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Gonzalo Bartleby Apr 2017
I live in this city alone.
It is always cloudy here.
It is cold and it rains all the time
but you could find love
if you wanted. That's what
I tell myself when I'm wet and cold
on a lonely street, walking home.
You could look through the window
of an old Victorian house and,
seeing a beautiful family
in a living room full of books,
think “this could be my family”.
Or, on another reality, “that
could be me, as a child or, maybe
one day, as a father”.
The city has no limits, take advantage,
this could be your land.
You could call this city home,
bend it it to your will
if you wanted to.
Take this city in your hands
and squeeze it.
Forge a big heart out of it
or some wings.
Just give it a chance,
it’s not too late
and you still need to get home
and it's ****** raining
                                   again.
The wish to call the place where we live home. May it be this city - Manchester, UK?
Gonzalo Bartleby Nov 2017
The stars are out
and you know the way
- Piccadilly, Rusholme,
Withington, Wythenshawe.
These are names that could
freeze your soul in blue
and maybe light a candle
in the dark if you could
only find a spark.
Every building is an open door,
every street an absent flower
that unkown gods collected
long ago when it was raining.
This is England - a promise.
I tell myself - there is a plan.
Just follow through,
be yourself, smile under
this weird constellation and
expect the unexpected,
what you want will happen,
it's just probability
and probability is
always on your side
when you are in Manchester.
Thinking about this city again.
Steven J Kelly Mar 2018
We are Manchester. The City, The place, we’re hospitable people with a smile on our face. You can beat us, mistreat us, and blow us to hell. We have had it all before and we don’t dwell. We’re the northern powerhouse of the northwestern elite, Where the Geordie's, The Scousers, The Yorkshire’s retreat. The premier League, The Roses Cricket, The Heineken Cup Is a one way ticket. United and City two football teams with stadiums full, bursting at the seams.

We are Mancunians Of this fair City, The People, The Love, The old nitty gritty The worker, The Shirker, The Homeless, The immigrants, each one of these they are all itinerants. The Steel, The Cotton, long since forgotten the old smokey chimneys blew out smoke that was rotten. The Massacre at Peterloo. Local politicians just don’t have a clue. With all the sights this city has on show here’s something that people don’t really know. Manchester is where New Zealand Born Ernest Rutherford split the Atom.

We Are Manchester, The City, the Place, where Sir Humphrey Chetham has his musical grace a school of music with musical taste. And where a  man with a paintbrush painted streets on boxes. I don’t think Lowry ever painted foxes. And A comedian from Collyhurst who was absolutely awesome, a real funny guy by the name of Les Dawson, and where a man from Chorlton on Medlock became Prime Minister back in the day. David Lloyd-George had a hell of  a lot to say.

We Are Manchester and it's the place for me. And a proud Mancunian I’m glad to be. I’ll sit in a cafe watching people pass by. They are all in a hurry and I wonder why. I see a business man in a three piece suit, and the homeless guy that is counting his loot. There's the ******* the street giving out free papers she is smoking those ciggies that give off those vapours. It's pouring with rain and she’s getting wet she’s worried about money to pay off her debt.

We Are Manchester and this is our City don’t waste your time we don’t want no pity. We are Manchester we are steeped in tradition we leave other cities standing. There’s no competition. Where A man from Moss Side a Vicar not a Dean called Rev George Garrett invented the submarine. And where the great Anthony Wilson was a journalist & impresario and a man named John  Nichols invented the great drink called Vimto. and so When he wrote “This Is the Place” I’m sure he did so with a smile on his face. We Are Manchester and I’ll state our case because we are Manchester and we are ace.
© Copyright Steven Kelly 1989-2018 Kellywood Productions 2018 All Rights Reserved. International Copyright Secured
nick armbrister Apr 2018
On Camera

My life is like a movie

Seeing that replica Mustang roll in and crash at the airshow

My life is like a movie
Witnessing an ex dealer who'd just been shot in his home

My life is like a movie

Viewing Oldham riots on TV that were five minutes away

My life is like a movie

Gazing down upon Manila Bay at the enduring sunrise from Bataan

My life is like a movie

Observing different people and cultures in a dozen countries

My life is like a movie

Glancing at my thigh as the tattooist inks my goth girl tattoo

My life is like a movie

Noticing the Mancunian drunks fighting on the nightbus home

My life is like a movie

Gaping in desolation at the coffin that contains my mum

My life is like a movie

Watching the mad Irish man loop the Grumman Duck in Murphy's Law

My life is like a movie

Admiring the **** girls I've nailed in the big bakery

My life is like a movie

Scrutinizing the Asians to see if they'll try to assault me


My life is like a movie
Eyeballing my soon to be ex friend who's kissing my girlfriend
My life is like a movie
Focusing on the road ahead as I illegally race the other car
My life is like a movie
Staring at the men lying by the kerb wondering are they dead?
My life is like a movie
Studying the vertical cliff above me to find a way up
My life is like a movie
Peering into the sky to find my dad's ghost that's up there
My life is like a movie
Scanning at my wage slip to see if my pay will cover my beer and bills
My life is like a movie
Regarding my mate who just vomited up his kebab and chips
My life is like a movie
Glimpsing the chavs fighting the teenage couple over the river
My life is like a movie
Right till my last breath and final vision when my Goddess takes me home
Thia Jones Mar 2014
Trains at the bottom of the garden
metal dragons breathing out smoke and steam
huffing and puffing, waiting for the signal
some compact with tanks affixed
others larger, more grand
pulling colour matched tenders
sometimes bearing shields and names
beginning with 'Duchess' or 'City'
mostly black, some rusty
deep reds or greens
with contrasting lines edged in gold

Once one came in matt pink
and I wondered why it didn't gleam
like the others, perhaps pink
was a colour not to be given
it's equal due with other
less feminine shades
it had to be denied vibrancy
yet I loved the pink one best
later I learned somehow
that the colour was that
of the primer used
to inhibit the rust
and my pink engine
was just an unfinished paint job
pressed into service
prematurely to give cover
for another that was broken

I wrote down the numbers regardless
it was a ritual that one performed
though I didn't understand why
yet it was exciting
to record a new one
that hadn't passed before

Behind the business end
came carriages laden heavy
with the visitors of summer
come to fill our beaches
and our town with their loudness
their raucous laughter
with strange accents
brummie, scouse, mancunian
faces pressed against glass
expectant, excited, impatient
almost there now
anxious that this last delay
pass quickly and the half mile
remaining be completed

We would lurk beneath the bridge
like adopted troll children
it was cool there in the summer heat
darting out from behind pillars
or in my case watchfully, cautiously
edging my way forward
to place pennies on the track
or sometimes nails
then to retrieve them
flattened, thinned, squashed
once the train had passed
sometimes we'd wait hours
or so it seemed
sometimes no train would come
and we would trail home
for tea and bath and bed
leaving our offerings
to the gods of the rail
for rediscovery and inspection
the following day.

Cynthia Pauline Jones 17/10/13

— The End —