This bit of Mancunian mischief is dedicated to Larry.
Lucky old America is what I say,
I'd like to visit them all one day,
The thirty-three Manchesters of the US of A.
But fear of flying keeps my feet on the ground,
And the thought of water makes my heart pound,
Frankly crossing the Pond fills me with dread,
Guess I'll have to visit Manchester,England, instead.
But I don't mind not having to roam,
For Manchester,England, is my home,
I was born there in nineteen fifty one,
To Lottie and Jim, their second son.
I'll take a bus tomorrow down memory lane,
Drive past the addresses of joy and pain,
Lo the Blackley boy bouncing his ball,
Lo the Crumpsall chap crying in the hall.
I'll kneel awkwardly in the Cathedral,
Buy salvation in the shopping mall,
I'll stand on the first train station,
Sell King Cotton to the faux nation.
But this is where England and America meet,
For in a square down a street
Abe Lincoln's statute proudly stands:
Tall torso, stern stare, heavy hands.
And on the presidential plinth it reads
How Abe's heart profoundly bleeds
For the cotton workers of Manchester,
Laid off because of the Civil War.
There are thirty- three Manchesters in the USA,
Lucky old America is what I say,
But there's only one Manchester in the UK,
The mother of all Manchesters I'm proud to say.
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 657 times
Written on 2017-09-18 at 22:11
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Mancunian Rhapsody
There are thirty-three Manchesters in the USA,Lucky old America is what I say,
I'd like to visit them all one day,
The thirty-three Manchesters of the US of A.
But fear of flying keeps my feet on the ground,
And the thought of water makes my heart pound,
Frankly crossing the Pond fills me with dread,
Guess I'll have to visit Manchester,England, instead.
But I don't mind not having to roam,
For Manchester,England, is my home,
I was born there in nineteen fifty one,
To Lottie and Jim, their second son.
I'll take a bus tomorrow down memory lane,
Drive past the addresses of joy and pain,
Lo the Blackley boy bouncing his ball,
Lo the Crumpsall chap crying in the hall.
I'll kneel awkwardly in the Cathedral,
Buy salvation in the shopping mall,
I'll stand on the first train station,
Sell King Cotton to the faux nation.
But this is where England and America meet,
For in a square down a street
Abe Lincoln's statute proudly stands:
Tall torso, stern stare, heavy hands.
And on the presidential plinth it reads
How Abe's heart profoundly bleeds
For the cotton workers of Manchester,
Laid off because of the Civil War.
There are thirty- three Manchesters in the USA,
Lucky old America is what I say,
But there's only one Manchester in the UK,
The mother of all Manchesters I'm proud to say.
Poetry by Christopher Fernie
Read 657 times
Written on 2017-09-18 at 22:11
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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Sameen |
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Lawrence Beck |
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ken d williams |
