READING LIGHTS
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poems of light and landscape in Lancaster
a litfest project
THE QUAY
by mike barlow
The Quay
On bright evenings you can look east
Millennium Bridge
I tread the deck of midnight, docked
Dawn
No longer dreaming but not yet conscious
The Light of Day
A city built on trade, sea passage, risk
bashful alle
y
by
Dinesh Allirajah
i.
Silver fag packet crests a mud-slick wave
ii. ‘Mandie! Waz Ere’ in black marker
iii. Your footsteps in the passage
iv. This time of morning is
presided over b
y
lancaster train station
by kim moore
That summer
Trains come in with darkened windows.
The Station Master
I promised you I would come again
The Last Train
Her quiet movements, the soft folding
The Morning Commute
Shapes announce themselves in the dark
skerton bridge
by david tait
First Light
At this hour the river is full of the night.
Swan Light
The slow conveyor of the river
Half Light
Be here when the swallows make way for the bats
Dying Light
I’m staring at the windows of Mainway Flats
the stone standing in Greaves park
by Carole Coates
When God was an Englishman
one of his favoured sons
We think we may have seen the Perseid Shower
like someone out beyond Pluto striking matches
New light will find us out
with its passion for details.
Daylight is domestic
and makes the stone a garden ornament,
lune AQUEDUCT
by ron scowcroft
i. In their day they called this ‘art’,
ii. Late afternoon: kids, bright as pick and mix, taking the cut,
iii. Diorama
–
anthracite and lime
iv. Cold light of dawn,
jubilee tower
by elizabeth burns
i.
Here’s the place on the road where you stop: stop to breathe
ii.
Here’s where you stop to watch the setting sun –
iii. Here’s the place where you stop and look up
iv. Here’s a place to watch the day beginning,
loyn bridge
by jane routh
i. Headwaters, drawn from Green Bell,
ii. A column of gnats above the cutwater’s apex.
iii. Such a small lane for a bridge of such substance.
iv. This is the landscape’s intimate hour, arranging
alexandra square,
lancaster university
by andrew mcmillan
composed tower witness no crime
three men lie down a hole alive
no light the belly no prayers his eyes
mounted head again back in
by the mouth of the lune
by sarah hymas
i. Larger than the sky, it is a sponge
ii. As light twines to dark
iii. However black the night
iv. Dawn is as unknown as the depths