Citizens

The Bakers, the Millers, the watchmakers.

The clerics, the priests and the reeves.

The plougher of fields and the sower of seeds.

The bankers, the scoundrels, the thieves.

The farmers, the tailors, the shopkeepers.

The woman who sits home and weaves.

The godless, the hypocrites and sinners.

The bishop who prays and believes.

The innkeepers, drunks and ...

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Goole is where I’m off this week 

I’ve heard the fishing museums Unique  

I walk and stare at the ground  

Reminding me it’s a historic port town 

its special relationship  with Gibraltar Rock

Is the same as I have with my dirty…  sock

So... I’m on my way to Goole 

Under my arm is my best cagoule  

My Happiness  level never does drop 

But one things for sure the rai...

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Our Halloween masks reflected back
as we peer through that dusty glass
into the quiet gloom of the Ghost Café

If only the ghost waitress would take our order
‘large or small?’ she asks, well, I’m a medium
ghost chairs dragged across the ghost floor

And the clank of local steel set down
on delicately painted porcelain
bustling echoes bounce from peeling walls

People starting or resta...

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Pen devoid of poems
adventure long overdue
living room carpet
growing long in the tooth
I’m pining for movement
so keen to get out
I’ll go walking down
to Holly Hagg

Little glimpses at normality
haloed by golden rays
There’s no poison 
in the idle river
no politics
in the quiet horse
cantering to 
another chew

The clouds of working day
part while I’m out walking
bathed in nat...

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I used to hate this part of town
After London
it felt like stepping back in time
as if all our momentum to the capital 
had been lost
these shops with their hand-painted signs
I didn’t recognise the names
they’re not triplicated on every high street

And now I sit
in the Crooked Café
the waitress always tries to remember my ‘usual’
but I love that she never quite gets it right
gives u...

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Chelp

So

Like

He did everything backards-road round

Put on his coit

And pulled his hat on his eead

Washed his face wi’a wet dish-claht

And I’m like Whatever

Kids were art laiking

Mucking abart

Ran off darn a ginnel

Roobub pie

Waiting back at home

Some spice afore then

A ha’porth’a Spanish

Wash it darn

Wi’a sup er watter

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The Voyager's Song

I see the shoreline,

black and unremarked

sleeping in secret, supine,

an open door, strong

as a broad Yorkshire

voice,

weak as rags of sea mist.

Soon I shall fetch upon its sands,

where cold silence reigns

uninvited like the early dawn.

Beside me shall burn,

in isolation and awe,

the last bright flower

of an ancient memory...

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Good Morning All

Over the summer holidays I'm bringing a Poetry Summer School to the Town in association with Ossett Arts for 16-25 year olds.

The 6 week course will feature a mix of writing and performance workshops that will culminate in a very special performance during Ossett Arts Gallery Evening

For more information see below:

https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=2003448533...

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Last night was more than anyone could bear.
Last night they plunged a dagger into Yorkshire,
approving plans to poison land, to fracture 
the ground beneath our feet, to choke the air.

Four thousand people sent in their objections.
A hundred speakers warned what could occur.
But seven County Councillors didn't care
and kicked North Yorkshire in the wrong direction:

a course that leads ...

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From the North Sea, wild and grey
the horde bore down on Scarborough Bay.
I overheard one of them say 
"We're following the money."

Like a Viking raiding force
they'd moved their enterprise onshore
to probe beneath the Yorkshire moors
for oil and gas and money.

A mighty fleet of high power cars
overran the Scarborough Spa.
I heard them, wassailing at the bar
thirsty for the money.

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The mill looms hulking in the dim distance,

looms now long-stilled but filled with pictures

crafted by Hockney, some of his Bradford

long-remembered when he as a lad, would

sketch the hills and mills with broad strokes

but some more contemporary: coal smoke

swapped for cooler pool or beach scenes

or the bold new Wolds canvases: deep greens

and thick line...

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North Yorkshire was a green and pleasant county 
with rolling hills and cricket on the green, 
and tourists by the score 
would come to see the moors, 
historic sites and charming rural scenes. 
And when they'd had their fill of nature's bounty 
they'd spend their cash at tearooms and hotels. 
But then some gas was found 
two miles beneath the ground; 
now Yorkshire has become a 

Frack...

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The Quiet Compere Tour is supported using public funding by the National Lottery through Arts Council England.

Manchester – The Three Minute Theatre - Friday 31st January 2014

York – The Cityscreen Basement Bar - Friday 28th February 2014

Birmingham – MAC Hexagon - Friday 21st March 2014

Kendal – Brewery Arts Centre - Saturday 26th April 2014

Liverpool – Blackburne House Café - Frid...

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Taking Root (20th July 2013)

looking like a sapling

with a pure heart of oak

the white rose entwined

around three lions

taking Root

before the stumps

strong willow blade

flashing in the summer sun

bending

but not broken

before the green and gold

deflecting

slashing

blocking

hammering

not since the days

of Sir Geoffrey and

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New Library at Pontefract

(on seeing a film featuring John Betjeman)

Long, long ago, when I was twelve,

John Betjeman was here

to make romance for Pontefract,

to make it very clear

that this was not some ‘northern town’

of legend, cold and drear,

but hill-top place, Italianate -

the self-same atmosphere

that brought the olive growers in

to mark...

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amidst dewy dawning

and distant lowing

scrambling over

tangled root stone bedding

beneath hillside glowing

from cloud stalked

cold shock

to sun burst warming

flows river umber

running iced  tea

tarnished and malty

to this tumble

comes happy dog

snout near rabbit deep

as spooked cottontails peep

from behind mossy log

...

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