Chris Elliott 2018 Where’s my Bob?I hope he’s safe Where’s my Bob?I hope he got the muffler and the socks Where’s my Bob?I hope he’s well Where’s my Bob?I hope he got my letter and the ciggies Where’s my Bob, Jesus?I want him home

Chris Elliott 2018 I’ll not play centre forwardAnd I’ll not run down the wingAnd a cripple for a goalieIs a bloody useless thingI could lean against the goal postsBut I couldn’t stop the ballA one legged footballerIs no damn use at all

Chris Elliott 2018 My Alf lost some fingersMy Johnny lost an armMy Wilf lost an earBut it hasn’t done him any harmMy Albert lost an eye in the last great attackBugger the King and countryWe want our lads back

Chris Elliott 2018 I first check out me belts and bracesSo I’m not inconvenienced in any chasesI checks me whistle I checks me watchI checks me truncheon I check the lotNow I’m as smart as any bobby that you’ll ever seeIf her majesty popped by she could rely on meSo I’m ready for me beat … Read more

My Daughter She’s bright, but no school Not for girls Mummy said Daddy’s gone, no help No money Any medicine For nan, she’s so sick Wish we could Measles, mumps We get them all here Who’s to help? My daughter Works at the big house Hope she’s safe Chimney sweep! He can clean my flues … Read more

Chris Elliott 2018 (Spoken) Dear Mum and dad and all at number twelve. When I get home The mayor and the corporation Will be waiting there for me Ill get a blooming medal And they’ll ask me back for tea Then present me with the keys So we can live at Stubbylee When I get … Read more

Seeds Scatter. WindblownBrown dry flecks, holding coloursWild Flowers, resewn.

Christine Worswick Black fingered twigs tease the moon-lit airSeducing the bats from the belfryWho dart and squeak between armies of ancient gravesEach mossy headstone guarding past secretsA bronze angel opens her feathered wingsCasting eagle shadows on a proud Celtic cross. Night holds whispers of echoing sweet voicesWaving through frosted grass, where a marble shrineIs dwarfed … Read more

Christine Worswick Pennine water flowedChurning deep toxic rainbowsPast the cotton millsNow free to gently trickleOr rage through rocks well brittle

Christine Worswick Wild wet cold and greySheep huddle, horses neighSteams flow through walls brokenBy cattle pushing gates left open Snow falls on mud and stoneIn conifer wood, a deer aloneSilently moves along tracks of nightEtched in snow, glistening and white.