Northern Echoes

DSC00500 (1)Photo image: © Davy D 2018


Just one bar for the fire,

scones on her best china,

the willow pattern faded.

bairns outside, their faces

wiped by hanky and spit

still stood tall and proud


lost in her bleak cage

she laments on her freedom

but it never nears


A terrier by his side

the old lad sits there,

silently nursing pints,

an air of contentment,

and knowing awaits

behind cap shaded eyes.


scattered in the snug

faces worn in history

stare from faded walls


Cut short summer camps,

dad worried about money,

the feeling of adventure

in exotic lands 100 mile

from home, knowing that

we are poor but so happy.


sat under canvas

in our fairy-tale castle

we hide from dragons


© Nigel P Smith & Davy D 2018


A big thank you to Nigel over at Voices Of A Hidden Self for this collaboration. When I suggested this, he came up with an East v West format to combine our different styles of poetry. And when West (Cumbria)  meets East (Yorkshire), or a Marra dances with a Tyke, you get echoes from the North. 


A Man for Everything


Image Credit:

don’t know

if my Dad knew,

when he went to work

earning an honest coin

the house became

a refuge

for men.

where mum

got the energy

heaven knows?

from dawn to dusk

they came

wave after wave

Coal Man

Lemonade Man

Egg Man (Goo Goo Goo Joob)

Bread Man

Meat Man

Rent Man

Insurance Man

and the men who

you never had a clue

what they did man.

when the pit closed

Dad became

the stay at home man

and mum left with

the Money Man.

© Davy D 2017


A big thank you to Nigel over at Voices Of A Hidden Self and his excellent poem, A Town Called Guiseley. Both being Northerners, and of a similar age, his poem, and our subsequent conversation, brought back memories of  the days when there was a man for everything. Please visit Nigel’s blog and read and listen to his wonderful poetry. You will not be disappointed.





Loneliness haunts the bones,
Stretching hours where
Grains have started
To invade our memories.

The dog walks
To the door
A thousand times.

Outside the willow tree
Sheds its leaves,
Your neat lawns
Now a meadow.

Still the hall clock ticks.

Still my heart won’t stop.

Choosing only to bleed.

© Davy D 2017