mains and laterals neatly planned
herringbone pattern or even fanned

salt-glazed carriers carrying shit
simple land drains topped with grit

clay tiles in the farmer’s soil
sometimes flexi wavy coil

porous concrete or perforated
the flow of water calculated

twin wall pipes, long radius bends
junctions, our useful friends

rodding eyes, a socket plug
open drains, just shallow dug

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fish and chip papers and stained smelly sweaters

dirty used condoms, the posh man’s French letters

fresh fast food cartons and old condom packets

discarded pizzas and broken squash racquets

matches, match boxes and cigarette butts,

oodles of noodles from someone’s spilt guts

ring pulls and beer cans, sharp broken glass

empty pill sachets and a lost covid mask

unwanted penni...

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a

baker

created

dubious

egg-tarts

for

gregarious

hotheads

I

joked

knowingly

lesser

mortals

never

openly

proffered

quality

reasonably

so

taking

umbrage

vicious

Wiganers

x-boxed

yokels

zealously

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Look what they’ve done to my town Ma.

Look what they’ve done to my town Ma.

Well they’ve dressed it up as a high street store

And now it wears a frown Ma.

Look what they’ve done to my town.

Why did they steal our past days Ma?

Why did they steal our past days Ma?

Well they put it to a public vote

But the votes were soon erased Ma.

Why did they steal our past days?

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In 'pound' emporiums

and slightly more

upgraded enterprises

there can be found

all manner of

garden embellishment

here in garden sin city

price palpably

provokes purchasers

to lose all respect

to lose all taste

where thrift is queen

here punters peruse

plentiful unsavoury        

gaudy garden gimmicks

crude plastic knick-knacks

pretending t...

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the customary 2-up-2-down

was ample habitat

for four adults and me

mam and dad and grandma

and my uncle Jim

and a radio and archaic TV

tiny house and living room

but quite adequate

and never limited to the child

who was odd and unusual

but imaginative

and given the freedom to run wild

the light bulb took precedent

we never changed it

in the six y...

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An ambiguous, aristocratic, Albanian albino-acrobatic-artist ambled aimlessly along Amberswood, apparently aggravated, albeit assertive and asking awkwardly about accumulating anaerobic activity adjacent active anthills around acutely acidic areas; but behold - beautiful, brassy, bohemian, Bickershaw-Brazilian, Beatrice blabbered bountiful bunkum, boldly bickering, beckoning bystanders, besides be...

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I was absolutely furious

the other day

when I realised that

someone

had nicked my apostrophe

but the worse crime

was committed

by the person who returned it

and

put it back in the wrong place!!!

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(Note: this is the fourth in a series of personal relections of Wigan's 'Southport' railway line - all are in chronological order. This offering eandeavours to capture the constant rythm of the train along the rail tracks)

down on the platform

waiting for trains

five hundred youngsters

anxious for games

girls in their minis

boys in their flairs

flaunting their fashio...

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Mickey Dalton was quite well-known

an exceptional character of particular note

he charmed or bemused the beholder

playing the gent or acting the goat

for proverbial urination

Mickey hadn’t a pot or a bowl

but was always impeccably turned out

whenever he collected his dole

in fresh pressed suit and bowler hat

and a flower in his lapel

he marched with any cree...

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my dad remembered

his dad remembering

his ancestors’ ‘rememberings’

of trout frolicking

in Wigan’s once

cool, clean, clear river

(you could bathe in it

and drink from it)

I remember

my enthralment

and pals’ fascination

(which I related to my brood)

that polluted interlude

when I watched

rainbow colours dancing

on the meandering

oil-slicked surfa...

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The current obsession with gin

worries me;

My inherent memory sparks unease

with whiffs

of 17th century Protestants

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I was nineteen and my hair almost waist length

the old lady across the road studied me at length

"why don’t you cut your hair?"

"why do you have it so long?"

she hijacked several people

pointing at me accusingly

and singing the same song

as if I’d done something wrong

but despite her being in a bit of a whirl

she seemed a very nice old girl.

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Note: this is perhaps my most strictly structured work. Each stanza consists of 5 lines with the number of syllables in each line repeated throughout – a regular pattern. However, the rhyme is atypical in that the first and last lines rhyme and there is an added rhyme in the fourth line. The third line is short and quick, providing a break between the narrative in the first two and last two lines.

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I

I can

I can't

I can't paint

I can't paint any

I can't paint anymore

I can't paint anymore seas

I can't paint anymore seascapes

I can't paint anymore seas

I can't paint anymore

I can't paint any

I can't paint

I can't

I can

I can paint

I can paint a can

I can paint a can opener

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There’s a notable bronze statue on the flats in Wigan Park,

There’s an obvious plain aftermath of harm; 

And an aggravated gardener tends the vandals’ senseless lark, 

While Sir Francis Powel regards it with alarm.

All the vandals in the park tend to surface after dark,

When it’s difficult to spot their yellow streak:

With grand stupor they engage in a brainless sabotage,

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Policemen sleep

albeit restlessly

Their slumber

intermittently interrupted

 by boy racers

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my first exploration

of Morocco

as a get-up-and-go

young man

began in Tangier

and it was here

that I witnessed more

beggars than

I’d ever seen before

in those days

the Beggar Populace

would always be

a Premiership Queen Bee

and Wigan in contrast

was a poor, poor flea

with non-league status

but today

to my dismay

and regardless of gend...

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lately

I have been driving more than usual

though I’ve been

immobile

for the majority of the time

in jams

and annoying red lights

and

the green lights only allow two vehicles

through at a time

resulting

in irritation, annoyance and ultimately

boredom!

just after spying the tunnel’s distant light

and

being lulled into false vehicular liberation...

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what is a dream; what is reality?

what is death; what’s on the other side?

it’s perhaps our vulnerability

our most distressing convictions

our most dreadful nightmares…

what if you die tonight?

how do we differentiate between

what is considered to be reality

and what is deemed to be a dream?

in what we assume to be the reality

is the actuality effectively a ...

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when the task of creating Wiganers

appeared on the agenda for God

I like to think he made us unique

strangely peculiar rather than odd

market traders, miners, mill workers

witty, welcoming and worldly wise

with a distinctive diet consisting of

apple crumble... and humble pies

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Kenny Turton was adorable but a touch odd

he’d always volunteer to sing at the Boys’ Club

and was forever a peculiarly entertaining lad

devious and a romancer but never bad

a likeable lad who in the 50s i briefly knew

but was an older peer that i could relate to

much later in life i heard he’d progressed

to literary status working for the press

eventually i graspe...

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i hadn’t yet read A Clockwork Orange in ‘69

but i was 15 and the same age as Alex

and my ‘Blackberry Way’

was about to become

Alex’s 5th and 9th

i hadn’t yet been introduced to Alex’s classics

but i’d become obsessed with Beat Music

and in early nineteen-sixty-nine

The Move’s Blackberry Way

topped the UK charts

i hadn’t any of Alex’s psychopathic penchants

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Houghton’s Lodge offered exceptional fishing

with legends of Jack the elusive monster pike

and young Wilky purportedly capturing a record perch

while neighbouring trains entertained between each strike

fishing was never a personal enchantment

but the nature and camaraderie proved paramount

and angling often merged with casual train-spotting 

fish to catch and steam trains...

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forever the daydreamer

since the dawn

of my being

daydreams presided

over schooling

and teachers rebuked

but never detrimental

to the dreamer

who flourished

never a dilemma

ever buoyant

never a concern

each evening

familiar daydreams

were trusted escorts

excepting night-time

when night-terrors

hijacked the dreams

a...

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i never liked making those soulless shoes

i never liked being constrictively enclosed

for eight hours a day

like a convicted prisoner with the blues

forced to pay his dues

but forever the masochist

i volunteered to even more daily hours of penal strife

to financially augment the restricted liberty of teenage life

blissfully after my longest four years

of oppression discr...

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Les Pennington had a cracking cricket bat

and it doubled as a bazooka which was good

it wasn’t one of those cheap efforts from Woolies

it was made from good mature willow wood

he’d got it from Kay’s which was quite ironic

as they sold mainly ex-army and military bits

i never dared ask where he got the money from

but he’d bought it second-hand for 10 and 6

each mor...

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what happened to the long hot summers

of the ‘50s and ‘60s

what happened to the weather?

what happened to time slowly ticking

and school holidays

that always lasted forever?

i can guess what became of the weather

pollution, climate change

capitalism and environmental crime

but as deep as i dive into the depths of my mind

i still can’t fathom

who’s gu...

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the fools at the end of Wigan’s pier

are progressively threatening its stability

and more alarmingly this outlandish breed

is compromising Wigan’s credibility

their once demographic insignificance

now grows like a worrying tumour

eating into Wigan’s meat-pie heart

like sinister Poe-esque dark humour

they are any and every gender

cultivated at a very early age

aff...

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who could resist what Susan had to offer?
even though she was peculiarly odd
but what other girl from Marsh Green 
would dig your garden over for ten bob?

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the celebrated Mesnes Park 
has deservedly enjoyed much fame
and the green-less vainglorious 
out of the woodwork came
to assume key roles in this popular green game

the gardeners however
disappointingly
haven’t enjoyed much of the acclaim 
they are merely pawns in the game
but will always be given prominence 
(when things go wrong)
as scapegoats to take the blame

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dust
never smells sweeter
than when
heavy raindrops
hit parched concrete

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beneath a rich lofty canopy
lurked a sinister understory 
the wolf in sheep’s clothing
the unbecoming Rhododendron
that spiteful dominatrix 
in her leathery verdure
the one who abhors sweet lime
but delights in sour acidity 
the one who cajoles the beholder
while her acid tongue 
simultaneously poisons mother earth
her gaudy seductive blooms 
disguise her treachery
and once smelled of...

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that flawless diptych of minimalism
simplistic architectural precision
a colossal condiment set
an arresting landmark
once commanding respect
the sentry gateway 
guarding the trodden ceremonial
pulverised-fuel-ashed path
to Westwood’s curious
and unnatural landscape

those impeccable twins who were
Wigan’s Colossi of Memnon
were sadly and rarely respected
seldom treasured
their util...

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