…with rain washing over tissue creasesDreary ancient dearBones saturated in seconds thatCalcify old threats. She eats the doomFeeding her cellular atomic tombSilvery threads knitting stories into thin skinDraped over muck at the entranceTo her castle of disgrace and black magick. Welcome my childEnter with curiosityInhabit the disturbing corners of your houseAnd greet each roomAs you

Torn between wanting to burn my house downAnd live in a bin.Or aim for a servant to put away my clothes after me.

Inspired by Grace Poole and dedicated to Margaret Surtees. Nanna lived up Scotswood, a sister of eleven,At her funeral they said that she was only one of seven,But Nanna knew the names of every bairn that had been born,The ones who lived, the ones who died, the ones we didn’t mourn,And being second eldest sister

Winter has arrived.She squeezes through ancient oak doors,Into The Red Lion,Sits down at the crackling fire,“Bring me meat and mead!” Oh the storms have punished her,Whipped her hair into knotted rage,Battered her cheeks crimson red,The agony of resistance flowing down her leg.“My body is a good body.” Fire and pain,Each Winter the same,“Bring us all

We made muckle grassy nests on the green,Hoping Blackbirds would find us,But they were never really keen,Who knows what they’ve seen,Through our yellow crocheted nets,Blocking out the spies,Netted lies. Saturated dream catchers above our beds,And coal buckets full of meds,The only way to get rid of our crawlersIs to shave them out our heads.

Coatsworth Road glows best at about 8am. “Oh what a beautiful morning.” There’s a soft peachy glaze skimming brick work,There’s a warm orange haze in the air,The road is as long as a snakes tasting tongue,And it carries us folk up to where we belong, Man what a beautiful morning,Another day gifted to me,I’ve got