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  • Martin Wardley

Eye to eye

Bobble-hatted football-coaching

Shouting from the side-lines

Lucky socks in howling gales

And dismal, calamitous score-lines

From whence I leapt enthusiastically

Whenever Saturday came

With his aid to follow my Grandads feet

Into the beautiful, beautiful game

Into the sun, the sleet, the hail, and the mud

We wouldn’t always see eye to eye

But sometimes we would


Simon & Garfunkel, Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly, the King

Hissing out from 8 tracks the side of a mountain

Banjos, 6 strings, pianos teeth

Singing with the angels – or down here merely shouting

Trawling out to Worsthorne

And slipping up to Colne

To buy my first machines

And pit against the wit of a novice’s poem

This raft now a craft that I often pursue

We don’t always see eye to eye

But sometimes we do


Filing in detail with vim and with vigour

While breeding budgerigars

Photostatting pages

Cross referencing in a aviary-shed at the end of the backyard

And now my line of work

Requires a level of organisation

And many is the time I smile

At the source of this documentation

This system has carried me here from boyhood

We couldn’t always see eye to eye

But sometimes we could


His Motor-vehicular prowess

Sits well and truly with my brother

And on vexing house-hold DIY matters

I simply smiled, defeatedly, at my mother

But I picked up a bike and I cycled for days

I picked up a pen and wrote of my ways

I kicked around a football then made for the crags and the fells

And my days are spent teaching efficiency to business personnel

All of this makes me

The man

That I am

We can’t always see eye to eye

But sometimes we can



9th March 2022

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