Poetry
Tib Street
Stand on the street that was a stream
Here was a tailor to sew a fine seam
Here was a cobbler to make your boots
A milliner to make your hat,
A bowler or a plain flat cap
Here was the street to buy some tea
Ten dining rooms here you would see
Traditional ales of every kind
Never a sober chap walked by.
Here you could buy cats and dogs
Budgies, snakes and turtle-doves
Here, circus tricks for you to see
A one armed man who gave to charity
Here in the street where fruit was sold,
Some was fresh and some was old.
Industry this street has seen
The engines producing lots of steam
To power the giant weaving machines.
This street has seen a thing or two,
People come and go as they do.
But history this street has made
Never let its memory fade
Hold on to the lessons that time has taught
And pass them on to everyone
Your daughter and your son
That they, may learn from our mistakes
And a better world create.
Carmine Grimshaw.
Just being young
You moan a lot
Don't give a jot
When you preach to all
About us playing ball
We're often moved on
By Dick, Harry or Tom
We seem highly-strung
But we're just being young
Really we're cool
When we act the fool
And we want to be cured
From being bored
So just understand
We're a happy band
We're shocked to hear
That you're living in fear
Don't feel alarmed
We mean no harm
Kathryn Bates
The Northern Quarter
Here in the Northern Quarter, the birds did come to play.
Twittering to each other, it's a nice place, shall we stay?
The wizard of the quarter turned them into clay,
Made them into artworks and put them on display.
High up on the car-park, on the roof-tops of Tib Street,
A parrot, budgie and turtledove for everyone to see.
Across the weft and up the warp, a story you'll be told,
Of how the Northern Quarter was, back in the days of old.
And if you listen carefully, cooing you can hear,
But only in the Northern Quarter at a certain time of year.
You can hear a parrot, tell a tale to you
It will tell a tale of, the Northern Quarter of our town,
Where hard work and a little luck, have turned the place around.
To make a place once left to rot, a special part of town.
Carmine Grimshaw
Memories of Ancoats
Back to Ancoats I'd love to go
To when I was a lad
In the good old thirties, as you know
It wasn't very bad
The elderly people, we never hurt
Respect we gave them so
Cigarette cards we used to flirt
And reading the Dandy and Beano
We'd play kick-can and Rallivo
No muggings like today
And off to Birkdale we would go
With half a crown to pay
The Don and Tower was our treat
A "cowie" and serial too
Penny or tuppence we had to meet
And the "baddies" we did boo!
No tablecloths in those days
So mother had to match
The morning paper had it's ways
She used the daily dispatch
Murray's was our corner shop
I'd run to very quick
Mam's shopping list, I could not stop
Which she always got "on tick"
Whit-week walks were the best
My Blazer suit is worn
When we'd finished I bet you've guessed
In the pawn shop Monday morn!
Look down Ancoats Lane today
The place is just a bore
Old streets have gone, and I must say
My Ancoats ain't no more.
Frank Doyle
Look at that rowdy gang,
are they out for trouble?
Laughter long and raucous,
popping their chewing gum bubble
Baseball caps worn back to front
language used is more than blunt
Why do they gather
round the shop door
I'm not going near
of that I'm sure
I've not reached this age
Without recognising danger
Gang culture and violence
they are no stranger
So I turn on my heel
and walk slowly away
Feeling ever so sure
I'll live another day.
Kathryn Bates
Pension Day
Pension day
for the old folk
Meet on the corner
share a joke
If they were youths
people would say
"I wish those yobs
would go away"
"They're up to no good"
others would moan
"Put them in the army"
away from home
There is a fact
that doesn't often show
Age alters a gang
to a group you know!
If they were young
a gang they would be
But their faces are lined
for all to see
They amass on the corner
whenever they like
And nobody tells them
to 'take a hike!'
Kathryn M Bates
Growing Older
My skin may be a bit wrinkled
And need an iron or two
But it doesn't stop me wishing
For things I cannot do.
I'm built like Dolly Parton
My legs would look good on a table
If only I could handle a long stemmed glass
It's quite a feat when I'm able
My smile is like the Mona Lisa
Or any portrait of Van Gough
I must smile so widely
I'm frightened my head will fall off
My teeth all three' are pearly
My false ones are quite first class
They say thank God for a rest
When I put them down in a glass
My body is like Lady Godiva's
My hair is long tresses of course
But I think my bottom is much too soft
To sit bare on the back of a horse
My eyes are brown pools of passion
My lips are red like a cherry
And when I sample home made wine
I really do get merry
Put all these pieces together
And what you'll get is ME
A very interesting Jig Saw
I'd look better in 3D.
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