Hammer and a Match

Chips all brown and crispy
Sizzling in the bubbling fat,
Fish wrapped in golden batter
Sitting in the cabinet, safe and hot.

Steam on window coldly beads
Queue shuffles slowly round the room
All served up by jolly lass
All heated up by natural gas.

Owner’s wife watched the cash
She counted in the tubs of lard,
Sacks of spuds, trays of fish.
She knew the cooker old,
She knew those pipes of lead.

Routine to descend cellar steps
Armed with hammer and a match.
Ran flame along those pipes of lead,
Watched the little blue flames
Leap for freedom in the dark.
Such glee was soon cut short
As wielded hammer struck its blows
Bashed shut each and every tiny hole.

She dare not breathe a word
To her upright husband, greasy.
Just took a hammer and a match
To keep those dancing blue flames
Back in their proper place.

Martin Delemare

3rd November 2010

Early Irene

Early Irene stands the market
Surrounded by vegetables; colour and shine.
Stands under the clock, tick, tock
Headscarf tied tight, apron just right
Feet snug in wellies, hands rough,
Tongue rougher to lash the lads
Keep them in their place, just so.

Spuds, cauliflower, carrots and swede,
Fennel, pepper, parsnip and dill
All bring money into the till.
Fingers turn black from dirt and from grime
Smile on face, muck with money is no crime.

Early Irene stands the market
Sells under the clock, tick, tock.

Martin Delemare

2nd August 2010

Blood Diamond

Sit now air-conditioned
Treated as a human being,
Far from the heat and the flies,
Far from the machete hack
Severed limbs, bloody stumps.

Intrigue of night exposed
Your henchmen’s secret visit
Beauty presented to beauty.

Sparkling symbol of love and power
Hewn deep down by broken bodies
Slyly traded for weapons
To cut down your enemies,
Proud of race and heritage.

You have no tribal name.

Sit now air-conditioned
As the wrath of vengeful spirits
Eats away your remorseless soul.

Martin Delemare

6th August 2010

No Fly

Moths pinned in rows static
Held still, not in the air
Grounded on the tarmac there.

Taxi ranks empty
Destinations await
Duty free, box of gold
Mini fans left unsold.

No more the race headlong
No more the bump and lift
No aircraft travelling fast
No joyful wind rushing past.

Wings sag, engines silent
Passengers and cases absent.
Fire crews stood down
Baggage handlers sent home
Meals not wheeled
Nor hoisted aboard.

Moths pinned in rows static
Held still, not in the air
Grounded on the tarmac there.

Martin Delemare

14th June 2010

1 of 5

In the Day

Conti Club once slid
Open an inspecting eye
To admit eager youths
Down to gyrating cellar
Blasting music, beer and wine,
Drop a tab, all is fine.

Girls red at heel
Spirits as high as skirts.
Shot glasses clinking
Faces glinting, eyes winking
Silky hair flowing free
Fake tan complexion, all and one
Seduction yet to come.

Love as hot as lava
Pulsating in the night
Sweat lubricating lust.

Old club now boarded up
Discarded shoe, broken heel
Glass shards litter concrete
Baggy bodies shuffle past.
Ruby’s love long on the rocks
Fetid as water in stagnant docks.

Martin Delemare

14th June 2010

2 of 5

Yesterday, Today

Yesterday’s streets thronged, hummed
With city purpose, urban jostle
Feisty young people bustle
Keenly down Deansgate
Up Market Street marching.
People, buses, trams, trains,
All in motion; all moving.

But today …

Feathery grey floating down
Speck upon speck
Each tiny, yet with power
Grey speck upon the Beathan Tower
Grey speck
Upon Piccadilly Station
Grey speck
Upon Saddleworth Moor remote
To lay a thick and dusty coat
Layer upon layer upon layer.

Bridgewater Canal congealing sludge
Reality no politician can budge.
The grey man has come down
The grey man of Manchester Town.

Martin Delemare

14th June 2010

3 of 5

Northern Glow

Fire beyond fire
Night sky’s orange glow
Set in evening’s pale blue
Lit from red lava flow.
Night turns slowly black on cue
In the North this orange hue.
Small sign, yet turmoil deeply chronic
Fire within fire tectonic.

Katla’s crust by fissures rent
Magma welling up through the vent
Magma Mag Mah
Blah blah blah, blah
Fire upon fire

Eruption’s deadly booming roar
Flinging molten rock high
Hurling pumice higher still,
Gouts of scalding steam
Belching dust and deadly gas.
Vulcan of the frozen North
In self-declared war
Long dormant; now risen
Fire after fire.

Manchester views this glow in awe
Earth’s last gasp cigarette
Flickering way up in the North
And Winter Hill in silhouette
Fire beyond fire.

Martin Delemare

14th June 2010

4 of 5

In the End

No glow tomorrow
No distant glimmer
In the North.

No sound
Except the bangs
Except the creaks
Of Manchester
Cooling down.

No voices to be heard
No laughter stark or absurd.

Just the deep dark
Turning to black.

And the chill
Turning to cold
Turning to ice.

City frozen grey
Grey as the ashen grate.

Martin Delemare

14th June 2010

5 of 5

Juniper Glass

Asimov Simpson ate sunflower petals
Without so much as a twin-tined fork,
Looking seawards through his juniper glass,
Thinking again of his day with Betty Brown.

Betty was pretty but a plain-thinking lass
Said she didn't hold with his juniper glass
And that sunflowers belonged int' vase
And that he could keep his twin-tined fork.

Asimov didn'y allow a disappointment frown
To wrinkle his thoughts on Betty Brown
But stole a sidelong peep at her bust
Averting his eye, as Betty saw his lust.

Betty knew what was what, that's for sure
But felt she shouldn't show him out the door
Not yet at any road, for he had brass
Being the only son of Seth Simpson Esquire
Lord and mine owner, with a touch of class.

Martin Delemare
1st August 2010