Worn away
By
The clogs
The weariness
The tears
Mill steps
Carrying the weight of years
From the sheds
To the carts in the yard
Clothing the nation
But not the weavers,
They’re in hand-me-downs
© Alan McKean June 2021
The stairwell of Asquith Bottoms Mil, in Sowerby Bridge
Wonky street lamp
Points a gentle finger
At the spiral of windows
Climbing the lighthouse
The houses
On lighthouse Island
Stare out to sea
With astonished faces
Hoping
For a low tide
©Alan McKean, January 2026
New moon carries the
Old and tired one in her arms
On their way to Spring
Basic universe
Held together by gluons
riding the photons
multiversical
poetry transcends simple
Einstein-Rosen bridge
Universal truth
Stored in the interstices
Of current space-time
Forget rocketry
Travel at the speed of thought
Trans phasic warp speed
©Alan McKean, February 2015
I’ve just posted a poem, on the General page, that I wrote twenty years ago called “Orwell was right”, and it seems odd to read it now, and see how strangely prophetic it now seems.
ah well – such is life
Alan
Children fight,
Call each other names,
And are branded racist.
A grandmother
Protects her home against a mob,
And is arrested.
A couple
Oppose taxes used to promote the pink vote,
And are branded homophobic.
Oppose ID cards
As curtailed liberty,
And be branded a terrorist.
Raise you voice
Against “The Word”
And the Thought Police knock on your door.
Public servants
Demonstrate major incompetence
And are promoted.
Murderers and rapists
Are set free
To re-offend at will.
Politicians rail
Against modern immorality,
And are caught with their trousers down.
Walk in the street
And a thousand electronic eyes
Watch your every move.
Your thoughts
Your life
Are not yours.
The Word is everything,
All else is heresy.
Big Brother wears a suit.
Truly, the lunatics have taken over the asylum.
©Alan McKean
May 2006
This is a recent photograph I took of Asquith Bottom Mill, in Sowerby Bridge. The mill is now home to a number of small community groups/clubs, and the entire top floor is the home of The Cricket Asylum, which does an awful lot of cricket coaching for young and old, and a lot of local Halifax League use TCA’s excellent facilities for pre-season “nets”.
Our grandson does some coaching there, and I took this photo on a very rainy night, having driven him over to Sowerby from Littleborough, across the dark, rainy, mist covered Pennines. The mill lights caught the river, the River Ryburn, just right (for me). A short distance further on, the Ryburn joins the Calder, from which Calderdale takes its name.
Hope you like it
There may be a poem at some point in the near future.
Alan
Another painting by Simon Footitt
Castles in the air
Dip their toes in the water
Whilst watching the gulls
Without a care in the world
Or are their eyes hiding things?
©Alan McKean, January 2026
A brew
A mash
A pot
A mug
A cup
(and saucer)
A help
A placebo
A poetical prompt
A loooong drink
A quick slurp
A calmer-downer
A picker-upper
With sugar
With lemon
With whisky
With joy
A receptacle
Of liquid gold
It’s yours
It’s mine
enjoy
©Alan McKean, April 2025
I have never really been a fan of coffee, and have not had a drink of it for probably 40 years. My preference is always tea, whether it be top of the range leaf tea, or plain supermarket brand tea bags.
A nice mug of golden brown tea (no sugar) sets me up for the day just right.
In recent times, the illustrious poet Ian McMillan has been posting on X/Bluesky, amongst his daily morning sketches, “First cup of tea…………….”, and I love reading what that brew means today, and use it to stimulate my grey cells to try and write a response in haiku format “Second cup of tea…..” – great fun, and keeps the ageing grey cells active.
I have just posted a poem “Tea” which was written on National Tea Day, in response a post/prompt posted on “X” (Twitter) in April 2025, by The Mazzawatee Tea Company, highlighting the day.
Hope you enjoy it
Alan
I was trawling through my archives, looking at some of my earlier stuff that might be worthwhile posting, and this piece came up.
Some years ago, my wife was fortunate enough to be invited to a garden party at Buckingham Palace, with me as her plus one, so we thought that it would be a good idea, and we made a long weekend of it.
It was a really enjoyable afternoon (weather was a bit overcast), and for two people who enjoy “People watching”, a great treat, and we were not disappointed, as we also got to roam around the wonderful Palace Gardens, and inside a small “garden room” area of the palace.
Some people were randomly chosen to go into a Top Table type of enclosure/area to meet Her Majesty (not us), but we were able to get quite close to the general Royal Family later in the afternoon, as they mingled.
There are no photos, as cameras were not allowed, but somewhere we have the official DVD film of the afternoon.
A thoroughly enjoyable afternoon, which gave rise to the poem now in the General poetry area.
Enjoy
Alan
