Those days were green
they tasted of dandelion
and burdock
which carbonated
the eternal sunshine
and bottled it
forever in memory.


Down Da Docks (what I hope will be a longer poem)

across the docks
in fancy socks
to watch the ships roll by
no sound save
the lapping waves
and seagulls in the sky

my thoughts then went
to days well spent
before the winter came
and on old friends
not seen since then
I struggle for their names

playing dares
most unawares
of how long spring can last
but time it burns
and there’s no return
to the playgrounds of the past

The Themepark of Recollection

walking expectantly
through turnstiles
of reminiscence
each event
dripping neon
the perfume
of candyfloss
and stale beer
a kiss, a kick
a rumble
a fumble
sighs of passion
and regret
all indistinguishable
with time
each attraction
either sanitised
perhaps dramatised
to remain memorable
after visiting
so many yesterdays
roller coasting
through queues
that go on
almost forever
others broken
beyond repair
soon to be forgotten
and demolished
to make way
for tomorrows.

Sunday In ’74

in the jigger
behind nan’s house
among the dustbins
and mopbuckets
we once found a car
obviously stolen
a day or two before
driven or ridden for joy
by bigger boys
perhaps at some point
pristine and prized
it provided lovers
a safe haven
or rolled along the
prom prom prom
at Southport
on bank holidays
but to us
now burnt and battered
stripped and torn
its dead husk
lived again in glory
as a tank to fight
the jirmins
at El Alamein
like our grand-dads did.