Poem of the North

Fifty years of the Northern Poetry Library

From Canto 1

Yr Hen Ogledd

Scratch the surface, score it deep,
skrapple, scrapu, scramo, crafu:
Craven’s limestone cracks and creaks,
becks bubble, Brythonic, from beneath
where watter forces fell before,
churning Cumbric and Beornis
all across the cymun weal,
then loaming all with latter layers.

Lairs of legend hide my roots;
arid nooks spring slender shoots.

The Old North hiraeths to me (t)here.

View poem in Canto