December 31, 2019

This is grim; it seems no end in sight

Though perhaps the darkest point is here,

The plumber will come, and this freezing night

Will die, and glow of morning reappear.

Until then we are reduced to a tribal dance

Negotiating the ice-cold shower,

Scott of the Antarctic would h...

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...

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...

December 1, 2018

I’m seen less often in these modern times

Of email, Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram.

I used to fly down to this world in dreams;

Perhaps you’d just dismiss me now as spam.

But I still bring the most glorious of news

And speak of great hope and joy to come.

I stand behind you i...

June 28, 2018

When I glimpse the sea down across the fields

To my left, [I’d thought it would be my right]

My blood beats faster as landscape yields

Up its hope, scatters the shadows of night.

Apart from meadows and sky I’m alone,

But they breathe as I breathe, promise me,

While chalk gle...

June 1, 2018

Sunday morning and the tractor hauls
The lifeboat up the sand against the tide,
To the left dog and husband search for shells
While boys of all genders can be descried
Watching its slow progress to home again
A mechanical toy from a simpler age
Subsumed by beach, shimm...

March 8, 2018

Cliff Walk by the Officers’ Mess, Episkopi

I sit and watch the sunset warm the sea

Turn clouds golden and haze each cliff and hill

I hear grey doves call and I see a hooded crow,

But the griffon vulture is evasive still.

I am an early knight and this is now my quest

To spot...

February 27, 2018

The writer is waiting. It’s his first drive

To an army school on an army base,

Unsure what vehicle will arrive,

Whisk him to the poetic front. His face

Is fixed, shoulders back and feet apart

He looks again at his itinerary

‘Military transport.’ Be still his heart

As he conte...

December 1, 2017

A poem about Hull and the surrounding areas

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

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