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Quietly but effectively, a page of poems written by Paul was published in a January edition of the British weekly New Statesman & Society. We reprint them here, and Paul also tells Club Sandwich the background behind his latest excursion into print

            "I was prompted to start writing poems, as opposed to song lyrics, by the death of my friend Ivan Vaughan. [It was Paul's Liverpool Institute pal Ivan whom the world had to thank for introducing Paul to John Lennon back in 1957 - Ed.] I wrote a poem called 'Ivan', which has not yet been published.
            "I studied literature when I was at school and have read poetry ever since. I've often written down bits and pieces too, and, of course, John also wrote. The nice thing about poetry is that you can express things within a poem that you might be unable to say in everyday speech.
            "The New Statesman publication happened very easily. Quite simply, the poetry editor there is my friend Adrian Mitchell. Readers might remember that he appeared on stage with us when we played in Southend in 1991. [See photo.] Adrian is keen on the fact that song lyrics are near to poems - not everyone believes that, but he does. So he simply asked me to send him some of my work, and I did. The original plan was that he'd run a couple of poems, but then I wrote more and it became quite a spread."

            Chasing the Cherry

            Fragile fragments
            Clattering down
            the lavish marble staircase
            Tinkling smithereens
            Smashing, grabbing
            At the china stars
            Bursting in clusters,
            Scattering E-side cats
            Credit card dropping
            Prom rain-clouds
            Pour down on the well-polished floor
            Tortoiseshell hair-combs
            and black tape cassettes
            Rattle the cages of
            knife wielding grand dames

            And say, are you chasing the cherry?
            The merry go round of the roses
            If so, you must know
            That the down side
            Is sink like a ferry

            Ascending the slope
            in a herring bone fashion
            Holding on chromium steel
            Lifting the bar bells
            With candlestick motion
            Side stepping hot wax,
            and wheel

            Flying with lizards
            All blown in a gust
            Through staining glass
            windows and covered
            with dust blood,
            To keep out the rain

            And say, are you chasing the cherry?
            The merry go round of the roses
            If so, you must know
            That the down side Is sink like a ferry
            A weapon is not worth a button,
            When anti-world matters explode
            And chandeliers
            Drop from the ceiling with sharp shooters skill

            Exhausted collapse in the playground
            Apeak epileptic remains
            And froth at the mouth like a river, 'til
            Teachers in apple pie beds
            Reach out their
            Chalk filled hands
            And lift And lift

            And say, are you chasing the cherry?
            The singular red one on top
            It gleams with particular pleasure
            That may well never stop
            If so, you must know
            That the high tide
            Is sunk like a ferry.

            Mist The Mind

            Mist the mind over
            with damp's foggy dew
            Slide like a tidal wave
            over the rock and
            Drowning in merriment
            Tell me I am not alone

            Hum through the carpet
            Nudging the undergrowth
            Call out the bad names
            To curse every midgy mite
            Spin me a reverie
            To crack me up

            And, helpless with laughter
            Drop down the mount
            Like a highland waterfall
            searching for love

            Velvet wave

            The velvet inside a guitar case
            Set the strings
            Giddy humming to the silver vibration of a note

            A quick flowing
            Stream by the roadside
            Buzzed towards the seaside
            Tattoos and Torture Tents
            Along the shingle shore

            Thin echoes of headphones
            Ride the murky old bass
            Screaming feedback
            At the fat lady bather
            A wave flaps in on itself

            The Blue Shines Through

            You're responsible
            for the hole in my soul
            the hole in my tablecloth
            the hole in my jacket top
            But the hole shines blue
            The hole shines blue

            I'm responsible
            for the bolt in your neck
            the bolt from the blue
            the bolt on the door
            But the blue shines through
            the hole in my soul
            The hole shines blue
            The hole shines blue
            the life I lead

            the love I need
            to spread the blame
            to kill the flame

            Trouble Is

            Rabbit running in circles
            chasing his tail because
            it looks like candy floss.
            Trouble is - rabbits don't eat candy floss.

            Black labrador barking at the antics
            of his own shadow on a wall.
            Trouble is - shadows don't fight back.

            A pair of gloves hanging from
            a back pocket argue about
            which hand will hold the rake.
            Trouble is - gloves don't give a shit.

Club Sandwich 74
Paul with fellow poets Allen Ginsberg, left, and Adrian Mitchell, on stage in Southend, right