All the fuckin’ country 

is tense about some dead duck football game

tonight at 8 pm (or so I’m told).

The sea it slinked away but turned again

and stealthily manoeuvres to reclaim 

the mudflats populated by the clumsy

clumps of seals. They loiter, lolled 

like slack balloons, like lard

collapsing down to chip fat on the hob.

But we, we sit up straight: our sofa, st...

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Your church bells ring out

Over the sea to St. Cuthbert's Isle

Proud, aloof, yet crumbling

Stands the priory

We sit amongst historic grandeur

Imagining what life was like

And pay homage to your saints

Of long ago

May the grave of St. Aiden

Forever remain on this island

And allow time to stand still

For generations to come

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This is an experimental poem, written to discover whether I can handle a Petrarchan or Italian Sonnet. The rhyme scheme is trickier than I expected! I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoy it.

Light: A Sonnet

A beacon light would soothe the thoughtful soul,

and show the over-wrought their handsome fate,

quell fearful dread, stem terror-rivers' spate,

and illuminate, shun cha...

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