Sing me no songs of love and light,

Of laughter, friends and summers bright.

No lilting lyrics tinged with bliss,

Sing me instead a song of this:

Salah, coming down the wing,

Dodging round and letting swing,

He strikes the ball and lets it fly,

The goalie sees it whistle by.

Your “moon and June” means nought to me.

Nor tea for two and two for tea.

I have no use for songs of flowers,

Of couples lost in tender hours.

Don’t think I’ll wait while someone sings

Of wedding vows and golden rings.

If you would melt my heart of stone

Sing me “You’ll never walk alone.”



This year sees the 27th anniversary of the tragedy at Hillsborough Stadium that resulted in 96 Liverpool fans losing their lives.  As the jury consider the evidence they’ve seen and heard at the hard-won inquest into the deaths, it seems as though the 96 may finally be granted the justice they deserve.  Because of that, one last Anfield memorial service will be held for them today, but their names will remain written in a place of honour at the stadium and their flame will never go out.  This poem is dedicated to them.  You’ll never walk alone. (Photo via

No pile of scarves,

No empty seats,

No list of names,

No flickering flames,

No silent minute from the crowd

Will ever fill the void.


No heartfelt words,

No tribute plaques,

No mournful tolls,

No prayerful souls,

No sculpted works of stark respect

Will ever fill the void.


No floral wreath,

No perfect choir,

No teary eyes

No exposed lies,

No long awaited justice gained

Will ever fill the void.

Ninety-six Faces

On 15th April 1989, thousands of excited football fans went to watch their teams play.  Ninety-six of them were killed in the worst football-related disaster the UK has ever seen.  After twenty-five years of public slurs by people in positions of trust, the ninety-six Liverpool fans who never came home are drawing closer to justice after the opening of fresh inquests.  You’ll never walk alone.


Face after face after face;

Ninety-six lives cut short.

Snippets of your stories,

Told to a silent court.

Your hopes, your dreams, your wishes,

What you mean to those left behind.

Trying to catch your essence;

Impossible words to find.


Life after life after life,

Stolen without a warning.

Parents, siblings, friends,

Burdened with permanent mourning.

Ninety-six empty seats;

Reminders of futures broken.

Names above a flame:

Icons of words unspoken.


Year after year after year;

Families forced to fight.

Struggle to reach that justice

That was always yours by right.

To banish every page

Where foul lies are found.

To shine a light upon those lives

Lost on Hillsborough’s ground.