STEVE EVANS poetically speaking
NOSTALGIANOSTALGIANOSTALGIANOSTALGIANOSTALGIANOSTALGIA
Old Bert
He was a worker not a shirker
He never got there late
Always first at the factory gate
Sometimes I'd see him take a pill
When his heart told him to
But apart from that he was never ill
As loyal as loyal there was
Because
Between the punch card and the factory bell
His work ethic I learnt as well
Old Bert, I'm his age now and I find
Him clattering about in my mind
I was young and eager to grow
He retired, for me there was a world to know
I never saw him again
To explain
So Let me tell you instead
He was one of those important people that shape who you are
He became a little part of that star
That sits up in front shedding its light
Lighting the night
So you can see through
If you need to
Anyway Bert, I never forgot
As I'm sure you remembered me did you not?
Mr Banks
There was a teacher in my old school
From all those teachers he was the Jewel
And as their faces fade to grey
His shines out to this very day
So this little verse offers my thanks
Forever in your debt Mr Banks.
Beyond The Blue Horizon
Beyond the blue horizon
At the end of the sky
I met a man of stone
Where wizards fly
Beyond the blue horizon
Where tear drops flock
I heard a young girl's prayer
While a God took stock
Beyond the blue horizon
Where the mountains stop
I drank the angels share
With the pick of the crop
Beyond the blue horizon
Plying his trade (The last true trade)
There rests a man of stone
In a forest glade.
Drummer Boy
He's the drummer in a marching band
With the flick of his wrist and the speed of his hand
Like rifle fire he sets the beat
To the swirl of the kilt and the stomp of his feet
He keeps the time
He pounds the skin
He fires the snare
He cracks the rim
He beats the drum
He sets the pace
The pipers march
With amazing grace
He's the drummer in a marching band
With the flick of his wrist and the speed of his hand
To glory and back without retreat
The swirl of the kilt and the stomp of his feet.
Our Poor Frank
Poor Frank
Our poor Frank
A willing young lad from the 'pool
My granny’s little brother
The eye-light of his mother
Off to France where Kitchener led
The war to end all wars they said
Christmas indeed but Christmas in dread
Poor Frank
Poor willing Frank
Who knew life could be so cruel
My granny’s little brother
Tore the heart from his poor mother
Off to France to fight the war
Who knows what terrors his young eyes saw
Who even knows what that bloody war was for
Poor Frank
Our poor Frank
Yet he came home to walk up the path
“Frank’s home, Frank’s home!” my granny’s sister's screeched
And the girls all jostled and laughed - and ran to the door
But Frank, poor Frank, wasn't there
Poor Frank, he would never come home anymore.
My granny’s little brother
From the womb of his poor mother
To the blood rich fields lost in France.
The Day My Son Was Born
Cherry blossom blooms
The day my son was born
Crazy fairground tunes
The day my son was born
Blood splattered white clogs
And a hospital gown
A little fragile head
In the shape of a clown
Long hours of labour into the dusk
And out of the dawn
On that remarkable day
My son was born
The Blink Of An Eye
It seems like only a minute ago mum tucked me up in bed.
Spooned in the medicine and lightly kissed me on the head.
It seems like only a minute ago I took the bus to school.
Filled my pockets with acorns, behaving like a fool.
And was it just a minute ago I was standing in the church?
Making all my promises, preening on my perch.
Then just one minute later I hold three children in my arms.
Applauding their achievements extolling all their charms.
The minutes ticking by hardly make a sound.
My Mother and my Father safely wrapped up in the ground.
Just one minute more, a single minute left.
Only the blink of an eye is witness to the theft.
Nothing Lost
Oh my mum
And oh my dad
And oh my God
How terribly sad.
All my hopes
And all my fears
All my love
And all my tears
A seasonal wish
A little prayer
A projected thought
Draws you near
Eyes closed
Distance crossed
Memories warm
Nothing lost.
Come Or Die Young
You were always a hero in my heart
And I’m so sorry if I let you down.
You made my eyes water for all the reasons they do
We laughed, I cried, we played, you died.
You opened my eyes and made me strong
My life’s adventures began with you.
You were the captain, the expedition leader
You were the chief explorer, the story reader.
Two boys in the wilderness of youth,
Dreaming their dreams as they do.
Looking for their fun in the mysteries of imaginations,
Playing their games in sun filled vacations.
One summer you bought a three piece suit
And I spent those lonely days on the loch alone.
Gangland wars and coffee bars,
Fruity girls and trophy scars.
But you always protected me from that.
Later we walked through Glasgow nights together,
Me still following my hero, my big cousin,
The leader of the dirty dozen.
The Dusty Mile
Hey Ma, now that’s a nice smile
Come into the garden and let’s talk for a while
Time’s moved on since last we spoke
Time’s the devil and that’s no joke
So what’s it like having a 60 year old son?
And what do you think of the old man I’ve become?
I can see you laughing at the very idea
You’ve not changed at all, have you my dear?
The love that we share and the things that we said
Burn like fire as they run through my head
Together let’s walk this last dusty mile
Arm locked in arm, smile locked in smile.
No thought for tomorrow or death's musty play
Truth is the moment we shared this day.
