Larkin 25 - Rock and Soul By Kerry-Joe Pulford

And he stared at me forever, Like he wanted to lick me, Like I was rock with 'Soul' writ through me, And if he just had money, house, car and a ring He could be one of us, and talk about things I could sense his anguish, well this bit - The 'Take him to the pub and make him fit' shit. But I couldn't turn away, I smiled and talked, I made his day. Yeh that's me, still trying to connect when all else has failed - walked away. I wouldn't normally say that though, It's only because his carer said 'Woah, how did you manage that' like I'd saved the pub from an imminent strike 'He's normally shrinking, Like sometimes I think he's on the brink, You know, top himself.' I gasped 'Top himself? Have you heard yourself?' He says 'Sorry. What you havin'?' 'No I'm fine.' He says 'Please' I say he just needed some time. 'Go on then - I'll have a dry white wine.' He said 'What you up to? How was your day?' I said 'Waiting on a call. Job interview. Second Stage.' He said 'Nice one' I said 'No, it won't cover my mortgage'. He said 'Why?' I said 'Carer - minimum wage'

Copyright © Kerry-Joe Pulford 2010

Poetry - War Broke Out When I Was Young By George William Beswick

The War broke out when I was young, And I'd never been away, And then the 'call up' papers came, To join in the affray. And on a January morn, 'Mid lots of frost and snow, I left my dear beloved home, To be a soldier I must go Read more...

Poetry - Remembrance Day By Terry Ireland

I sat there in silence as the 11th hour chimed just a little tribute BBC timed then for those few who bothered the world set off again not a fitting tribute for those lost women and men Read more...

Poetry - Blitzed Not Broken By David Bannister

What is this talk about a war? They can't be right, they can't be sure. But they were right I soon learnt, The bombed our city, how it all burnt. The city was ours, the name was Hull, A man called Hitler had started his cull. It never took him very long, September the fourth he came along. Read more...

Poetry - For Those Who Died By Ted Harben

If pale at the concrete centre of town There stood on Remembrance Day, A soldier in blood-stained battle-dress With a tin, and a poppy tray, Could you hurry by with head held high With never a glance his way At his wounded side, his hands, his feet Read more...

Poetry - Over The Top By Mark Walmsley
	We huddle, in this puddle, waiting for the shells to stop. We cry, we turn, our heads to the sky, a whistle to go over the top Can't get a grip, we fall we slip, knee high we wade through the mud A foot on the ladder, piss from a weak bladder, dead men fall back with a thud. The mustard air, Read more...

Poetry - A Soldier's Appeal, From One Killed In Ireland By Ted Harben

Will no-one buy a poppy just for the likes of me? Born, I was in sixty-one and died in eighty-three. I joined up as a soldier in nineteen seventy-eight and little thought my uniform Read more...

Poetry - Larkin 25 - Single Mums By Gary Clark

It's a lonely life for a single mum An empty purse When the shopping's done Beans on toast Every night for tea The staple diet of a one parent family. Her baby sleeps soundly on Read more...

Poetry - Umberto Echoes By Lee Cassanell

	A pillared salt of sinners, dissolving in the rain The wear of time it suffers, and we are not to blame. A fragile dream is scripture A Prophet's passion bled The humor of perception Read more...

Poetry - Larkin 25 - Popstar By Ray Moody

He reflected, 'Hadn't he always been so near yet so far?' Wasn't he there right at the start with The Beatles? They might have had their Mersey Beat but hadn't he been part of the Humber Beat, and wasn't water, water? The trouble was that nobody else wanted it, Did any agents, record companies or managers, bother coming to this city? Read more...

Poetry Ten Foot Cock By Lady Larkin

I've been reading this for years now, And at first I thought it was alright, But the same old grudges and points you make, Are turning the mag into shite. For christsakes, We get it, You're an 'in-de-pen-dent -mag-a-zine', Read more...

Poetry Plodding Into History By Vaughan Clements

	A colliery in Yorkshire, April 1969, A powerful image captured In the darkness of a mine. As a picture tells a story, This one relates to Ball, A pony blessed with massive strength, Though only 12 hands tall. Read more...

Poetry No Toads Today By Darren Sant

	I walked along the road, Perchance to see a toad, I wanted to see a toad with spots, But there it was not, A dastardly fiendish plot? A felt like such a clot! The toads they'd gone a Larkin. Read more...

Poetry When We Had It All By Dobski

Midnight 'ire car, drivin' down dark country lanes, anticipation builds MDMA flows through the veins. Four o' five young bucks raring to go, we each popped a pill over an 'our ago. We must be close now, somewhere round 'ere, could be the party of the year. 'Ere we go lads'... I jus' seen, Read more...

Poetry Quills By Christy Hall

I'm walking Italy. Tuscany. But I could be anywhere, at any time. Scattered on the side of the road, is a pile, a spillage. They look like spines, or branches feathered out into a wash of spindles, like horizontal-growing heather. Read more...

Poetry - Hull By Georgena Thacker

Hush, Stop, Listen, the City is singing, A song of lost people with the sea in their blood. A hardy race without false sentiment, adapting to the sea of change. Its shores are breached, the horizon is coming into focus, shining with new promises of a different future for the children. Read more...

Poetry Don't Ever Use The 'P' Word By Mike Watts

Besides the bar staff, We were the only two faces In the room I offered her a drink. She raised a thumb And thanked me I brought over a pint and a half Read more...

Poetry Larkin 25 - City By The Sea By Jade Kennedy

The grey clouds hastened onwards, burdened with winter rain. Brought by North sea winds, they weighed heavily on the bricks and mortar, of the city by the sea. Walls that hold tales of life. Of lives lived behind the same painted door. Read more...

Poetry Larkin 25 - Tess By Amber Goodwin

He loved me. He swore it loud and painfully. Hands like marble, Grey and cold, like that spirit - a broken Infant. It was too late to scream. Apparently, I made my choice. It is of late. My fingers caress the smooth, Gratuitous fabric. Wishing for silk, Read more...

Poetry Larkin 25 - Imelda By Pamela Scobie

Imelda liked to squash things flat. She loved the crunch, and then the splat! She also liked to tear the wings From inoffensive flying things, And feed them to the cat. I asked her once, in some alarm, Why she inflicted so much harm. Read more...