a poem from a collection entitled "Spit Mancunia" by Gary Knapton
Battle-scar fresh from war-time belligerence
Clinking the colonial toast
Faith moves mountains
They're moving Manchester!*
Carrying her over to the coast
The crazy gang populace
Here in Cottonopolis
Never trod softly on dreams
Brash-brawn autonomous
Re; the eponymous
Ripping up the land to smithereens
A back-break strive
To be lucky being alive
Liverpool took a goodbye bow
Everything just beckoned
They were here this second
They were living all of their dreams now
Many men smiled at the long-sewn promise
That their shovels, picks and barrows unfurled
In a time gone by
On a canvas of dry
They were digging out a waterland world
Having wasted many years
Paying Merseyside dockers
Dancing gaily to a prisoner’s song
Free at a canter
Hear the Ship Canal mantra
If you know the words, sing along…..
“There’s nothing I want
There’s no piece missing
There’s no race I never could run
I’ve Mancunian cotton
I’m alive
I’ve gone and gotten all of my dreams in one”
Years later I stand
On the verge of water
That genuflects out of my sight
And the seagulls twist
Over rain-cloud mist
On melodious blue canal light
Know freedom’s never treason
And it’s never out of season
Did the corners of your dreams get curled ?
Big shout going out
To the land-locked city
That dug itself a waterland world
There's nothing I want
There's no piece missing
There's no race I never could run
I'm spoilt dead rotten
I'm alive
I've gone and gotten all of my dreams in one
*to let the sea flow in, twenty thousand Irishmen moved fifty two million tonnes of land
I'm spoilt dead rotten
I'm alive
I've gone and gotten all of my dreams in one
*to let the sea flow in, twenty thousand Irishmen moved fifty two million tonnes of land