Stephen Thom Poet Rhyme

My Northerly Womb

Gritted pavements chew neath worn sodden soles 
Dissipating cardboard inlaid repairs 
Gravel chews at my thrice darned old socks 
Absorbing trudged blisters weeping despair 
This old northerly town of sepia and grey 
Drains unborn hope from lowered blank eyes 
As winter chills with her misted damp breath 
Cobbled streets lay neath smog’s opaque disguise 

Worn cobbles pierce thinly veiled tarmac refurb’ 
Painting generations of Lowry bald souls 
The hoop and the football once soul of the streets 
Replaced by generations that queue for their dole 
Chiselled grey faces reminisce past Jarrow march 
Regional poverty plants roots in the north 
Black and white photos of stretched terraced slums 
Slip through time and with modern streets morph 

Factories boarded, silhouettes stripped of their roofs 
Deliberate was felt this themed disrepair
Shadows of hope eroded within misted times grey 
Monotony a communities subconscious despair 
Yet this is my home, still my dirty old town
Whining milk carts, belched thick diesel fumes 
The scented soot coughed from open slack fires 
Cradles and frames this, my northerly womb

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John Fleming October 24, 2015 at 2:31 PM Very good, Stephen! I am from Warrington in Cheshire, myself. Ahhh...How these northern towns have changed. Gone the traditional industries, Smoking lounges in the pubs, kids playing football in the streets, homemade Go-Karts, corner shops, and red double-decker buses. Gone just about anything of character..Gone forever I daresay. Your poem bought so many distant memories flooding back. Many thanks, Stephen! My very best regards! :) john P.s A Seven. Stephen Thom October 24, 2015 at 2:49 PM Thanks for commenting John, there is a sadness to the disappearing character of our old towns but as long as there are old poets with reminiscent pens, maybe a little will survive!