Sonnet for a City of Culture
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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.
Click here for full collection. Free on Kindle Unlimited
Full colour, many unusual and beautiful Pictures of Hull.