Mike Miller | + Follow Poet |
Rhyme | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

My Town

From north, south, east and west 
This is the town to beat the rest,
Where history and present blend
As through its many streets you wend. 

Where once a monastery so great
From every view would dominate,
Where Pilgrims came to pray and sing
To venerate their martyred king. 

Within these Abbey walls once met
Some barons on a mission set 
To compel a king accept a charter 
Precursor to the Magna Carta. 

What a wondrous place to dwell
The Ivy Clad Angel Hotel
Where Dickens, once a resident 
Let his creative juices vent. 

Cupola House, a splendid sight
An architectural delight , 
Where once, it’s said, Daniel Defoe 
To its sheltered nooks did go. 

Hold your breath in skinner street 
Where butchers once prepared their meat
It’s cobbled camber, so designed ,
To clear the waste they left behind. 

The Norman Tower, so neatly frames
The Green adjacent to St James 
And through its medieval arch 
 Has witnessed times relentless march.


My ancestors, they all lived here, 
Some made boots and one sold beer
Selling brogues in Miller’s shop
And ales made from the finest hop. 

Walk down Robert Boby Way 
See the evening sun portray,
With gleaming gold, cathedral spires
And stained glass windows in its fires. 

The Abbey Gate, portcullis raised, 
From ravages of time unscathed
Welcomes those that look for calm
Amidst the gardens floral charm. 

St John’s Street, with its church and spire
With shops to ramble and inspire 
No global brands or products here
But dapper clothes and Belgian beer ! 

Fond memories of forgotten sights  
Of “Purdys” with its orange lights 
Suffolk and Everards hotel
Art Deco Odeon as well. 

In Hardwick park, on summer days
Shielding from the heat and haze, 
I’d lay beneath the cedar trees 
And smell the beer upon the breeze.

The corn exchange and Moyses Hall
The skull and doll hid in the wall, 
The bustling market twice a week
In weather fine or weather bleak. 

What a joy, the Nutshell pub 
That sells good beer not gastro grub, 
They say the smallest in the land 
But who needs seats when you can stand ? 

The Theatre Royal, a Georgian Gem, 
Enthrals the crowds , this diadem  
Where life’s portrayed upon the stage
It’s loves, it’s loss , it’s joy, It’s rage. 

The Guildhall, from Medieval days
Has served the town in many ways
Once home to the Observer Corps
Assembly room, a court and more. 

The “pillar of salt” that lights the way 
For wanderers who’ve gone astray. 
A beacon of light on Angel Hill
That glows to guide the traveller still. 


Old photos show the post office 
A building that the eye can’t miss 
Built in Queen Victoria’s reign 
It’s grand facade still looks the same. 

Standing  proud, the Athenaeum
Our own Georgian Palladium
Scene of glamour, pomp and dances
And from atop ‘celestial glances’

Towers that span the railway line 
Sancton wood’s grand design. 
Red brick with stone dressings white
Greet passengers as they alight. 

Characters hove come and gone 
The cattle markets weekly throng
The Tea Hut always drew a queue
Where tales were told over a brew 

Cathedral bells on Sunday morning 
Sets the mind and spirit soaring 
Raise your eyes, gaze and admire. 
The vaulted ceiling in it’s spire. 

St Mary’s church by Honey Hill
Stands like a lonely sentinel
An outpost of an Abbey lost
It’s Angel roof, richly embossed

In its sanctuary blest 
MaryTudor lies at rest
In the Nave, a wondrous sight
Stained-glass windows in the light

Shrine of a King, Cradle of the Law
This shining Jewel you can’t  ignore. 
From North, South, East and West
This is the town to beat the rest.

Copyright © Mike Miller | Year Posted 2021

Please Login to post a comment