North Folk

Tribal negotiations on the wing

the pulsing of a bat bouncing out of the night

Jolly Roger the old folk sailor like a livid fish finger

Renaissance man of The Wash

Old house of antiquity you look familiar

I beseech you to begin pleaching the desiderata

wealth in a line of stones

(a hammering away next door, strong odour of urinals)

the Bedrock of ghost villages scattered across sand and flint

young eyes in an old frame

greasy liaisons fulfilled too fast

husbandry in accordance with status

proficiency is negotiated by rank

design directors gather together

take more make more

another frisson of batwings

stalwart geese guard the perimeter fence

the kind of stealth that gathers money in the darkness

a malice of kindness overdriven down winding lanes

plunging

undulating

speculating  

chances of survival, what rationale and run to where?

Battling the tides, The River Ouse has burst its banks

And there suddenly hovering over all is the heavenly sepulchre of

Ely Cathedral