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Damien Kelly - Dead Kelly & Other Rants


Fast making a reputation for himself as one of Liverpools most talented up n coming poets, 35 year old Damien Kelly has a unique style all of his own.


Bending words and sentences into unusual shapes and gifted with a streetwise delivery that transforms the written word into an often surreal scouse stream of consciousness, Damiens poetry deals with big themes; personal identity, political corruption, human nature and the city of Liverpool and its people. Yet, he does so in a thought provoking yet humorous manner, always providing unusual and unpredictable perspectives on everyday life and his own personal demons.


Although Damien has been writing poetry for over ten years, it is only recently that hes been performing his work, recently blowing away the audience at the Dead Good Poets Society. With his constantly inventive turn of phrase and deep scouse delivery, Damien is a breath of fresh air in a city that claims to have poetry in its blood, yet  seems unable to break free from the shackles of the sixties.


Damien Kelly is a truly modern poet, using the REAL language of Liverpool to describe universal truths.


Catch Damien at Dead Good Poets @ Everyman Bistro, Liverpool (1st Wed of month next one 5th December) or visit his site :




Octo-Centenery Greenery


The garden of our city is undergoing regeneration

Just like any farmers land undergoes crop rotation

You have to burn off the scrub for cultured cultivation

Weeds and obstructions will get in the way of proper propagation


Is Liverpools bed well mulched for the dawn of Octo-Centenery?

Have we done enough to rid ourselves from the sceptical scenery?

Its not enough to just have an exhaustive itinery

Fertile ground, nice arrangement, well looked after, elementary


I hope these new gardeners are better than the last lot

I mean how can fruit and veg be so shit when you have the best plot?

I thought wed rid ourselves in the 80s of greenfly and blot

Time is now, new everything, so the vegetables are good enough for the pot


I just want a nice, well presented, productive patch

Manchester has done it for years, lets see if Merseyside can match

Of course theres life there, if only the surface we scratch

Just a matter of how many raindrops and how much sunlight we catch


What will happen to bounty from these scouse seeds?

Wait and see what happens to product and what this greenery feeds

Will never be a country garden, will always be a few weeds

Lets see what becomes of harvest, I wonder if our blossom bleeds


No good having trees scraping the sky if only the tallest can reach the fruit

The fruit has to be accessible, right down to the root

Too many outsiders have eloped with Liverpools laboured loot

Lets see how good we look in our 800th birthday suit.


A Tale Of Two Cities


Have just re-acclimatised from State of New York

Akin the scousers in every way but talk

Other cities are chalkboard, our cities are the chalk

Other cities have limps, we walks the walk


Breadth of a hair between New York and ourself

A case of knowing where you sit, instead of being put on a shelf

Dually gargantuan personalities, no comparison to an elf

Concern about us, instead of concern of ones self


I was feeling at home within a few hours

Instead of feeling that I came down with the last showers

A proper handshake and smile like ceremonial Hawaiian flowers

Mano a mano, no tourist nor mention of the towers


Were inextricably linked, cerebrally twinned

All aggression and angst comprehensively binned

Both worldly cities, they did explode, we did rescind

Both our towns faces reddened by the same Atlantic wind


For we both know we are unofficial capitols of our nation

The New York of the 80s, this New York is no relation

Liverpool will do same, our city has been on a 30 year vacation

Lib dems are our Guiliani shed coat of abomination


Instead of purgatory, our self-imposed sedation

Liverpool city is a world brand but we dont know our station

Its promotion with a new manager, no more relegation

The seeds are sown, weve got the greenhouse, lets see some propagation


Overhead railway, Birkenhead Park and concrete and steel construction, its off us they learned

They did learn off us but showed us how its earned

Liverpool doesnt gamble in case of fingers get burned

The boat of backwardness should be upturned


This city I hail from has universal appeal

Instead of waiting for hand which Westminster does deal

This imaginary act of Parliament we should repeal

When it came to push, New York roared, we did squeal


The only reason that I write is because I do feel

The fluidity of Liverpools blood did sadly congeal

The festering has stopped, its time to heal

Were tired of snacking, lets have the meal


When faced with media broadside we did not kneel

Cos were versatile scousers best thing since wheel

We would be at altitude if we were on even keel

No two-facedness or one-upmanship, just belief in what is real



Dead Kelly


To myself, no-one has ever been any snider

I was bold and malicious, yet I couldnt make cider

Difference between Damien and his potential, like Les Dawson, could not be wider

So I harped on of my history

And became hysterical, heretical, hideous hider


I orienteer, I know the terrain, had a map yet still got lost

Im going to my own embassy, to place an embargo with two fingers crossed

I will beat my damaging demeanour, I will challenge my cost

You could set your watch by my frequent, frivolous frost


How you stand out, is only what our schizoid embellism embossed

Akin to vegetables in a salad bowl, and what extent theyve been tossed

The ladder of my life, every rung was meticulously mossed  

Nastrovia! Skol! Bottoms up! Cheers and fucking Prost!


But Im not bitter, I could be a lot worse than I am

For, like a magician, abracadabra, deh deh but couldnt remember shazam

Miss Marple is only a backwards Spanish guy called El Pram

Nearly fooled yous, only me in my life, that aint no scam


Do you not see, I told Mr Warburton to get into bread

Mr McDougal only made flour till I introduced him to Father Ted

But I never flew or flourished, I strolled upon street cred

Never thought of what I spoke, thought of only what they said


You see, I need me like a cavernous hole in the head

I still believe in fraternity, the cause for which Ive bled

Me and myself, not married, sort of whimsically wed

I walked uncharted path, where others fear to tread


Decapitation, le guillotine, off with his head

I need to examine why I chose famine and never got fed

I wear a thick jersey in the Mersey, shouldve been shorts in the Med

I am my own outlaw, last name Kelly, first name Dead.



Loneliness Of The Long Distance Hurdler


Overcame the first obstacle, finished the course

The biggest fence to come, should I jump like a horse?

The fence by Beechers, called keeping a job

The next fence is called keeping a few bob


Ive surprised everyone who knows me, especially me

No more getting through windows, finally used key

I was an ocean going liner who never smelled the sea

In the court of under-achievers, ignorance was my plea


Ill let dust settle, see what comes out of the wash

Maybe Ill stop writing this literary cosh

Do my house up, two fingers to nouveau posh

Just do 9 to 5 and sack bevy and beak, bish, bash, bosh


For I was an eagle who was scared of heights

I was Robin Hood without a pair of tights

I was a tourist who never saw the sights

I used to be Dracula but couldnt hack the nights


On the horizon I can see the dawn

I finally realised on what day Im born

Into the fields I go, to get some corn

Ive trod the trodden path, my shoes are worn


I hope this is the final self-berating poem

Two years down the line lad, Ill show em

No more holes in my kecks, Ive learned to sew em

No more living in a bedsit, time to make a home


One more fence in life I portray

What will one do with all his pay?

Will I be missioned up, the same old way?

Fuckin trippin arent yer, no way Jose!






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