March 10, 2020

I wrote this poem over twenty years ago now.  It is one I return to and think, with no false modesty, ‘Do you know what, that’s really OK’. 

And it is.  It may be my first unconscious move towards writing sonnets ten years later in its economy, argument and, to som...

November 1, 2019

I live sometimes in a city and by the sea

Where wolds meet sky and clouds are fishing boats,

Luckily there’s nowhere I’d rather be

Than where I am.  A blackbird’s notes

Sound just as good in either place, as pure,

I am transported by the joy, the evening song

Perched on chim...

September 6, 2019

When we were last here many decades since,

We were unbroken glass, chipped but clear,

As we walk I’m looking for clues, some hints

To our boyhood spent in this city here.

And it slowly returns, history revealed,

A carved Victorian building, your voice and its tone,

Hidden me...

June 4, 2019

An amazing morning in almost May

Too early for the woodpecker to tap,

Soft, green leaves wave in honour of the day,

I slow down, breathe in, and then I stop.

These few acres hold a world within

Their old walls, graffitied railway fence,

They care for lungs where city air is...

May 9, 2019

Walking home after a shower of rain

Drops still fall from a fresh-dressed chestnut tree,

Below the paving stones glow and shine

Reflecting each candle blossom to me.

The city spring season, I smell its green,

See harts tongue clinging to the granite wall,

Seven decades of it...

April 10, 2019

This is not Headingley. We’re both on bikes,

The Hudson on our right and skyscrapers on our left,

Aiming for Central Park, no gears, no brakes,

Just fixed wheels turning, bobble hats aloft. 

And I am cycling through all my years

Each one as sharp as the March sun for me

But...

January 5, 2019

Written over twenty years ago and appearing in ‘Almost Home’ and ‘Deadly Sensitive’ this poem seems to prefigure some of my recent sonnet-making.  It’s about Spring but it is also about new beginnings so it feels appropriate for the beginning of a new year.

The morning...

April 6, 2018

We’re ready for our journey through the night,

To take a lighted carriage into dark,

And return at pigeons’ coo, our city lark,

When pavements gleam with dew in early light.

We sit, chatter while we ready for flight, 

Air heavy with kitchen flowers, and the talk

Of shared, p...

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© 2018 James Morgan Nash - Writer and Poet - Leeds, West Yorkshire, United Kingdom - james@jamesnash.co.uk 

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