From unfamiliar similar backgrounds

Illiterate

Drives its own confusion

I will

I will

I will become obsessed

A peasant's son

Casts its own

No don't go there

Walk away

Walk away

No stay, pray do become

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Without attitude where would we be

I thought I was angry

You spilt the uncollected blood

I chose a word of fancy

You knew; my own milk wood

Luddites in the valley

Geese in grandma's yard

The pictures of tomorrow

Sally, kissing old Tom Stoppard

That butterfly

Caught up in the spiders web

She swayed

With some knowledge of chaos theory

Flap long and hard enough

Dazed but not confused

You will always get away

Unscathed but bruised

I thought I was angry

You asked me if I could

I spoke of Reagan's Nancy

You know, that kind of neighbourhood

You can't break the machines now lad

You know; the looms and such stuff

You see with smoke and mirrors

We've bought the software bluff

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Portrait of a picture as a young man

Are you a young man

Or an old man, living your life

In reverse

Are you always striving

Belligerent, repugnant

With disquiet in your verse

The picture on the counter

Is of a cornfield

Bordered by poppies

The tyre with its worn weald

Is buggered

And that my lad is fact

To have all of this pleasure

With the pencil and the pen

In defence and attack

The picture is on a thank you card

'Fields of Flowers' by Julia Hawkins

An image sniffed by Crabtree and Evelyn

Am I the young man

In an old mans shoes

Giving or taking, or worse

Am I always dreaming

Beauty, softness, love

Lost therein, within my verse

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Covered; uncovered

Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet

Philip Larkin: Whitsun Weddings

I am a Yorkshireman, that is, I was

Born in the West Riding, and then spent

My formative years on God's side of the Pennines

For over 35 years the valleys and the villages

They were my home; to drink real ale, play football

Although my granddad, he would have said to laike

One among many; it felt that I was chosen, special

A hop-stepped heritage to a clay works manager

But labourer, with barrow, was my direct blood line

It was easy to let praise be heaped upon me

No difficulty to be the centrepiece

The team captain, the leader of the socialist free

During years of working on my knees, I matriculated

After that business, of skipping out of all my GCE's

Now I live a slower life, on flat-lands of Lincolnshire

Where the Wolds are my Pennines

And the populous marshes are my unpopulated

Desolate, and beautifully dark peat moors

Again I study, but this time with convention

At the University of NTU, and with you most nights

In bright white lights of darkness, of life

Between here, there, then and now, this and that

I did a few things; came by chance to be a manager

Though it wasn't to be, not really me, you see

Perhaps I should tell you, that in the last weeks

I have seen two cinema films: Dr Zhivago and er…

No, I forget the name of the other

And I notice, that on more than one occasion

I have left off the letter which completes

A word or phrase, leaving it without meaning

Useless as an address on a letter

Eliding to become a lost letter, intent sent instead

To the dead letter office

Yesterday my poetry tried to have attitude

I think it was maybe inspired, by that

Tear jerker of a Prime Minister’s speech

But the anger will not well up so so easily

The causes for which I care are already taken

By other leaders; with their more extraordinary flare

So I sit and stare, I sit and stare and think

The drink of tea with cake is my companion

I have no trouble moving slowly, instinctive you see

Gentle be the time, to read of cull and carrion

Lone Ranger, Tonto and the white stallion

I forget his name, hi ho

The rain has started to fall, it drips off the ivy

The breeze is up; soon trees will be free of leaves

Yes, Lincolnshire; where my sky will meet my sea

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A gradual disappointment

Before I begin this poem I must tell you

I have just collected a letter

From the unable to deliver registered letter office

And now I am at the tyre repair shop

To see what they can do about the slow puncture

Which the nice man at the festival pointed out

Anyhow, back to the letter, I can tell

From the franking machine stamp that it is

From the masters course in the East of England

This I have already determined to be

One of those opportunities which I shall reject

I sent an email to that effect, yesterday

But it would be daft, wouldn't it

Not to take a look, to see once again

The times ahead that I am not now to share

Yet what purpose does that serve; what richness

Does it endow on my person or my personality

What regret is amplified, or stored for future use

I took the decision, not to go

Carefully, I weighed up the pro's and con's

Then, in the briefest single moment I chose no

The letter is still unopened

A part of me, perhaps the undiscovered artist

Would choose to see it simply gather dust

But I know myself better than that

And in this regard I think I know you

I will open the letter

But for now I have to have a new tyre

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