City of Culture


To celebrate Hull being awarded this accolade for 2017 I enclose here some poems that express my love of the area. Some I submitted to help the bid, others are just heartfelt. see just another canvas page for my feelings about home, Hull and East Yorkshire; or read – further down – The Green Man of the Wildwood or Changing Moods – my meditation on the beautiful River Humber

Remembering Albion 

I remember this land

Its bones are my bones

Its moods my own.


Though I dwell in city concrete

And in fear, the trees retreat

Let me ride this fiery dragon

Across Albions’ ancient fields.

In dreams I breathe the northern lights

As I stalk the limestone heights

I bathe in muddy estuaries

And drink at sacred springs. 

Let me sleep between the standing stones

Trawl the patterns of its stars

May I pluck its peaks and weave its roots

Dance barefoot on the beach.


As I celebrate the moment

In the changing of its years

With its bones of rock and diverse moods

I remember this land and me.

The Kingstown Tale of Freedom

A cup of hot chocolate

With added double cream

East touches West in

A confectioners dream


White sugar/brown sugar

Both taste as sweet

When sprinkled in the cup of life

As multi cultures meet


Take a slice of brown bread

A fluffy bun of white

Share a friendship sandwich

Forget the ethnic fight


Weave a piece of white silk

With a deep amber stitch

Create a world of difference

In a tapestry so rich


Paint a snowy canvas

With rich ‘umber paint

Clean the city’s brushes

Of hatred’s taint


Seed a crop of daisies bright

In a terracotta pot

Plant a sacred garden

And stop suspicion’s rot


Play a tune of harmony

On jet and ivory keys

Blend the notes together

For the diversity reprise


A forest of snow white yacht sails

Midst a pile of rusting trawls

Create a festival of love and light

As ‘Ull and Freedom calls

Sea Mist – my relationship with the East Yorkshire coast


In my time I loved to walk beside the sea

And dancing surf, with seagulls, and bobbing crab net buoys.

I loved the old boats, the harbour walls, and feeling free

From city grime, poison fumes and techno-toys.


Once, on a cliff top, with crumbling, muddy sides

I spied the comic flash of puffin flight

Streaking past, diving to greet the rolling tide

And rise again with fishy prize held tight.


A sandy point with rustling spiky dune grass

Stitching it in place like carpet tape or string,

Is broken by winter wind and wave, till, unable to pass

It remained unreachable till Spring.


Sleepy coves with white chalk stacks

Where gannets gossiped on every ledge.

The smell of bird lime and salt dried bladderwrack

Reminded me that life is hard at terra-firma’s edge.


Sun warmed hours hunting crabs in brimming

Rock pools like watery time capsules.

Standing at the waterline skimming

Sea-smooth pebbles, until the hot air cooled


And a full moon painted a silver pathway;

Or storm clouds marbled its ebb and flow in shades of bold. 

Such dawns: two mighty elements merged in hazy grey

Till sun rise blushed the waking sea with gold.


How I loved those moods from mirror calm and still as bliss

To raging anger; and days when I resigned

Myself to sly, insidious sea fret mist

Drenching every aching inch of skin with freezing brine.


Now, as I walk those cliff tops, or feel the sandiness

Between my aging toes, the changing facets of its flood

Echo mine, strangely restless

And surging, in the tides that drive my blood.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s