How do you fancy ripping tents up, Angie,

instead of nipping to the corner shop?

Here in the town of Stockport, Lancashire,

when sirens sounded, townsfolk gratefully fled

to shelter under arches stout and strong;

but now, the stench of death pervades the air,

the body politic is now corrupt;

no air raid shelters for the innocents

of Gaza under rubble, three months gone;

...

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https://www.ibtimes.co.uk/home-secretary-faces-uproar-over-entry-spanish-neo-nazi-far-right-extremist-britain-1719878

Her Deathstyle Choice!

 

The red red rose of Lancashire, it’s red for love,

the poppy, flower of Palestine which gives me hope,

the fragile Armistice poppy, of hope, not hate,

trodden in the mud by Braverman’s Nat C. friends,

by the Nazi hate-mob...

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In our Lancashire home, in our Lancashire home,
We speak with a Lanky Twang ever so rare,
We’ve got some wet moorlands exceedingly bare,
If you want a few Mountains, we've got some to spare,
In our Lancashire home.

En Vrolijk Kerstmis!

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The audio file in this post is of SAMPLES 1-7 in my profile-apologies for repeats cockup.

 

This  below, was my first and only attempt (so far) at a Sestina, from about ten years ago?

I think it reflects:

1. the trepidation I felt at the thought of one of my 3 months-long walking trips and

2. the effort expended in the journey of trying to write this bloody thing!

 

PILGRIM P...

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Down dark cobbled back streets, clothes lines stretched 
across cohorts of back yards, on Washing Day.
Regiments of white bed sheets hoisted high
flapping like flags,  in threatening skies 
supported by proud, 
immoveable clothes props. 
Garments not daring to fly loose, 
Straddled by dolly pegs 
forced down hard.

Above boiling bleach buckets  
Malevolent steam swirled, silently seethi...

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Veering through Northern valleys
Nocturnal nomad chasing lights
Squinting through misty glass at
Solitude
Rural black
Hills rising raucously
Perfidious silhouettes whispering
Shadows looming
GPS. Reroute. M1. 
Settings were fucked - avoid motorways? 
No wonder

Back to the linear path
Diving towards the sprawling metropolis
Hours to go.
Adjusting frequencies -
The Wind Cries Mary.
...

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Stone slab pavements,
with cobbled streets.
Working class towns-folk.
with coker clad feet,
Women with shawls on,
the men wearing caps,
A rare hardy breed, both
women and chaps,
The whistle has blown,
their all in a flurry
They dare not be late, so
they all have to hurry.
~ 2~
The houses were terraced
and all in a row,
Two up-two down, with a
stone flagged
floo...

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