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purple city

Red for love Blue for sky's

A tap full of tears a mothers eyes

Dry are the lids from mourning salt

Mothers world has come to a halt

Love for truth honesty and pride

Sky is were he lives mother dying inside

Red for anger blue for healing Anger for injustice and Grief and lies

Healing for the families of those in the sky's

Red is our blood Blue our veins

Vital to living in...

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HillsboroughjusticeLiverpool poetryLiverpool Poets

Pan of Scouse

Over many many years my life was in a mess
But these days I consider my life to be a big success
I don't have a lamborghini
I don't have a big house
All i want in life is a flat a cat and a big pan of scouse
I have now piece of mind that most millionaires don't have
The simple things i like are like sitting on the lav
I sleep with a clear conscience for I have done nothing wrong
I do exact...

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Liverpool poetryLiverpool PoetsScouse

AFTER MASS

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AFTER MASS

 

After Mass                                                                                                    

you would walk us

to the newsagent

in your Sunday best

with waistcoat,

watch chain

and monogrammed

umbrella.

 

As you chatted

over the papers

Sunday Times

with News of the World

hidden inside

we each chose a gift.

 

I reme...

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David Subacchi.Welsh PoetryLiverpool poetryLiverpool Poets

CROSSWORDS IN THE PUB

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  CROSSWORDS IN THE PUB

 

We’re doing crosswords in the pub

Because that’s what lovers do

When they fall out of love

Crosswords in the pub

 

We don’t speak much anymore

Except to discuss clues

Because that’s what lovers do

When disenchantment ensues

 

We’re doing crosswords in the pub

But at least we’re still together

Keeping each other company

Uncom...

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David SubacchiLiverpool PoetspoetryWelsh Poets

FIELD GUNS

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FIELD GUNS

 

A pair of field guns stand

Backs to the castle

Redundant barrels

Harmlessly aimed

At the high street

A sign reads

'Please do not

Climb on the guns'

As if children

Could pose a threat

To these two

Retired killers

Worn with age

Weary with boredom

Never to speak again.

 

We stare for a while

Examine them closely

Find nothin...

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David SubacchiLiverpool PoetspoetryWelsh Poets

TOOLS

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TOOLS

 

This is a chisel of precise age unknown

With handle smoother than the skin

Of a child. I have sharpened the blade

By rubbing it on stone. Feel its bite.

 

This is a wood plane given to me

By an old man who had it

From his father. Their spirits guide

My hands. Feel its weight.

 

This is a machine I bought myself

Under its skin of shiny plastic

Is an...

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David Subacchi.Welsh PoetryLiverpool poetryLiverpool poets

THE DAY BEFORE VALENTINE'S

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THE DAY BEFORE VALENTINE'S

 

Is this ritual or adventure

See how quickly

The words are written

No longer anonymous

Is this a box to check

A form to fill

A contract to renew

An essential procedure

The mind indifferent

Even irritated but....

The heart restless

Insistent that this

Is not an option

Ink on cardboard

Flesh on flesh

One forever...

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David SubacchiLiverpool Poetspoetryvalentines dayWelsh Poets

NUMBER 72

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NUMBER 72

 

Once there were three offices here

One north, one south

And the regional one above

First time I visited

‘Chelsea Girl’ was below

A security guard stood on duty

Just inside our entrance

They say he sold fruit and veg

When the bosses weren’t looking

 

Later other shops

Occupied ground and first

If you didn’t take the lift

You could hear their ...

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LiverpoolLiverpool poetryLiverpool Poets

JANUARY

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                                                                    JANUARY

           

                                    When January wind its fist doth shake

                                    And wooden fences tear from their places

                                    When horses start, when cattle shelter take

 

                                    To the hearth...

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Liverpool PoetsPoetrySubacchiWelsh Poets

PLASCRUG

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PLASCRUG

 

There was a great ditch

And an avenue of trees

Leading directly

From the busy town

To the cemetery’s silence

Ornate gates sick with rust

Relics of grander times

When they marked the way

To ancient Plascrug

Back and forth we jumped

Across the weed choked water

 

There was a Scout Hut

Near a playground

A row of park benches

Where we sat i...

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AberystwythDavid SubacchiLiverpool PoetspoetryWelsh Poets

ST BLAISE

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ST BLAISE

 

St Blaise is the patron saint

His image adorns the walls

Defender of Dubrovnik

Also patron of the throat

Once a year as a young boy

Two candles beneath my chin

Held tightly to form a cross

To celebrate the feast day

And to keep my voice from harm

The priest mumbling his blessing

 

We sail out of the harbour

Anchor a little way off

...

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CroatiaDubrovnikLiverpool PoetsSUBACCHIWelsh Poets

EXCITEMENT

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EXCITEMENT

 

That snow white Vauxhall Cresta

With its red leather seats

And stunning chromium bumpers

Flashing through the town streets

In the front passenger seat

I waved to friends going by

As dad raced the engine

Keeping the rev counter high

 

That pure white Vauxhall Cresta

With its iconic look

A classic sixties motor

The best one in the book

The pu...

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David SubacchiLiverpool poetryLiverpool PoetsWelsh PoetsWelsh Poets.David Subacchi

BERSHAM

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BERSHAM

We wonder amongst the ruins

Rusting trucks and cutting gear

Severed cables protruding

From weathered walls

And the pit head wheel

Still proud above us

Preserved temporarily

By municipal crumbs

And volunteer labour

 

Only open occasionally

For public inspection

We whisper questions

Reverentially

Here the miners lamps

Here the cramped cage

...

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Coal MiningLiverpool poetryLiverpool PoetsPoetryWelsh PoetsWelsh Poets.David SubacchiWrexham.

THE OLD COMMODORE

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THE OLD COMMODORE

This faded slab stands to commemorate

David Lewis of ‘The Conqueror’ late

A Montgomery man ‘The Old Commodore’

Who served under Nelson in times of war

Then as a harbourmaster in peacetime

A grand old seadog not far past his prime

Here in Aberystwyth he lived and died

His watchful eye always on the tide

In this peaceful town on Cardigan Bay

He dropped...

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AberystwythDavid SubacchiLiverpool PoetryLiverpool PoetsWelsh Poets

TOO LATE

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TOO LATE

 

Too late now to strike sparks with words on poetry’s anvil

Too lengthy a journey of diversion and distraction

Now weariness forces me to pause

Beside this twisted trail

My wrinkled hand trembling as I write;

Inspirations of a lifetime compete for attention

Triumph and disappointment fight to be immortalised

But the sands fall steadily

In a glass that w...

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Liverpool PoetsWelsh Poets.David Subacchi

THE BOMB THAT DIDN'T EXPLODE

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THE BOMB THAT DIDN'T EXPLODE

 

It’s still remembered today

The bomb that didn’t explode

That crashed through the church ceiling

During the Second World War

Sparing some three hundred lives

 

A replica may be seen

Here in the vestry corner

At St Mary’s in Mosta

With photos of the soldiers

Called to make the real bomb safe

 

And despite votive candles

...

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David SubacchiLiverpool PoetsMaltapoetryWelsh Poets

URBAN LULLABY

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URBAN LULLABY

 

Sing me a lullaby

Of breaking glass

The click of stilettoes

As they pass

The scrape of Cuban heels

On paving stones

 

Sing me a lullaby

Of drunken groans

Rock me to the rhythm

Of lovers moans

Leave the light on downstairs

As darkness falls

 

Sing  me a lullaby

Of cats on walls

Police sirens outsi...

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Liverpool poetryLiverpool Poetspoetry and music

HOME TOWN

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HOME TOWN

Aberystwyth
a mouthful of a name
meeting of two rivers
that flow into the sea
Aberystwyth
youthful memories of
a town still tugging
at my sleeve like
the hauling of nets
bursting with fish
the smell of diesel
and blood on the
harbour wall
Aberystwyth
all caravans and students,
churches, castles, seagulls,
soggy ice creams,
postcards, monuments
a...

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Liverpool poetryLiverpool PoetsWALES.Aberystwyth

CASTLES

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CASTLES

 

On wet afternoons

We pay to visit

The English castles

Grim towers of stone

Ditches of defence

Arrow slits above

Fortified gateways

 

 

Charities now care

For their maintenance

Count the children’s coins

Provide guided tours

Sell home-made chutney

We wonder around

Tugging Welsh forelocks

Before these ruins

 

...

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historyLiverpool PoetsWALES

BARDI REVISITED

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BARDI REVISITED

 

The road is better now

Climbing from Fornovo

Leaving behind the river

And the valley’s flatness

It’s surface is smoother

Than the winding track

That stirs my memory

 

At a certain point

The driver pulls over

Waiting for a colleague

To arrive on the down bus

After they exchange places

Our ascent continues

Towards B...

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ITALYLIVERPOOL POETSWALES

IS THIS POETRY?

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IS THIS POETRY?

 

When you wear your thin dress

And look at me

Is this poetry

 

When I touch your arm

Casually

Is this poetry

 

When your eyes shine

Magnificently

Is this poetry

 

When we lie together

Silently

 

And the breeze lifts the curtain

Gently

 

To reveal the moon shining

Romantically

 

Please te...

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Liverpool PoetsWelsh Poets

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