Tag Archives: poetry about Liverpool

They Call Them Fearless.

The midweek floodlit match

and Stevie Heighway on the wing,

the memory of Bill Shankly

and the time when Kenny was King…

the band I listened to called them Fearless

and as images of Hamburg days and leather jackets

filled the fluid nature of my very existence;

got to choose between the Stones and The Beatles,

my vote went north every time

and went stratospheric the first time

I heard Pepper take the band out for a spin.

They are the Fearless, they are the glue

that frightens the Westminster village

(246 words, estimated 59 secs reading time)

The smile of Howard Kendall had entranced him

and the dogged determination of Alan Ball

had always stuck in the mind of this

good son of Goodison as he took his seat

or stood withstanding the noise of the Kop

on alternate Saturdays,

from the days of childhood,

through pouring rain of success

and the desert years of despair, he was faithful,

always sucking on the toffee,

cheering on days of Imre Varadi and the hours

between cup and league, his home painted blue

(242 words, estimated 58 secs reading time)

…And the sacred hearts are turning in their mass grave.

The destruction of memory is close at hand

When even hallowed ground is up for sale

And will do more damage than any falling bomb could muster.

The image of splintered charring wood, blackened will be the only thing saved

As The Economy, greed, meanness and the rest of their merry band

Try to call Time on the Bombed Out Church without fail;

Carrying out the gluttony of savings from another city in all its finery and bluster.

(155 words, estimated 37 secs reading time)