
as they veer from classic syllable construction and some contain no ‘season’
word - it is arguably unnecessary and impractical to expect haiku in English to conform to structures
of the Japanese language and imposing a ‘season’ word would restrict what I
wanted to convey, especially in a predominantly urban context. So I would
describe many of my poems as haiku-esque,
hopefully keeping to the spirit of pure haiku
as far as possible but with licence for certain English adaptations. Anyway, I hope you like them.
Ever since the ‘Sixties’ I have
been wonderfully entertained by the music of The Beatles. So, in tribute, hidden
within these poems are the titles of at least 80 different songs written or recorded
by members of the ‘Fab Four’. Hope you
have fun finding them!
Ripples over the Mersey
from a window in the sky
lights
come on over
my sundown city
along the river
a silent city sleeping
…… with the lights on
over empty streets
a lonely beacon offers
music to the stars
most of
the world sleeps
as dawn tiptoes in - a
holy
Easter light
Town
Hall – beating heart
silent
witness to
time’s
shame and glory
tinted,
fresh and new
as daybreak paints the
sky
the
waterfront awakens
old wharves and basins
proudly recalled to life
still hum with the past
a strange rising sun
bleeds into this working
city
just a day in the life
commuters yawn through
twilight suburbs avoiding
the eyes of strangers
city folk dodging
the driving rain, umbrellas
blown inside out
splashy
watery words
in the market square where
water babies play
look - our three Graces
freed from their veil of
soot
how they shine their
pride
three
dazzling beauties
admiring
their reflections
the river flows on
a black prow stranded
beginning to feel at home
on Mann Island
beneath this marbled hall
a nether world severed from
light
what goes on?
Liver birds always
scanning the bay, or the pubs
their men coming home
from the iron colonnade
watching today’s weather
afloat on the dock
from Singapore to
New York and Valparaiso
great ships have come and gone
new lives for old - here
a refuge for the immigrant
heart and soul
relief from the storm
where hope and new friends are born
at Asylum Link
in jaunty mood
a noisy old box of tricks -
here comes the Duck
with a giant step
Echo Arena imprints
new legends and stories
beyond granite walls
by night the warehouse
ghosts
ride the cobbled rails
a heavy horse
from under the Mersey wall
drags a swirl of fog
smog-bound and damp
a cough once signalled the end
on Scottie Road
the sun king gains strength
look...
the bomb site stirring
getting back
to life
this first day of Spring
look - the war torn plot
alive with poppies
an empty
pram
woman in the doorway looks
older than her years
afternoon stillness
dog bark echoes the streets
like everyone’s left
there’s a place
that used to be our street where
everyone knew your name
wash house ladies
scrubbing life from our clothes
with banter and chat
all together now -
just
rap the knocker then
run
for your life!
Lady
Madonna
darning life’s socks with her
invisible thread
rolling up her sleeves
- just another day
for Kitty Wilkinson
out with the street kids
a lamplit kickabout -
mind the cars, lad
floodlit cobbles
coat and
jumper goalposts
till our mam
shouts time
coal-fired morning
she shuffles the clammy street
blurred by a wave of smoke
over the silent street
old brown shoe strangled on wires
sways like a corpse
coloured pigeons roost
street survivors assemble
a bit on the wild side
that old photograph –
small girl alone in that place
a breath away from heaven
letterbox rattles -
no reply
it’s only the wind
exposed to the sky
bedroom lies naked
papered in roses
snapping plastic bag
from
chilling autumn gusts
rips itself free
as
gulls lift and drop
an
empty bottle chased
by
the banshee wind
a heap of luggage
those who left or remained
to breathe this air of hope
as evening deepens
street lights question the dark
within the shadows
sweating the wild dark
till you welcome first light
and your bird can sing
midnight
blackbird
singing from the street lamp
for no-one
the two of us
stumbling over wasteland
cling together
streets
in the sky where
only Jesus knows your name
and only pigeons fly
caged on her landing
she
seeks a familiar face
just like yesterday
Liverpool Lighthouse
always in stormy seas a
rock to anchor by
equal in death
the peaceful work of gardeners
a haven of peace
candle in the window
Sisters of Mercy praying
for you tonight
from wasteland
a festival of gardens
where did all the flowers go?
Festival gardens
good morning, good morning
a chance to breathe again
girl waiting for the train
distracts me from the cold
hush of night rain
old leaves are falling
as new shoots are rising
at
Broughton Hall
for Zoe’s friends
a place behind the trees where
love and memory play
a church door clacks
carry that weight, that smell of time
that ancient stone
a
lonely steeple
low
upon the village green
the
sun is setting
All
Hallows – see
a
flood of music, angels
through
yonder window
beyond
the iron gates
flowers
for the children
Strawberry
Fields forever
first frost of winter
only now a sheepish sun
peeps into the Holy Land
hailstorm
overnight
battered
my poor car until
it started
screaming
whiter than the sky
rooftops huddle tight from the
whipping
tail of winter
invading army
snowflakes swarm the night sky
dampen the city’s glow
over-night
blizzard
drifts
block roads to school - how
I
fell in love with snow!
trip to the barber’s
glacial winds scour the pavement
......big mistake!
blasts of Russian wind
a city hunkers down
to watch TV
in a shop doorway
mind numb and shivering
empty as a bottle
two shivering boys
drip
tunelessly at my door
‘Hark
the herald angels’?
under Christmas lights
cardboard box and a sleeping bag
nowhere man
Sally Army band
with Christmas lights on Lord Street
proclaim a holy night
January wind
thrashing
the aerials
crying
with the cold
January grey
thumbing through the brochures
in search of summer
nervous feet
testing the city streets
slip-sliding away
the morning murmur
of jurors assembling
for tea and toast
buzz of assembly
waiting for the roll-call
this poem emerges
blisters of gum
pavement develops a rash
that sticks to my shoe
a gust of litter
blasts the scurrying crowds
suddenly – a penguin!
chasing dragons
children
brighten the dark streets
- Chinese New Year!
the Florrie reborn
this
boy wants you back again
chance to breathe and grow
The Cavern vibrates
to those timeless rhythms as
Mersey beats on
imagined echoes
wishing these bricks could talk -
there’s
John in a doorway
roses cloud my coffee
dissolving
in the music
till
there was you
fond musings on our
magical mystery tour
only a northern song
fast food and shopping
caught in the buzz and hum
and I’m lovin’ it!
bright new and brassy
but
on the roof top grassy
Liverpool
One
among the crowds
we sit in solitude, me
and Eleanor Rigby
at
the Pier Head
heroes of the engine room
you know my name
from the command of
western approaches we
said
not a second time
holy ancient site
where
watchers of the waves
pray for those at sea
just to sit
and dream
did you write a wish, a
prayer
for the
Bluecoat tree?
through God’s bright
lantern
below a crown of thorns
to the inner light
to the portrait wall
Everyman we’ll go with
thee
here for everyone
a deep dark cleft
beneath a mighty tower where
crows guard the tombstones
chasm of blackness
clasped within the sandstone tower
yet
how tiny am I!
stood on the roof
looking for my life when….
a bell to shake the world
open
to heaven
the bombed-out church remembers
those
starved of life
a survivor of storms
proud
on the brow of the hill
the cast iron church
supermarket Sunday
congestion in the aisles to
feed the five thousand
superlambananas
flock
now dispersed
- shepherd gone awol
Old guys regretting
when the dockers’ umbrella
strutted
its last
I’ve
just seen a face
ghost of the past standing
at
Adelphi’s bar
out of cold
wet streets
the warm expectant glow of
the
Philharmonic
deep under James Street
ghostly rattle borne on
a screeching wind
cold tiles of St Paul’s
seats
of ironwood but
pretty nurses dulled the pain
angry slam
of doors
in the high
echoing hall
children sat in fear
Panoramic vertigo
matchbox cars way below
what if I fell
temporary lights
cones and diversions – always
someone fixing a hole
over the rooftops
a gull in sheer agony
visiting
Rodney Street
worn stone steps lead
up to the great polished door -
what stories they’d tell
entering
a labyrinth
echoes of eccentricity
drip with mystery
on a swaying Kop
strains for a glimpse of heroes
trapped breath, crunched ribs
loosening the reins
galloping out of mid-field
Crazy Horse
an
eternal flame
silence for the ninety-six
who’ll never walk alone
black armbands
a pin drop .... then
the pulse of the night beats on
a memorial
when all stood together
at this city’s heart
in floodlit drizzle
on a European night
no surrender!
crowd disperses
matchstick
people bent and sick
glum
as gasworks
the pitch seems faded
echoes of glory trail
away
now
Stevie’s gone
still, tomorrow never knows
and hey, Saturday night -
it’s chippy night
Z Cars piping
filling yer blues with pride as
our toffee girl skips by
ah! that first chip
winkled out by numb fingers
for the long and winding road
casting my spell I’m
happy just to dance with you
call me Penelope
delights of Taj Mahal
enchantment and devotion
chicken vindaloo
the last bus gone
‘ Wha’? me walk ‘ome, in these ‘eels?
yer
gorra be jokin’!
care-worn
and grey?
take a trip to Penny Lane
-
now here comes the sun
snuffling
raindogs
take their sniffling owners
walkies
in the park
seek her curves among the
trees
suddenly,
she’s there!
- the Palm House
survivor from a grander age
a touch of tropics
this frozen day
through the park – short cut
gunman shooting flowers
…. no
goodbyes
snoozing in the sun
till barking disturbs my dream
- hey, bulldog
kids in the gutter
poking
the hot tar
your mother should know!
lone sail vanilla sky
drifting on the river by
the Cast Iron shore
bright summer evening
across suburban gardens
aromas drift and tease
wasps hovering
flap
and panic in the park
for a taste of honey
circles and spirals
the footprints of Calderstones
tell us you were here
for the lives you saved
when the bombs were dropping
I call your name – Jet
summer slinks away
as the sky turns In my mind
I’ll follow the sun
night walk to the sea
to behold the glittering
mystery of the stars
at the setting of the sun
lovers stare out to sea
with Mr Moonlight
one summer
giants paraded our streets
the odyssey continues
transfixed by whirling blades
iron man stares out to sea
mother nature’s son
sunset memories
shining path across the sea
with love from me to you
following tail lights
into the dark folds of night
down the East Lancs Road
this sad dark junction
new garland for the railings
where a
life stepped out
chill winds race up the street
children
in a doorway
cadge pennies
for the Guy
standing to attention
pillar box on the corner
always barking orders
round the Aintree track
a
race to the finish
a race for life
grey cloud silver-lined
pink ladies come together
racing for our lives
old cemetery wall
engraved by long lost lovers
dust to dust
all these people who
lived and loved, together or apart
walled
in or walled out
even the gravestones
etched by rain and vine
portray
the art of dying
a
ticket to ride
railway hums a whining song
to see
you home tonight
warily
approaching
is she watching through a window
the ghost
of Speke Hall
basking on the runway
squadrons
of starlings
waiting
for take-off
did I imagine it
a yellow submarine!
a fish on the sand
Childe of Hale
taller than the lighthouse?
a fishy tale!
look up! …
here, there and everywhere …
red squirrels in the pines
the fisherman’s path
have you seen the natterjack?
neither have we!
tang of sea and pine
carried through the forest
on a
rain-soft breeze
after the long rain
deep breathing of misty air
and I feel fine
it’s
one o’clock
listen
for the boom of the gun
across
the water
falling down the throat
of a long and noisy snake
the
Mersey tunnel
autumn contentment
wide mudflats rippling to the
oystercatchers song
winter
migrants
dabbling
the shoreline
ringing season’s changes
sunlight
on the rising river
birds on
the shifting sands
deciding
when to fly
running the sea wall
evening glow on her cheeks
turbines wave as she passes
fingers too cold to grip
lips too cold to sip but
cobwebs blown away
carvings of ancients
gazing out to the universe
same cosmic dust as me
at
the rising tide
windmill on a bare hill
waves
in alarm
through ancient woods
the track of the sandstone tramway
silent in the mist
sitting by its side
this ancient track to
Landican
trod by none but me
this day
from River Park heights
trying to name the birds - just
a fool on the hill
from a high point look
across the water to the
purple hills of Wales
on a hill with a view
she
breaks the shackles of war
to give
peace a chance
running boys with sticks
hunting the woody paths
suddenly ... the bear pit
tracing the old pier
Royal
Iris a choppy ride
for the day tripper
from the Pavilion
Mendelssohn accompanied by
gulls and crashing surf
sunlight beaming
through a turbulent sky
as tall ships pass by
Snowdrop dazzles the eye
homage to fallen sailors
wherever they lie
rolled
by the rising tides
till fixed and drowned in mud
corpse of a sea-worn boat
an aggressive tide
the river gulps an armada
of billowing waves
perched among the rocks
braced for each angry tide
the fort that never fought
from fortress walls
bold flags pick out the wind and
ripple
with pride
lone fisherman
a low tide watching the
silver river run
of smugglers and wreckers
a
place for old sailors
the
tang of the sea
pirate ship ahoy
fantasy in driftwood -
don’t build ‘em like they used to
imaginings
return this
castaway of fire and storm
cheers to the Black Pearl
bristling
with driftwood
to ambush the Irish ferries
Black
Pearl lies in wait
contraband
secure
on a storm
to remember
here’s to Mother Redcap
autumn river runs
with
the wind sprays the air
with screaming gulls
following the tide
coaster nudges wavelets
up
the springtime river
to soft strains of Mozart
I follow her out to sea
......
and away
craning to the lantern
watching the flying
clouds
fall into the sky
exploring rock pools
bucket of crabs and starfish
grandads
reminisce
beneath
the waves
ghost trees from a foreign land
of elk and auroch
old friends recall
the sighing with the waves and
the things we said today
one-legged heron
stares at his own reflection
balancing
his thoughts
silver birch, porcelain sky,
new leaves with something
precious in their veins
broken
finger-nail
Red Rocks in an ocean of sand
point
to the sea
our sandstone
islands
the meeting of tide and time
..... a place to rest
high over Hilbre
skylark sprinkles notes that fall
all around me
an ice blue sky
sun spreading her arms but still,
don’t look her in the eye
raw islands holding hands
snowflakes spatter my
face as
needles prick my ears
an autumn moon in
cold blood severs the islands
the slow scythe of tide
at Thurstaston
clay cliffs
crumble but the wave
makes no sound
mayflower
scent
a ghostly
whistle or an owl
it’s
the Wirral way
cottage
by the shore
nervous of the storm seeks
refuge in
the thorn trees
just a shingle
beach
useless for sandcastles but
no jellyfish
in the western sky
a light show as a fleet of
cumulus sail by
on Thor’s high altar
setting
sun dips her head
stains the rock a deeper red
from this rock
how many minds have wandered
as
they scan the sea
a comet through my sky
thinking of you far away
your anniversary
Friday
nights, the Cowshed
Bovril in the cold damp air
floodlit magic
escape from mean streets
to the homes of Sunlight -
Victorian
dreamers
elegance and grace
Sunlight’s clearest brightest gem
the Lady Lever
her manicured smile
and wild cherry blossom -
jewels in her crown
dust-filled
sunbeams
the piano sits in silence
melodies forgotten
welcome to Claire House
close as you may get to the
end of a rainbow
an inner garden
where dwell the real flowers
of our distressed world
burnished elegance
the brass plates and stone facades
of Hamilton Square
storm clouds part
on Liver birds the spotlight
falls
good
day sunshine
fog
sits like a heron
tide
rising hour by hour
without a murmur
tales of cloistered life
that fed body and
soul then
rowed you on your way
wild river day but
the ferry ploughs the waves
regardless
crossing the gangway
straining ropes and clanking chains
meeting dad from work
wind
grabs my collar
a thump
and a hiss as
the ferry splits the wave
Woodside ferry
looms
to the cry of
invisible gulls
cold rising through
my feet
a running tide
slurps and slaps the landing stage
salt spray spat in my face
hauling python ropes
Popeye arms and
woodbine smiles
come hail, wind or snow
brazier in the ticket hall
chestnuts thrupence a bag
old men cry ‘Echo’
visiting
starlets -
sleek
ocean liners
hug my
bedroom wall
graceful
on the high tide
a crowd to greet the arrival
of an ocean Queen
she
slips her moorings
fireworks over gentle water
reflections
in her wake
regrets
and longings ….
float
with her slowly out
to the
open sea
patient workhorse
tug boat waiting in the bay
with a big heart
a herd of blue dinosaurs
searches the docks for
work
and
the next meal
from St Mary’s tower
looking into an empty womb
where new ships were born
dwarfing our humble streets
rising to defend our nation
Ark Royal
here a great whale
was flayed and stripped -
the Great Eastern
ribs of a weathered hulk
indifferent to the running tide
beached in mud
on wind and surf
flowing with the tide
ghost ships of long ago
bleak emptiness
the evening curlew cries
after the ebbing tide
reluctant
to rise
Venus and Mars lying low
this frozen morning
tall ships are away
new adventures lie beyond
our safe horizon
U boat story
sunken salvaged stranded and sliced
tell me why
this waterfront
viewed often by my father
now ten
years ago
cast from the jetty
where
waves gurgle and slap
ashes on the breeze
out to sea
from Rock Ferry shore to meet
the
oceans of the world
my heart an empty drum
each
beat carried away
on an ebbing tide
a street light flickers
reflects in a paper cup
nowhere to go
at the setting of the sun
old men stare out to sea
sharing thoughts
men from the gas board
fixing a hole in the night
laughing in the rain
lone gull gliding
across the night sky – she’s
going
to hit the moon!
lost
in a painting
slow
breathing timeless air as
I memorize that face
St George’s Hall
classic walls touch pure
blue sky
suddenly a silver jet
crowds at the feet of lions
proud of our sons and daughters
come together
raised in local
stone
venerable statesmen guard
the past for our future
not fully awake
early train from Lime Street
such a long farewell
a deep rock
cutting
patterned gloom and dripping walls
I’m
looking through you
young man running
dodging through
jostling crowds
in his hand a rose
looking
down upon
my sleeping city as the
silent cars go by
coming home
all these bright towers ...
but the river runs the same
climbing skywards
this city- forest
of cranes
now the tide is
turning
released from shackles
Liver
birds are everywhere
prepared to fly
free as a bird
the
cloud beneath a floating sun
at rest on the ocean
ferry ‘cross the
Mersey
may
clear the tired mind
when
it’s all too much
a coin on wet
slabs
shining beneath the moon
offers her the
world
her dream of a future
out of hard reality
invites us to dream too
a timely curtsey
at the Pier Head all
hail
arrival of the Queens
quietly changing season
the taste of the air knowing
where I belong
imagine, a goodnight prayer
the whole world sings and the
skies
alight with diamonds
it’s about yesterday
‘bout humanity, about now
talkin’ about Freedom!
Liver birds watch over us -
never to fly away
so, let it be
midnight sirens
across the moonlit river .....
HELLO, BRAVE NEW WORLD!
WHERE
THE RIVER MEETS THE SEA
I am drawn to this place
where the river meets the
sea
where tides run fast and
strong
where the ferry noses in
and white gulls scream
-
these shores where I belong.
In rhythmic undulation
she emerges from the mist
watch her swirl and glide
salt surf peeling from
her prow
as she battles a flowing
tide.
This place calls me back
to streets and marble
halls
where statues breathe and
grey gulls cry
and the ferryman will
carry me
no ropes to hold nor
chains to bind
till the day the big
birds fly.
*
And there’s another place
that draws me
where the river meets the
sea
the mingling of their
waters
stir memories of dad and
me.
Tides of opinion ran strong
as we strode to the
islands and back to shore
gauging the ebb and flow-
my only certainty
when I was not sure
how far I could go.
The End
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