An image shrouds around the last sight of Mandela:
The world crowds to hail, not mourn, the finish of his life.
Common sorts, stunned, losing their saviour figure.
Leaders act tributes: some seen sly and two-faced.
Dark ones, who run his land now: stand mistrusted, self-serving.
White kinds: hoping we forget they helped oppress The Blacks.
Cameron; Bush: photo-call intruders in this place of grief and pride;
For the man of our age: headlined as close to Lincoln, or The Lord.
Small print in sharp papers; airs sterner views.
In truth, he’d not feel all that; and sense the irony:
Casting him this statue of perfect, forgiving peace.
When in fact: a terrorist steeped in struggle of lethal ways.
Our times juggle such images in setting ways to right.
Kiev protestors break Lenin’s statue; knowing nothing of
His hate of Stalin crimes: his vision of fair brotherhoods:
Freed from evil of money, greed, false pride. Ideals still held
In high value, in The West; at his death in ’24.
Gandhi; a lawyer clever as The West; went barefoot; in rags.
Artless as The Messiah. A selfless, opaque image: needed by,
Ages of piety. Monks. Virgins. Graphic proof to keep
Divides of the hard world, from unreal, pure, spirit life.
Two halves of the globe we’ve never set back whole.
Lying in state, Mandela’s last face gives a Gioconda smile.
Seen content: in peace, love and forgiving.
Or grim humour at mad travesties:
Which gilds his icon. Who else could really know the cause?
Woke up and said to myself never again
Fully clothed curled in bed
I lost count after a drink or ten
With shaky hands and a pounding head
Finally got myself up and about
Then it hit me that urge I needed a drink Read more...
Poetry - Can’t Colour In By Mark Hillary
This is a confusing city
Low and dull and not very pretty
Hull F.C. is one of the rugby teams
And much more here is not as it seems.
Really Kingston-upon, which you could colour in
but beware here that would be considered a sin.
Poetry - Try Reading Poetry - Featuring Video
To coincide with the 2013 Rugby League World Cup matches hosted in Hull in October and November,
Hull Central Library and Write to Speak recently ran a series of free workshops under the banner of
Try Reading Poetry, culminating in a special performance at the launch of the Humber Mouth literature festival 2103.
Presented by performance poets Joe Hakim and Mike WattsRead more...
Poetry - Watching Rugby in East Park By Julie Corbett
I stand with the home supporters
St. John’s Ambulance, those injured and the passionate unselected.
They keep up a commentary
Weaving plays with banter – wide –
use your flanks, butter fingers, up
and under, ref? is 'is 'ead still on ref?
Poetry - England ...This is your time ... By Robert Eunson
The two front rows are like buffalos
The hooker's like a bloodhound on heat
The centre half's built like a horse and cart
And the full back... he's called Pete
The rest of the pack they stand...unfazed
like rhino's waiting for the rampage...
There's tension and nerves before the game begins but
when they put on the shirt they won't care if it hurts Read more...
Poetry - Salute From A Fan By Patricia Gray
I've always loved the rugby games
I know all of the positions and some of their names
I like the team spirit, the speed gets my attention
It's a simple game with no pretention.
I admire the players - one stated aim;
To score the points and win the game
With strength and agility they run the field
With team ship and ability they'll never yield Read more...
Poetry Up North It's Grin By Michael Wood
In six days the world was created,
On the seventh came demarcation lines,
One of these is a stretch of hills,
Famously known as the Pennines,
They separate men from madmen,
They divide the east from west,
The White Rose from the Red Rose, Read more...
Poetry In the Car, Thinking Rugby OR In the Shower, Panicking By Jessica Leathley
What’s it about, this rugby? What does it mean to me?
I don’t understand it, I don’t know the rules
I don’t know the names or the words or the teams.
Is it Union or League I ask and I ask.
League Jess League! The exasperation shows.
Airlie Birds, Robins, Warriors, Bulls
What do they mean? What are those? Read more...
Poetry Stroke City By Ernest Jackson
Culture in Derry stroke Londonderry
Defeated ancient divisions stroke splits:
RC stroke CE and Irish stroke Brits.
Quarrels too old to forget stroke bury.
Culture in Hull stroke Kingston upon Hull
Developed through few stroke many a year
Uniting the Roundhead stroke Cavalier:
People whose bird is the pigeon stroke gull. Read more...
Poetry East and West By David Thompson
I came to cross the great divide,
That stops the traffic at high tide,
With border guard who glowered down,
At anyone from east of town,
'Across this bridge you shall not pass,
You come from Rovers land alas', Read more...
Poetry Respect By Catherine Scott
The atmosphere is buzzing at the KC ground
There is an absolutely terrifying cacophony of sound
The crowd want to see a hard fought match
On their very own turf, their very own patch
The teams run on and they all shake hands
Sing National Anthems as tradition demands
They fall out of line and take up position Read more...
Poetry The Homing Poet By Pamela Scobie
After a night revisiting your greatest triumphs,
I left you outside with the bins.
They called from the landfill.
Would I collect?
You were discommoding the migrant workers.
By chucking in the defunct spin-drier, Read more...
Poetry - Rugby Kids By Alan Padwick
When we were kids we played rugby in the street
no posts, no grass and only sandshoed feet.
Sometimes we had an egg shaped ball,
at other times a sphere.
But we were tough and we played rough,
and most of all we had no fear. Read more...
Poetry - Reprisals in Ulster By Patrick Henry
Now, when the worst clashes and scores looked settled.
The Agreement signed. Another loaded term.
As all troubles hinged on ways how letters sounded.
The old tongue once banned. Hidden orders, passed in that tone.
While loud verbals of ruling powers held the streets;
And seethed hateful, in those kept low, out to bog land parts; Read more...