Lincolnshire Places and People
Lincolnshire people are indeed unique – I should know, being one of them!
I sometimes think we do suffer from being ‘in-betweenies’, that is neither northern or southern. Well, the simple answer to that is that we are East Midlanders, of course.
I certainly don’t mind being called a ‘yellowbelly’ and, in all honesty, my part of the county in the south is admittedly extremely flat.
That said, I am very fond of the north of Lincolnshire; the Wolds are gorgeous, reaching as high as 500 feet around Normanby le Wold, and the coast has some of the finest beaches you will ever see.
But perhaps one of the greatest glories of Lincolnshire as a whole, is the quality and diversity of our ecclesiastical heritage. The range of churches is stunning and the county town of Lincoln has, in my opinion, the best cathedral in the whole of England.
copyright Francis Barker 2019
Haiku: Suffer The People
Suffer the people
we expendable masses
realise our strength
copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019
Strange to say, but as the snow
falls your nosebleed is like
a punctuation, something else
we can remark upon, something
other than this relentless cold,
our sparse Siberian spring. Harsh
economics brings with it
other extremes; people
who must choose between
eating or heating well into
April’s empty promises.
Some of them I know,
not the tragic ones who stare
at me from television screens,
directors tugging the stretched
strings of my heart. No – these
are stalwarts and forgotten
heroes, men and women
who have given their lives
once and don’t complain while
they slowly freeze or starve
in little houses, not so far
from me. Now they give up
on living so cold hearts
can balance their books.
But we fixed your nose, it was
easy in the end, though who
fixes this town and this world, is
© copyright David F. Barker 2013
Somebody stopped me
in the Canterbury street, like a hand
on my arm which took me
by surprise. Two dark eyes full of
verve, like air fanning fire, arresting
me with their stare,
a challenge written with an effulgent
quill; in my mind I saw it tripping
over pages with invention
in sweet candlelight.
So many years before, a Kentish king
knelt before the altar in solemn
genuflection, and now
you, your head brimming with catechism
and heady charm, speaking out like
Machiavelli, Paul becoming
Saul to declare another truth
in your eyes, in mottos and tatty trinkets
of shop windows, which only repeat
your daring pose in ignorance
poem © copyright David F. Barker 2013