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Joe Fogg Oct 2011
Up to the North
Down to the South
Keep the ships feeding
The big Mersey's mouth

14 big docks
And 19 big stops
Dad's got big hands
He works at the 'Brock'

He's seen Alexandra
And Nelson too
He passes the Princes
On the way to the 'Loo

Jump off at the Sandon
For a bevvy with Joe
Saturday's half day
To the match he will go

The merchants at Toxteth
Are rubbing their hands
There's money in shipping
And at Seaforth Sands

Jump off at Pier Head
If yer wearing a shirt
Stay on till Herculaneum
To get covered in dirt

The EMUs keeping rolling
From morning til night
Our dockers umbrella
What a beautiful sight

copyright/all rights reserved Joe Fogg 2011
This, another in the Mersey Rhymes, series recalls Liverpool's overhead railway. It recalls the station names and hints at the long standing passion for football. EMU = Electric Multiple Units - the worlds first railway carriages that did not need a locomotive - now the world standard for Mass Transit Systems.
tread Nov 2012
I am the rest stop for truckers in the window
The dark and muggy photographic night
so they forget they've become widows.

I don't believe in kness nor turtles talking terror
Nor do I believe that the Earth moves from quaking tremors.

I am the cradle of the civil sight sorority
Making love to castles for I don't believe seniority.

I am the rebel which Camus told would come hold
The oldest, boldest lotus flower
Frozen solid in the cold.

Drinking Rose remembering young-old Auntie Debbie
Who had eyes like pies mixed in the ocean and a bevvy of
Insulation, house-hold and a water-forlorn view
With her lionness curled hair which the wind affectionately blew.

Sitting on her lawn chair, not on lawn but on the deck
She loved, she laughed, she looked to what she had inside her head
Like landing immigrants from countries far from White Rock shore
She had it all, she owned the sprawl, but knew she wanted more
and that she had it, glad it never took the sun from out the sky
Not once did the window break from sunlight in her eye
and doorknobs crawl left
as she sits so patient ready for the.. everything

ready for the.. everything

ready for the.. everything.

she's NOT waiting, she's just making
every single moment COUNT
lies and likes mean non to her as the counter fills up like a FOUND
fountain. she's rounding every corner in her Jetta
Uncle Jerry in the next seat, happy that he got to meet

with the women of his dreams
I see his eyes still gleam and scream
'I love you Debbie, love you Debbie'

Life and death is just the water
in the stream

forever flowing
Auntie Debbie was a river
and all rivers lead

to ocean.

she never really arrived
so she never really left.

hello, Auntie Debbie?

I know you go by a different name now.

Perhaps we'll each meet you again one day
a different body
a different face.

"You want to keep things on an even key, this is what I'm saying. You want to go with the flow. The sea refuses no river. The idea is to remain in a state of constant departure while always arriving. It saves on introductions and goodbyes. The ride does not require explanation - just occupants. That's where you guys come in. It's like you come onto this planet with a crayon box. Now you may get the 8 pack, you may get the 16 pack but it's all in what you do with the crayons - the colors - that you're given. Don't worry about coloring within the lines or coloring outside the lines - I say color outside the lines, you know what I mean? Color all over the page; don't box me in! We're in motion to the ocean. We are not land locked, I'll tell you that." -Waking Life
Ken Pepiton Feb 2023
Nothing ever changes,
where the worth of this and that is set.

Tell'em all, who hook ah, ha, chiral

reality, hearing, hmms and bzzz meeee
whining all kinds of things,

down, dirt hertz low, as one of those
contrabassoons,
French bubinga wood,
-Google it, it is as magic may be yet,
magical contraptions contrived
in a mind,
in stages,
whistle phone, I ignor thee,
Lady, of Spain, I adore thee,

If I had chosen a differing way, some time ago,
decided I was made
to be a river kid,
but come to find out, we breed best, where
our mothers were born,
- high green vales
- home feel romantic, as such antics were
portrayed, more, more, more
in the bread and entertainment
citizenship bought
for thirty man years
of absolute loyalty
to a bevvy
of oaths
by
any child shaped for leadership, bonded
entered into the system, asked
to swear
in the name
of all that is holy, set apart, behind the curtain,

not in Oz, Jerusalem
in that mind Christ used,
right, Romans-
let this mind be
in you… word level logic magic any may imagine
we pluralize our individuated minds,
and join in seeking clear channel communication
- tear ye the dusty curtain -
after all the outs are in for the evening,
cool of the day,
spirit and truth,
wow
we
make breathing work, come to think about that,
if your will is telling us some thing we may think,

3 major sneezings 3 by 3's, gobsogreasygoferguts,
we survive,
having coughed up a tiny, eyelash-size hair,
meta vessle,
where my bet is in the bits on this side,
war
has no
lever see,
free is bein' out of bounds. We may consider Kerouac,
his teletype paper rolls that he could imagine
becoming my entire system
liquid crystal frame nets fishing
for sentient mindshare where global peace, accepts
string theory as
my gnosisnot, is it spirit if it is true. If we are paradox-
ical, we are not stupid as a species,

we've bought a bill of goods, they used to say,
we found reason to believe,
we were lied to
for a set of reasons.
- first being we all lie, we think we know.
The onto logical truth, in my case, is - in 2023,
my life is good, I am a slob, and out of the way,
so, settled in some ways, is dust fine, we flake away.

My choice is to consider the reader, who reads
for fun,
kicks
in text
be unaffordable - attention is commodity
in any other context,
some things
are words, mere, as a word,
is one of them,
a class of flavour overlooked missed,
mere [hap]
anon,
we turn the radio on, and all we hear is humms.
Abnormality, in truth we find such things used beautifully, often,
passing in flashes one can respond to for - some time, a measure of it, may
be per haps
Julian Delia Feb 2019
L
I hope wherever you are,
Whatever you’ve done,
Know that I’m sorry I wasn’t the right one.
We almost killed each other,
Became hateful, when we were once lovers.

I don’t want to write this,
I don’t want you to read it;
Part of me still feels you don’t deserve it,
Yet here it is –
I’m sorry for making my issues yours,
For the forest’s worth of used tissues,
For the days of unrest, weeping on the floor.

I hope you’re happy,
Because I know you weren’t.
It was apparent and evident, I chose not to see it;
Selfish needs and the wrong words acted as intermediates,
I wasn’t really there, I shouldn’t have been.
I was recovering, and I was still weak and lean.
Silently uttering, when all I wanted was to scream.

Maybe one day we’ll forgive one another,
Until then, I think you know who this is.
I was passing by and I just wrote this,
Sorry for the bother.

* * *

This is not an attempt to rekindle a catastrophe,
This is quite simply an overdue apology.
I’m not accepting all the blame, either;
Excepting the shame I felt for letting you get into my head,
I have become stronger and wiser,
And I wish to use this wisdom to make the world brighter.

I’m in your street because I’m publishing a book,
Or at least trying to;
Not that poetry ever meant that much to you.
But, it has brought me and my thoughts here again,
To the times where our fights were not a matter of if,
But when.

I have found it very hard to love again;
After ‘You’, anxiety killed me, made me upend,
Upend everything, a bevvy of sick feelings,
Memories of every time we had each other begging and kneeling.
I’m still in the process of healing,
This is my way of doing that,
Coping and healing.
I hope you found yours.

_______________
kromwellfarkus Sep 2022
Awake at 0415
Sleep still in my eyes
Bundle up crib
**** and a ****
Shave clean
Coffee on the boil
Then, on the road.
Lit ciggy
Volume still up from last night
Knock it down a notch
Until the ears can focus...

Swipe on, turnstile spins
Follow in suit
Say g'day to nightshift
As the hi-vis is donned
PPE all strapped on
Steel capped **** kickers
Helmet slap, follow the crowd
To prestart.

Sit and nod, coffee lukewarm
Handover from nights
Sign on lads and ladies
Lock on, work instruction, THA
We are all dressed the same
The same team
With the same goal
To go home...

We don't know how it all works
In our silo, doing our bit
For our 12 hour stint
For 7 days.

Just before 6
With our bodies worn and ready
For a quiet bevvy
With mates we made at work
Swipe off, turnstile spins
Say g'day to nightshift
It'll be our turn next swing
Top job, had a win.

Microwave feed
Boots at the door
TV just for the noise
Stare at the phone
They ring before bed
Let it ring out
How was your day?
Same as every other, don't bother.

Asleep before head hits pilla
Awake at 0415
Yenson Nov 2020
palace flunkies on roll calls
doormen and fetchers of spittle pots
valets sweeping up dusty words to share
down swept snowflakes without forms or essence
I trigger to action for limpid white down feathers needs fluffing
soft brains in scullery needs attention to earn a kings shilling for nowt
write me a rhyme without reason for I am a Duke to your page
a perfumed knight of the realm to your ***** scallywags
a learned scholar to your bevvy of pea-brains
hold your furry tongues or lick my boots
give the finger to your assed fathers
your gin births made in alleys
steal the spittle pots to use
you need it more for
the bile of your
stations in
life
satire

— The End —