Memoir Poems - A Project

I am currently involved in researching a memoir and I am exploring different approaches to the genre. Poetry being just one possible approach. The following are two poems based on memories of visiting my grandma's house on the notorious Liverpool Dock Road.

Bath Street

No baths just cobbles
Long and straight
A slight bend hides the end
It’s Friday night
It’s quiet na silent
Save the cooing of the pigeons
The flap and whoosh of their wings

Deserted except for me
Treading on the cracks
Leaping the paving stones
Lonely walking on my own 
To grandmas house
Number 35 Bath St
The house by the pub 

Warehouses loom high

Leaning in to stare

At the little lonely boy
Walking on his own 
Where yesterday 
Lorry’s chugged 
Piled high with sacks

Of this and that
Horses pulling carts
Striking sparks 
With steel shod hooves
Chomping chaff
In huge nose bags
Waiting stomping feet

There’s the house
Tall and sooty
Stained by smoke and time
The door peeling 
Save the shinny number
35 On the door
I'm here I’m home 

No 35

Cluttered love

The smell of people 

Grandma and Co

Two aunties

Two uncles

A dog and six cats

 

Brown linoleum 

A big black range

A Telly and a radio

That talk all day

Dusty corners 

Sooty cream walls 

Fry up breakfasts

Dripping toast

Tripe and trotters

Bubble and stew

Sunday dinner

Taters and meat

Chopping wood in the cellar 

Me and my mate

By the glow of the light

In the dark of the black

Bogy men hiding 

Well that’s what we think

Play on the olla 

Where once houses stood

Bombsites and bricks

The place where we played 

Footy and tick

And fighting an stuff

Out in the morning 

And back for our tea

Exploring old places

Where once people lived

Finding old photos 

And old broken cups

Home for a scrubbing

With Tide in the bath

Spuds and mince

To fill up my tum 

Off to my bed

With sweet dreams to come

Sleep like a log

With cuddles and love

Rise in the morning 

To corn flakes and milk

Wait for my buddy 

To yodel I’m here