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Last Updated: 28/09/2013 14:00:16
Welcome To Hull
By Robert Eunson

Hull ...Where you can go bird watching down Preston Road ... and you're absolutely certain to see The Greater Spotted Chav ... in abundance.

Hull ... Where you can still go down Walton Street market and buy your granny a secondhand set of false teeth ... for less than a fiver.

Hull ... Where you can listen to Look North's Peter Levy and weatherman Paul Hudson exchange amusing banter forever ... until the end of the world!

Hull ... Where there are more Elvis impersonators per square mile than anywhere else in England.

Hull ... The land of beer bellies and tattoos ... and pub fights on a Saturday night ... but not all the women are like that.

Hull ... where we used to make fish but now we are suspended on a tightrope of economic insecurity ... whilst eating a bag of fish and chips.

Hull ... With its marvelous musical heritage ... Mick Ronson ... Robert Palmer ... The Housemartins ...and now The Happy Endings ... (my favourite band).

Hull ... Where I was born and I couldn't wait to leave when I was 17 ... and couldn't wait to get back to when I was 50.

Hull ... Where if you took the hair from underneath John Prescott's armpit you could knit a tea cosy that would fit over the Houses of Parliament.

Hull ... where a man once rode around on a bicycle ... and felt and dreamed and imagined poetry everywhere ... Thank you, Phillip Larkin.

Hull people ... Hard working ... generous ... tolerant ... with a great sense of humour.

Hull people ... Common people ... Decent people ... Enjoying life ... Every day!

Copyright © Robert Eunson 2013
Poetry - Strong For Too Long By Phil Lamb .
From the comfort of my crumpled, quilt womb
The sentry tower clock rings out round the room
Awakened from the world where I wish to stay
A world I struggle to get to at the end of the day
I yearn for the world of colour that is so far away
Instead of this world with its blackness and grey

Poetry - Paltry Poultry Poetry By Martin S Hines
I saw a bird
The bird it looked back
The bird was a duck
Quite quiet its quack
A limp in its leg
And a crick in its back
Broken, one wing

Poetry - Sundays By Michelle Dee
They tell me there is a deer, roaming free
in the graveyard - I've never seen it.
I've seen a muddy dog haring, all paws and playfulness,
the dry husk of a fallen seed, now skeletal and fruitless.
A forgotten garden-seat swinging, couple-less in the breeze.
The aching of a stout ship, full sail behind a dusty pane.

Poetry - Fairytale Love By Katelyn Langston
I drown it out with happiness
I drown it out with tears
Pushed back into my memory
You find my biggest fears
Some could be considered normal
Some could be considered fake

Poetry Funny The Things That Happen By Pamela Scobie Photograph by Tim Green
I met an angel the other day.
He was sitting on the steps outside Wrangthorne Church
in his shirt sleeves
in the sunshine.
And d'you know what my instinctive, uncharitable thought was?
How dare you?

Poetry - Poppy Power By Ted Harben
Do you ever sense the visions
in the poppy that you buy,
the countless squads of soldiers
ever cheerful, marching by?
See the bloody scenes of battle,
the carnage of the guns;
or watch the ghosts returning,
Grotesque automatons?

Poetry - Ode to a Tea Bag By Ruth Dixon
Tea, I love thee
You're yang to my yee
But when you're mint
You're not everything
You're cracked up to be
Tea, you and me
When I find myself in times of trouble PG

Poetry Casa Nostra By Pamela Scobie
He took her away from a house that had loved her
And told her to find another
So they could be together.
'You'll do it, kid,' he said.
So she did.
It was in need of affection and care
And he wasn't there.

Poetry - A Study of Mischief By Bronwyn Ellis
When sticking my nose into trouble,
Cured the bullies' thirst at school,
It was worth those shitty grades,
To know that I could still keep cool,
And deal out rebel stories,
To naughty pups half my size.

Poetry - Bonfire Night Memories By Simon Icke
It's bonfire night and the sky
is full of crackles and bangs,
brightly coloured lights.
The damp November air;
full of gunpowder and
the smell of fires
and smoke
everywhere!

Poetry HU7 Part One By Kerry-Joe Pulford
Hand whipped
Double breasted
Thigh lifted
TV twisted
Almost de-railed, too thin, too pale, looks quite scary for her age,
Hides behind the home page.
Best diet ever tasted,
Direct from How to Look Good Wasted.

Poetry - Cut Out These Cut Outs By Jan McGeachie
How effective will placing
Cardboard cut-outs
Of serving police officers
Be, inside stores?
Will they deter
Those intent on shoplifting

Poetry - Pipe Dreams By Terry Ireland Photograph by Roland Standaert
Yet another empty shop;
another set of dashed hopes?
Maybe a young couple who
just didn't know the ropes.
I wonder how they felt,
what plans they had made
and how long it took
for all their hopes to fade.

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