Liverpool quartet

Lverpool Quartet

John


This canít be
Strawberry Fields.
There are no trees
that I can climb
to find the childhood
in your mind.

That is, these gates,
graffiti-worshipped
bricks
donít open up the sky
to let me through,
to take me down to
you:
A boy with songs
behind closed eyes.


Paul



Penny lane
is a sign
painted
on a wall.

The real signs
shrines
in faraway bedrooms.

I stand by your door
in Forthlin Road,
where you walked out
a boy
with dreams into a dream;

where you returned
with the world
waiting to catch
your best-selling smiles.


George


A cul-de-sac
of working-class homes -
two up, two down?

A woman
behind glass
holds a black cat.
Luck
would find you
in this run-down place,

take your first name
to the edges
of the earth.

This place where your
guitar first wept for
fame.

Ringo

This street
where you were
Richie,
long before
your fingers boasted
rings;

This street
the backbeat
to your life.

Sickly child,
ĎNobodyís Childí
But your barmaid Mumís.

Drum,
then drums,
bits of wild wood
between fingers and thumbs,
sending a message
to three guitars.

By Peter Thabit Jones