Sunday, 10 February 2013

How Nottingham Were You?

“eight Shippo’s a night youth
with a pack of No.6
loyal to the local economy
proud owhere I lived,

never owned a Chopper though,
much to my chagrin,
every other Saturday
Trent End hooligan

serial movie matinees
up the ABC
a penny got the first one in
who let the others in for free

what shift you on youth
days or nights?
meet me at the Lions, you know, 
the left one not the right

later in the Market Square
old Elton hits the perfect beat
most Saturdays not rounded off
without the sound of running feet

and Sunday mornings up the caff
we’d cut the ale with week old grease
all ready for the lunchtime push
four pints of Shippo’s please

Thursday, 8 March 2012


skipper should ye sail this stretch
you’ll find not only Trent Falls
but that she rises twice a day
as sister Humber surges forth

so loose the gates at Cromwell Lock
meander while you may
be sure your vessel’s tight and trim
then set to rest at Torksey

where in the waking morning
you may find me coming in
while at the same time going out
but save your mortal chagrin

though capricious may be my rise and fall
of which to know you have to pay
it is nothing to the looming wall
that Ægir brings to play

Thursday, 23 February 2012

Andvari’s Cave

I see your shallow hover
stippled summer shadow
chalk eye dead to the shore
blindside sterling consort
tiny escorts to your
toothy torpor

though tell me old gaddr,
while you bathe in Freya’s
aureate tears,
before their horse hairs
make music from your jaw
where did you hide your gold?

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

Worthless Is The Power Of Kings

each schoolboy used to know the saw
laid deep in tracts of Danish lore

Forkbeards pious son and heir
Cnut the great konungr

his throne set to the boiling awe
somewhere along a Hampshire shore

but was it somewhat further north
he faced down scorned Ægir’s bore

his person kissed by Trisantona
upon her banks at Gainsborough

Tuesday, 21 February 2012


skinny bombs,
a fierce and dumb
squall, that shatter
the living glass
fall one after the nother

grubby pink sparks,
showering the bottle
green thirsty elastic,
plumb and bob
and dog it back for

one more gleaming careen
off high suspension
then dash for cover
before their mother’s
termagant screams

Tros Hynt

the venerable tribes knew
her waters, primal born
from dragon stills,
as trespasser

feminine of form and mind
voluminous in her passage
long fashioned through lime
though never content to lie
alone her teary kisses shared
over way beyond her realm
with every ridden ford
puckered at her rim