Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
But nobody lay sound asleep in their beds,
They were all sat in A and E, pissed out their heads.
There was Dancer and Prancer, the twins from East Hull,
No teeth and a beard, but they still tried to pull.
They drooled at the mouth, as they clutched their gold purses,
And eyeballed the backsides of all the male nurses.
When from somewhere outside, came a laughter so sweet,
Then followed the fall of two large, booted feet.
As the front doors slid open, a man stepped inside,
About six feet in height and seven feet wide.
Encloaked in red velvet, with fury white bands,
And a bottle of Stella grasped tight in his hand.
'Tonight I've bestowed lovely gifts at your houses,'
He exclaimed just before he was sick on his trousers.
At the sight of his entrance the twins gaped in awe,
And they rushed up when Santa fell flat on the floor.
They each caught a glance of his sack full off gifts,
And soon these two sisters were up to old tricks.
'I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement,
If we help you relax from your previous engagement.'
'I mean all of that work simply isn't a breeze,
Disposing your load under all of those trees.'
'Indeed you are right, my dear ladies, so fair,
By the white of my beard, and the white of ...down there.
In all of my years, on every December,
I clamber down chimneys, burn my arse on the embers,
And never have I had an ounce of respect,
Just a pie and some port, (that's the reason I'm wrecked).
But never a thank you, St Nicholas dear,
Just the same begging letters the very next year.'
So to all of you children who've doubted St Nick,
And the fact that he climbs down your chimney.
Then I ask you to visit the bearded man,
On a drip in Hull Royal Infirmary.
Poetry - Tidings of Comfort and Joy? By Terry Ireland
The Sally Army band play their Carols in the street,
Deftly being avoided by hurrying scurrying feet
Of those busy shoppers hoping they can still
Find more alleged bargains this season of good will.
She sees pinched strained faces of those passing by,
Notices how very few will look her in the eye; Read more...
Poetry - The Way You Love Me By Bronwyn Ellis
We kissed for hours
One thing led to another
And as I let my breath recover
You held me tight as if to say
Not I love you
...Just Thank you
I pressed my lips against your head
Poetry - Sweet As A Nut By Mike Watts
I'm under the shower
Just about finished
I turn the dial
Squeak back my wet hair
I pull back the curtain
And with one foot up
On the side of the bath
Poetry - Cornflower Blue By Dayne Coyne
I have seen you down the pubs and down the gay clubs
Seen you walking past my window in the evening
You've got hazy eyes of cornflower blue
Yes, you've got hazy eyes of cornflower blue
Yes, you've got hazy eyes of cornflower blue
And that night that we went for a pizza
Did they shine with a different hue?
Poetry - Middle Age Blues By Terry Ireland
Kids and tobacco, you've got to be joking.
Filter tips and low tar you don't call that smoking.
Do you remember Senior Service
and Capstan Full Strength?
Full of lethal potential
every inch of their length.
You cleared your tubes
with a good morning cough
Poetry - A Not So Subtle Reminder By Joe Hakim
I don't know what I was thinking -
it was probably some half-baked
way to demonstrate my masculinity
equally as stupid.
I was drunk,
and for some reason it seemed
Poetry - This is Love? By Phil Pretheroe
a justifyingly uplifting,
guilt free swagger.
No care in the world,
Poetry - Fun and Games By Mike Watts
I'm battling the shits
And an agony so intense
I feel as though rats
Are tearing their way
Out of me
I double over and clutch
Poetry - Posh Girl By Jim Higo
Your faux civility knows no bounds,
You smile at me like a Thai waitress,
and for a second you almost persuade me
that you are genuinely interested in what I'm saying.
But then you nod when you shouldn't and I know you don't care;
your mind is elsewhere,
like when intelligent people are forced to sit through soap operas. Read more...
Poetry - Arts and Culture in Hull By Joe Hakim
it's about who your friends are
and the circles you move in
it's about the boxes you tick
and the forms you fill out
it's about being the same as
and crushing individuality
it's about appealing to the
Poetry - Metal Box By Dean Wilson
in the long grass
by what's left
of the factory
and I will count
on your back.
Poetry - Hyde and Seek By Bronwyn Ellis
By the light of the day he is merely a shadow,
A dark faceless echo pursuing my steps,
He stalks through the mirrors to haunt my reflection,
A secretive burden too long I have kept.
A phantom of sins which denied my suppression,
Laid dormant for years in the wells of my brain,
But curious Henry with notions and potions,
Awakened the slumbering evils again.Read more...
Poetry - Garbage By Terry Ireland
There was a memorial in the Cathedral
Then one father took a stand,
Refusing to grasp and shake
The ex leaders bloodied hand.
He was dragged up by his boot straps,
on an inner city sink estate,
from a family full of love,
lived in a street full of hate.
And he joined the British army
Poetry - Boxing The Compass By Carol Coiffait
You can stay
in one place
only long enough
to find your way
to the chip-shop,
and back home
to make a net
Poetry - Cider Barry By Mike Watts
My mate's a boozer
Always smashed on cider
Always lost in space
All over the place
And it troubles me
Watching him drown
In fermented apple
Poetry - Brough Haven By Carol Coiffait
Here, where they say the Romans crossed,
the river is raw;
a mangy dog chewing at its flank.
Great gobs of grass and mud,
slewing and shouldered,
field by sly field off the northern bank.
All that is left for the beleaguered sheep and lambs Read more...
Poetry - Ode to Sir John By Mark Walmsley
A warm summer noon, for a game of bowls
Lily white dresses on court,
Fine cut grass with honeysuckle perfume
A surely cocked boater
Gin fizz and water
Willow hooked seamer, red leather to be caught.
Clattering carts, over cobbled cascade Read more...
Poetry - My Poem From 1979 By Ruth
I never wanted to paint by the numbers, and
always had to do it myself - my way.
When was it that I traded my blueprint canvas
for a tabula rasa? Too long ago; can't remember.
All around me, my peers going through
someone else's predictated motions.
Dancing: With painted footsteps
Singing: With someone else's words
Poetry - A Right Kettle to Fix By Patrick Henry
Protest at street demos, taken as free right,
Frames you on mad fringes in duffle coats.
Cordons of order close in the nation's thought,
That terror looms more than fresh climates we need.
Cops numberless strike, then hide in shadows.
A newsvendor is hit by no sheer chance,
But a target for their control at points of info. Read more...
Poetry - If Only You Knew By Joe Hakim
Put the tips of your fingers
into my mouth
while I trace the outline of
I could crawl into you,
you could bury me -
make me forget to set
the alarm. I want to watch
your throat as you