YORKSHIRE
by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

My love affair with Yorkshire,
is strange to the extreme,
the rain comes down in stair rods,
and puddles turn to streams.

Flint faced buildings stand proud,
the natives just the same;
hard with a directness,
reflecting poverty’s pain.

“Aye up love,” and “Ta duck,”
a mantra of the North,
a warmth and loyal passion,
found around the hearth.

Depleted coal face scenery,
ghost towns from the past,
mine the depths of politics,
betrayed by bluest lass.

Coal-dust mottled snowscapes,
contrast the wuthering heights,
bleak outstanding wilderness,
the slag heap moors by night.

My soul belongs in Yorkshire,
with Brontë, Hughes, and Moore,
this northern heart keeps beating,
‘til death doeth close the door.

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: I grew up in and around coal mining communities. My Grandfather, uncle, and cousins worked as miners. I saw the devastation caused in the 1980s when the coal…

Slowly, slowly, creeps the dawn,

with monstrous shapes,

and shifting form,

‘tween death and sleep,

my soul doeth lie,

this never world,

where hope does die.

Alas my sense,

it leaves me cold,

splintered spine,

as I’ve grown old

and weary of

this mortal world,

a waiting hell,

backdrop

unfurled.

The antidote

to death

is sleep –

where

Daemons

sneer, and

angels

weep.

© Hades  02.05.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Hades. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Iconic charming history,

repeats the sad refrain,

as, once more, we get screwed over,

we sing along again;

the blues echo a doleful tune,

and strike the same discord,

man mines the depths of misery,

bank on, fools, gold reward!

We steel ourselves with loyalty,

patriotic to the ends,

whilst red skies scream solemnity,

we bend our plastic friends.

Ironic charnel history,

repeats the shame, refrain,

prepare to get screwed over,

as we sing along in vain.

© Striking the Blues 08.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Pit head silhouette (Photo credit: alastairb)