Sonnet for a City of Culture

Full colour, many unusual and beautiful Pictures of Hull.

Old John’s lost mates.

Fish dock – silt filled, holding fly-tipped white

Goods - in long grass nestling, like cradled seamen

From next door, where plaques remember the bright

Lost men never to return home again.

They signed aboard, aware the way was north.

The pressure dropping meant hurricane speed,

But the course was held, despite the truth

Of driven lunacy or wanton greed.

Spumed water froze hands, rigging and railings

Exhausted men hewed with icy axes,

Retreated the cold knowing their failings

Would end their fate in watery madness.

In summer heat, to remember lost mates

Old John paints tide-broken fish-dock lock gates.

Full colour, many unusual and beautiful Pictures of Hull.