Tag Archives: Yorkshire

Cuthbert Bank

18 Saturday Jan 2014

Posted by in Nature, Poetry

≈ 7 Comments

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Ringing the changes supplementing slave wages,

falling down sheds mark an era that’s dead.

Working class men with a tab and a pint,

punching the clock as their bird takes flight.

Banding and tagging the old boys are lagging,

as technology brings the changes to win.

Racing the homer with nothing odd to see,

squab, Ilion song as their ancestors fly free,

smoke grey flight over cooling tower industry,

rambling and racing as the voyageurs dance here.

Northern man’s soul – more than a fancier.

Loftier heights view the world of the skies edge,

new hope in full bloom dispels shadows of old gloom,

bygone Steelers nurturing tomorrow’s youth squeakers,

as they reach for the stars, in plumed aviation

Columbidae class reaches point liberation.

 

© Cuthbert Bank 18.01.2014

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

 

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Of what do I Dream?

20 Sunday Jan 2013

Posted by in Longing & Waiting, Love, Poetry, Waiting and Longing

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Of what do I dream?

I dream of the Peaks,

a cosy warm cottage,

for solitary weeks.

 

A welcoming hearth,

and an open fire,

somewhere to sit,

and dream of the ‘shire.

 

A handsome oak bureau,

where I sit and write,

with an old lattice window,

to gaze at the night.

 

An old chiming clock,

to signal the end,

and an old scruffy dog,

as my one faithful friend.

 

Of what do I dream?

I dream of the Peaks,

a cosy warm cottage,

for solitary weeks

 

© Of what do I dream? 20.01.2013

by Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

 

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Yorkshire

30 Friday Nov 2012

Posted by in Deep Stuff!, Love, Poetry

≈ 1 Comment

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Yorkshire

 

 

 

 

 

My love affair with Yorkshire,

is strange to the extreme,

the rain comes down in stair rods,

as 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.

 

© Yorkshire 30.11.2012

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

Yorkshire (Photo credit: gollenr)

 

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Carole Withany II (Dave’s Seagull)

15 Saturday Sep 2012

Posted by in Poetry

≈ 15 Comments

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English: An adult seagull (Larus michahellis)

 

 

 

 

 

One summer’s day,

they strolled by the sea,

hand holding hand,

Dave and Carole Withany.

 

The seagulls they circled,

and the sea it did sigh,

an idea did emerge,

as Carole watched them fly by.

 

She looked up to the heavens,

excited she declared,

give me 50p

and that’s your bird there!

 

You’ll know Dave’s own seagull,

as it soars on the wing,

with a strong Yorkshire accent,

‘ee by gum’, it will sing.

 

Now legend still has it,

as myth is passed down,

that Dave’s special seagull,

has been seen in this town.

 

Now Dave is so happy,

and watches with glee,

for his very own seagull,

that cost 50p

 

© Carole Withany II (Dave’s Seagull) 15.09.2012

© Carole Withany 23.08.2012 (link)

By Alexandra Carr-Malcolm

English: An adult seagull (Larus michahellis) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)