Best Birkenhead Poems

Let me tell you a little story, of a boy called Ned 
He was they say from a far away place called, Birkenhead 
He had some good friends called: Fred, Red and also Ted 
And they were so poor, they didn't even own a bed!...

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Memory still walks
along the river
on a summer's evening 
when a soft wind
lingers over the mangroves 
and lifts the smell of mud
rimmed along the river's edge
into the warm air. 

I imagine mulloway 
prowling the deep channels 
dug out by the tides,
the shiny backs of dolphins
arching through...

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