Arm tickle

Arm tickle Brush over Small sensation Look and see A tiny speck Of fluff… With legs Sprung out Each side Sorry spider Sits crouched On the table In the centre Of a gigantic Room I Wonder where You’ll make Your home Resting from The brush off You pick Yourself up And trundle Across the Tablecloth […]


I wish my mother was strong. Like Boudica or Athena, Like Aphra Behn or Margaret Cavendish. Self-possessed and brave. With meaning. With character. With passion. I would accept those in place of love. A mother connected to her surroundings, Sensitive to her emotions and open and willing To share herself. A mother I could be […]

My Grandma who art in Bradford

Water rhymes with batter, Cook rhymes with duke Your pantry is a cathedral Of desiccation and sprinkles We call the glory ‘ole. Your wisdom is linguistic joy You’re not forced to know the answer In hope there’s two chances Not many T’s in your language When I’m with you I talk like you My grandma […]

Harold Wilson, Bradford boy

Strong, silent grandad. Head a grey Elvis quiff. Far away eyes. Always ready for a cuddle. So quiet. So still. But ask him about his youth? Eyes twinkle, lips smack, Made a fishing rod from scrap, Manhandled onto a trolley bus, Old ladies tutt tutt, Off fishing with a mate Down Bradford beck Out till […]


They tore the heart from my city Ripped and mutilated. A mastectomy without reconstruction A half city Ne’bother The North don’t care They sit in their own shit Wallow in their despair Kids get their kicks from the toothless, frowning, homeless, jobless city left to rot That’s my home That’s my family.   Jennifer Winterburn