A doughty champion of his local culture.(Poet Tom Hubbard)Your performance at the city hall was soooooooooo good! Christoph thought it was excellent! (Carolyn)



(for Ronald Ohlsen & Rense Sinkgraven, City Poets of Groningen)

I am this blue barge,

the pancake ship,

the casino of flashing neon.

I am the light in a fish’s eyes,

the icy herring down the throat.

I am the City Poet.

I am the unknown lanes we stalk along,

a red shirt,

the stripper of paint.

I am death waiting at the railway station,

a Duvel in the old buffet.

I am the City Poet.

I am a museum of children,

an Irish pub out of place,

the ancient bard etching odes.

I am the word stuck in your head,

the drugs from last night.

I am the City Poet.

I am the next call,

the starlings wheeling in the dusk,

the darkness she brought you.

I am the sober priest in the drunk’s tower,

the bus stop you kissed her at.

I am the City Poet.

I am a walking cinema,

the empty library,

the last one for the road.

I am the finger in her pants,

a frightening glance of yourself.

I am the City Poet.

I am this laughing church,

this gas factory,

the football game from hell.

I am a cracking goal,

the free man in a prison.

I am the City Poet.

I am a scream in a dull meeting,

the chairman of the bored,

the councillor for happiness.

I am a stinking canal,

the giggle in her blouse.

I am the City Poet.

I am a yellow train,

a flash across the countryside,

the bearer of state grants.

I am a brilliant dustman,

a spade amongst hearts.

I am the City Poet.

I am a word swimmer,

a shipbuilder who rhymes,

the planner of good times.

I am an evil messenger,

the dart in his face.

I am the City Poet.

I am these streets,

a fag in the pewking gutter,

the ministry of obscure diseases.

I am your filthy town,

the tears in your homesick eyes.

I am the City Poet.


the jingling geordie

My photo
whitley bay, tyne and wear, United Kingdom
poet and raconteur