The Beast Beneath The Beck

The beck at Westgate End is full of reeds,

its water is a muddy shade of brown,

confused ducks die within anaemic weeds

as sunken shopping trolleys pull them down.

Sometimes you hear a cold slithering splash,

as though some ancient creature has slid in

to feast upon the centuries of trash.

Who knows what evils are contained within?

It...

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The Westgate Run.

Upon the Merrie Cities oldest street

when twilight creeps across the Yorkshire sky,

traditionally friends and strangers meet

and let the velvet darkness pass them by.

In pictures from a dim and distant past,

as gaslight spilled from heavy shadowed doors,

to neon tinted bars of Friday last

the sound of liquid laughter gently pours.

...

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