Poem of the North

Fifty years of the Northern Poetry Library

From Canto 1


(Corbridge 1967)

Below seven arches of spanning bridge
six friesian kye graze on flooded banks
or lie in the shade of a sycamore
(though it doesn’t look like rain).
Grandad’s brushstrokes are still distinct
in the pale ridges of lapping water
and the white tufted tips of cow tails.
Less than a mile from here my dad was born,

on land once held by Jacobite lords.
Took seventy years to circle back, replant

roots in heavy clay. Home ground reclaimed.

View poem in Canto