#hull
Rivers flow down towards the bay
And with them, lifetimes swept away
Of cobble stones and windswept sand
And legends of our native land
I walk alone down avenues
Of shifting sands and ocean hues
And faces from another time
From road to sandy bluffs, I climb
Down by the sea, the windy shore
Whispers their names, who are no more
Pale ghosts who wander by the sea
Up from the waves, they call to me
Of whalers, who for glory, yearned
And sailing ships that ne'er returned
Of sailors brave and lovely maids
To them, the ocean serenades
I sip my beer and hear a gull
Lost on these timeless streets of Hull.
Jun 16, 2014
Jun 16, 2014 at 12:17 AM UTC
I’m Coming for you Bob...
To Hull & Back...
to Carver’s Just for the Mushy Peas!
As a little lad, I think on a Sat’day morning, we’d go
to a market somewhere, was it on the docks?
Asked our Brian, he’s smart, he said it were... I thought - he’d know.
...After all the mooching, the tugging, the shushing, the rows
and all me **** “where’s he gone nows?”
If I stuck it out long enough wi’out gerrin’ a clout,
we’d sit inside, or sometimes out,
of a blue striped tent - and I’d eat mushy peas.
There might have been chips,
there could have been fish;
Mam always had fish,
Brian, would have had a pattie... well, he was 12(ish)
Not sure I’d even have known about patties all them years back.
But anyway peas is what sticks in my mind…
and all down the front of me jumper...or sometimes on me mac.
They say - if you haven’t been to Carver’s
you haven’t been to Hull.
Well Bob... I’m coming back!… And’ll
bet,
when I was digging mushy peas
with my fork back in Fifty Three,
it were your Grandad, (also Bob) would have been serving me!
Cheers! And, I know it's cheeky - but - Can I have scraps wi'that?
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 10:27 AM UTC
more often than not, a knightly surge
combs a pawn me,
especially after the stroke of midnight, when
hermetically sealed in my rookery,
where bats in the belfry
flap their wings at the speed
of sound times ten
thence, this king heads to his counting house
(which doubles asthma
Perkiomen Valley bishopric)
to economize on space,
especially during tax time
(as April fifteenth slowly approaches,
me heartbeat doth) quicken
though becalmed, when imbibing
idyllic, fantastic, and bucolic kingdom
Americana paintings courtesy, sans nomen
Percevel Rockwell, thus jitteriness pacified,
particularly speaking
on the telly phone with Ken
Burns, whose trademark documentaries,
particularly War between the States,
where even roosting hen
got into the frayed scrimmage vis a vis, even
chilly being egged on to surrender as Ben
a fit to this American
Civil War Yankee incarnate,
whose doodling word
ya probably don't give a hoot -Amen!
Mar 18, 2018
Mar 18, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC
an onslaught of blustery wind blew
across the rocky cove
where the hull of a cargo ship lay
was caught in the turbulence of the rough sea
as it sailed to the port town of Dalmont
strong gales lashed the deck
and broke the rigging
such disaster befell the crew
all perished on that moonless night
with ferocity the elements
did conspire against
the ship and its hapless occupants
no news of where the ship finally rested
came to light until nineteen thirty five
a coastal surveying team
spotted the wreck a mile out to sea
the ghostly skeletal hull
sat askew on a rock ledge
in a small dinghy
they rowed
toward the shore
to make inquiry of the ship's remains
the only object they found
was the navigator's
sextant
Jul 1, 2021
Jul 1, 2021 at 8:42 PM UTC
Ted Slade • (my cousin)
Withernsea, Holderness, East Yorkshire
Last night the sea ripped the beach from its bed.
We heard the screams
but know too well not to interfere
in these family disputes.
In the morning we gathered to look,
ghouls at a death,
the sea at our feet, calm,
sated, gulls riding at anchor on it shoulders.
The meadow’s gone the same way,
yard by yard, year by year.
Now the house sways on the brink.
When he saw his rose bushes
scattered down the cliff, Jack cried.
Finally we moved out when
the garden shed was launched
one winter’s night.
Very Important Persons
brought their sympathies,
and went away nodding.
Perhaps we’ll become little islanders.
Though surely not.
... New Atlanteans at least.
Ted Slade • 1939-2004
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 11:24 AM UTC
So many asked me
how I coped over the years
some say it as a joke ‘how do you cope?’
a rhetorical question ‘I don’t know how you cope?’
some ask it as if they’ve know me for ages ‘how are you coping?’
some say it as if it was them going through it ‘I wouldn’t cope if I was you!’
some act as if they’ve been through it ‘I wouldn’t put up with it’
others don’t bother to ask
and then the rest when you try to tell them they don’t care
COPE
I haven’t ever got on with the word cope
and if it was a person I would meet it in a taxi pick it up go to a pub get it drunk and try my best to ‘accidentally leave it behind’ in a crowd of dancing virgins in a nightclub I’ve never been in before.
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 5:56 AM UTC