—Poetry by Hongwei Bao, Nottingham, England
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
—Photos Courtesy of Public Domain
RISTES PLACE
Gloomy sky overcasts the grey city.
Red bricks glisten under orange streetlights.
Sodden cobblestones grin with their broken teeth.
Black bins laugh their guts out, proudly exhibiting
pizza boxes, beer bottles, crisp packets, dated
Gloomy sky overcasts the grey city.
Red bricks glisten under orange streetlights.
Sodden cobblestones grin with their broken teeth.
Black bins laugh their guts out, proudly exhibiting
pizza boxes, beer bottles, crisp packets, dated
newspapers
A homeless hoody here, a divorced white trainer
there.
Cabinets of lights above.
Some windows open, proudly announcing
pure happiness with the blast of dance music,
the fragrance of cooked curry.
Some curtains down, foreshadowing
mysterious sexual liaisons or fierce domestic rows.
There may also be countless
sleepless nights by the shimmering screen.
Every day, I fall asleep in the refrain
of the neighbour’s computer games
and wake up at the beeping sound
from bin lorry alarms.
This is not the peace and tranquillity
I was looking for.
It is nonetheless an urban life
full of rhythm and vitality.
A homeless hoody here, a divorced white trainer
there.
Cabinets of lights above.
Some windows open, proudly announcing
pure happiness with the blast of dance music,
the fragrance of cooked curry.
Some curtains down, foreshadowing
mysterious sexual liaisons or fierce domestic rows.
There may also be countless
sleepless nights by the shimmering screen.
Every day, I fall asleep in the refrain
of the neighbour’s computer games
and wake up at the beeping sound
from bin lorry alarms.
This is not the peace and tranquillity
I was looking for.
It is nonetheless an urban life
full of rhythm and vitality.
PLUMPTRE STREET
There’s no plum tree on Plumptre Street,
just as there’s no lace in Lace Market.
One day I lock myself out of my rented
flat, the whole building in fact, the red-
brick architecture converted from a Victorian
lace warehouse. Its big windows, arched
and single-glazed. A tourist attraction
in the daytime, a shudder to think about
at night, like tonight.
I pace along the empty street. Orange
lights flood my hollow body, its shadow
my only company. A car drives past,
red taillights flicker like inquisitive eyes.
Silence resumes. Illuminated windows
high above, here and there, though no one
that I know, no window will open for me.
It’s the first winter since my arrival in the city.
There’s no plum tree on Plumptre Street.
RATCLIFFE POWER STATION
The UK’s last coal-fired power station has ceased
generating energy after more than 50 years of
powering Nottinghamshire. The closure of Ratcliffe-
on-Soar power station marks an end to the country’s 142-year reliance on coal.
—Notts TV, 30 September 2024
Before your eternal disappearance, how shall I
remember you?
Your gigantic bodies, towering the sky, dwarfing
the sun and the moon.
Your concrete chimneys and cooling towers, like
greedy mouths, inhaling fogs, exhaling clouds.
Your alarming red eyes piercing through the thick-
ness of the fog, a lighthouse for nocturnal pilots
and birds.
The highways and railways that surround you like
ribbons. The trees and houses that adorn you like
garlands.
The workers who tamed you. The climate change
activists who sabotaged you. The developers who
eyed on you. The pristine vision of an East Mid-
lands Freeport that will stand in your place.
Wherever I am in Notts, I know you are not far
away.
A solid anchor. A reassuring company.
Whenever I’m away, I trust you’ll be there for me,
waving Welcome home at East Midlands Parkway.
Now you’ll vanish soon. The sky will be cleaner.
The trees will be greener. Will I miss you?
Your gigantic bodies, towering the sky, dwarfing
the sun and the moon.
Your concrete chimneys and cooling towers, like
greedy mouths, inhaling fogs, exhaling clouds.
Your alarming red eyes piercing through the thick-
ness of the fog, a lighthouse for nocturnal pilots
and birds.
The highways and railways that surround you like
ribbons. The trees and houses that adorn you like
garlands.
The workers who tamed you. The climate change
activists who sabotaged you. The developers who
eyed on you. The pristine vision of an East Mid-
lands Freeport that will stand in your place.
Wherever I am in Notts, I know you are not far
away.
A solid anchor. A reassuring company.
Whenever I’m away, I trust you’ll be there for me,
waving Welcome home at East Midlands Parkway.
Now you’ll vanish soon. The sky will be cleaner.
The trees will be greener. Will I miss you?
CHIPPY
All other shops and restaurants have closed.
I walk into the chip shop near the train station.
A place I first visited a decade ago
for a job interview. I hadn’t expected
to stay so long. I’ve stayed.
White strobe lights, crispy chips, battered
fish, sugared fizzy drinks. Bar stools
in front of a long bench table. Facing
the wall, each customer an island.
Surrounding the shop, tectonic shifts.
The tramline hovers over a railway bridge.
The train station has a gleaming atrium.
Broadmarsh is now a park surrounded by ruins.
A brand-new library and bus station nearby.
Glass facades of office buildings and student
residence.
I’ve also grown from a slim and innocent-
looking lad to a middle-aged man, with
a beer belly, thick spectacles, peppered hair.
Once a timid stranger, now a proud local,
knowing every corner and cobblestone.
Where has the time gone?
Only the chip shop
stands still, guarded by the canal a few yards
away,
listening to the time and tide flowing by.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
OLD MARKET SQUARE
—Hongwei Bao
The clock strikes. Its chimes
dissolve a hundred pigeons
into the bright sunlight.
__________________
—Medusa, with thanks to Hongwei Bao for today’s lovely poems—what he calls "postcards"—about Nottingham, UK, the bustling borough where he and his family live.
A reminder that
Stanislaus County Youth Poet Laureate
Zoe Byron will read in Oakdale
today, 12pm.
For info about this and other
future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
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by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
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Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
in the links at the top of this page—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
send poetry and/or photos and artwork
to kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
