The Ghost of Mayfield Station

Calling out the same name
Over and over
The sound varies constantly
Before cutting out
Like a chewed up tape

Echoing with a sadness
Bordering on the verge
Of a panic
Almost like they are
Pleading for forgiveness

Dismembered
In a broken sadness
Skipping through
All kinds of turmoil
Of a love clearly died

Left on the platform
No matter
Whether cold or warm

Bordered up
For who knows
How long
Waiting for the
Last train home.



(According to wikipedia.org, Mayfield_railway_station Manchester Mayfield is a former railway station in Manchester, England. It is located on the south side of Fairfield Street, next to Manchester Piccadilly station. Opened in 1910, Mayfield was constructed as four-platform relief station adjacent to Piccadilly to alleviate overcrowding. In 1960, the station was closed to passengers and in 1986 it was permanently closed to all services.
After years of abandonment and many proposed development schemes, the station roof was dismantled in February 2013. The site was used for Manchester International Festival in July 2013. Planning permission was granted for conversion of the station to an entertainment venue in November 2013.)

Best of Bolton 2015

Awaiting confirmation of another big announcement which i can't reveal yet and i believe i have a poem appearing in a book shortly, but in the meantime this blog entry which is on my wall from a bit back (http://writeoutloud.net/public/blogentry.php?blogentryid=51476) has just been accepted into the best of bolton programme 2015 at the octegon theatre here (https://octagonbolton.co.uk/the-best-of-bolton-7) for 7th November @ 1.15pm.

Now to remember to get tickets.

Considering I forgot about it in 2014, but did get things performed there in 2012 and 2013, I am pleased with this.

Big Style. 

Just a tear away

Just a tear away

or a thought lost in translation.

Late last bus from Bolton

Calloused into a whisper

The loss of your love

Hangs around Moor Lane Station

Next to the market

Burying kisses

At the back of the town hall

Where once you shook Peter Kay’s hand

Into a pasture of love

Stretching past Sainsbury’s

Near the Sweet Green

With our love becoming shapes

Chipped by the moonlight

Clamped in the rain

Asthmatic in the silence

Of rail replacement buses

Just off Tynne Street

Next to the old GUS Building

And Barclays

And the Cattle Market

Just on Orlando Street

Flooding Blackhorse Street

In a headlight of emotion

Speaking against the wind

Like a annex trapped in a bubble

Preserving undated memories

Concaving multitudes

Over books of memories

Never to be seen again

Kissing goodbye

Once again in the rain. 

(My Submission for Best of Bolton 2015) 

International Exiles

Of course they're not

Simulating terror

Crossing the border

From one country to the next

Vibrating in fear

through rain

and gunfire

criss-crossing into brutal rhythms

across a gutted reflection

choking on echoes

screaming walkways

Choosing to sleep in the freezing air

looking at the camera

stone eyed

Pursuing hope

before their lives ebb into pieces.

(For those at Calais) 

Write Out Loud - Stockport @ Enchantment Exhibition, Stockport Art Gallery 26 and 27 September 2015

 Dear all;

A poem of mine 'Lighthouses in the Mist' and others including
a piece by my good friend Gray Nicholls among others from
Stockport's Write Out Loud group which meets monthly at
Stockport Art Gallery have appeared at a new exhibition
called Enchantment on 26 September and 27 September 2015.

I popped down yesterday and with permission took the following
pictures.

Jazz record Cut off Half Note

Looking back in hindsight
I wonder how some
Of my ex girlfriends
Would have handled me
Getting diabetes

Sian who lived with her wealthy parents
And who kissed me with a desire 
Beyond her tender years
Would have resented my inability 
To keep running down to London.

Helen would have sat in front 
Of her ever increasing cocktail bar
And have said what the hell
Can you drink now
(which in reality was very little). 

Dani would have been sympathetic 
But secretly missed our film and pizza weekends
When it then became apparent
My whole diet and sleeping pattern
Would have to totally change. 

Sam no doubt would have cheated on me
Even quicker than what she did 
When she saw the list of appointments
I would have constantly live with
For the rest of my life. 

Each relationship
Twisting different emotions
In particular now
Entwined in imaginary
Last embraces 

Coyly enamoured
Consuming memories

Creating different backdrops
To each element of my life
Like a jazz record cut off
Half note

Passing through each door
With no chance
Of sliding backwards
Even if I wanted 

Exploding emotions
Cast aside from changes in health

A history lesson
Tied together in a cluster of dots
Ripped apart
Into a totally different jigsaw.




(Another poem from my up
and coming third solo poetry book
‘From the Diabetic Ward’)