CHAPEL STREET, BRIGHOUSE... (My new poem inspired by Peter Brook's painting of West Yorkshire...)

 Chapel Street, Brighouse…

(Inspired by a Peter Brook painting…)

Armed chimneys line the roofs like soldiers in a Saxon shield-wall,

Weapons hefted, awaiting the stink and stench of a Viking offensive raid.

Houses rise, darkened by soot and time and shade the cobbled street

And an insipid sky of gaseous yellow, lingers over distant fields to appal.

Propped lines of washing hang like bunting across the divide,

As neighbours gather, though not to celebrate a coronation,

Or a military victory, but instead perhaps to gawp at what has been hung there,

Maybe in jealousy, maybe in awe, or maybe for gossip in others to confide… 

The neat fields of lime green offer a glimpse of life beyond

Industry in factories or mills, a narrow window of hapless hope

To working Pennine folks, scraping a living, enclosed and ensconced

In a battle for survival, where success is often measured by the ability to cope…

Pete Ray…

30th January 2026…

GETTING THROUGH WITH THE HAY... (My new poem inspired by a Peter Brook painting...)

 Getting Through With The Hay…

(Inspired by a Peter Brook painting…)

I smiled. It was like looking at an old cartoon, a lampoon

Of harsh West Yorkshire weather, when life simply had to continue.
In this scenario, the hay needed ‘getting through’ as soon

As possible to feed livestock and bolster a farmer’s revenue.

And a startled sheep looks on, one ear cocked, as if wondering at the insanity of the whims of humanity…

Wintering woods almost envelop the truck, once called a lorry

Where I come from in Birmingham, as if it has shed its foliage of dull brown

Upon the cuboid of dull brown fodder, quivering with worry

Behind the driver’s cab, as it nears a bend and is thus slowing down…

And the startled sheep raises an eyebrow, as if considering the insanity of the strife of humanity… 

Beneath the single snowbound tree lies a road sign, traffic-grime spattered,

Warning drivers to engage a low gear for the decline ahead.

A troublesome descent then, this one-man-bob-truck, snow splattered,

Approaching the unseen hazard with caution, or indeed some dread…

And the startled sheep raises an expression, pondering the insanity of the quirks of humanity…

Pete Ray…

29th January 2026…

A bad, snow covered road, a warning sign, a decline ahead and a comical sheep suggested a humorous question... 

'What happened next?'

BIRDS ROYD SNOW & SALTLEY, BIRMINGHAM... (My new poem inspired by Peter Brook's painting of Brighouse & my schooldays in Birmingham...)

 Birds Royd Snow & Saltley, Birmingham…

(My poem inspired by Peter Brook’s painting about Brighouse, West Yorkshire & my schooldays in Birmingham…)

The wooden palings, perhaps hiding a defunct industrial site,

Loom large along a pavement still thick with recent snow.

The streetlight, the ‘lamp post’ stands rigid and enduring,

A sentinel to inevitable change, an indiscriminate lustre.

A furrow of dun, trodden down slush draws the gaze 

Towards terraced homes, their chimney-smoke blue like the cold.

And the sinister, condemned, prison-like imposing workplace remains a grim

Reminder of a town of labour, hardship, poverty and thrift…

The brick walls, by then merely facades of a demolished industrial site,

Loomed drab along pavements hidden beneath filthy snow.

Lamp-posts offered little cheer as I trudged, barely enduring

The homeward journey from school in old Aston, joyless and lack-lustre.

The soaking creeks of melted slush somehow drew my gaze,

As grey, stinking chimney-smoke choked me and I shivered with aching cold.

And the huge towers of the gasworks and the repulsion they imposed was a grim

Reminder of a city of labour, hardship, slums and thrift…       

Pete Ray…

28th January 2026… 

Verse one is clearly about Peter Brook’s painting of Brighouse but the surroundings reminded me of returning home from school in the 1960s after snow had fallen, hence verse two.

A bus journey from Aston Cross to Nechells Place on the Inner Circle, number 8 meant a trudge across main roads to Nechells Place, where I would invariably have to wait a decent while, for may 55 buses to Shard End were often so crowded, they didn’t even stop there…

NECHELLS PLACE...

Hell…

And Saltley viaduct rose over railway lines and a canal, where factories had been demolished, leaving only facades facing the main road…

SALTLEY VIADUCT...

BLYTHE VALLEY, SOLIHULL, 28TH JANUARY 2026...

 

GARDEN BIRDS, LATE JANUARY 2026: NUTHATCHES, WOODPECKERS, LONG TAILED TIT & REDWING...

 

BIRDS ROYD, BRIGHOUSE... (My new poem inspired by Peter Brook's painting about the West Yorkshire town...)

 Birds Royd, Brighouse…

(Inspired by a Peter Brook painting…)

In decline perhaps but the evidence of a wool industry

Still pervades Birds Royd, its gargantuan mill overshadowing

A snowbound terrace, whose life continues unabated. And wind-blown washing 

Hangs to add a touch of colour to such dour mustard walls and the local history.

In decline certainly but the swirling mystical chimney smoke

Billows in an attempt to suppress the once vibrant narrative,

A memory of a grafting, hardened workforce with a harsh missive,

Whose lives still flourished in the shadow of a bleak manufacturing cloak… 

Pete Ray…

27th January 2026… 

Birds Royd is an area within Brighouse, West Yorkshire and Peter Brook lived in the town, producing several paintings about it.

The mill is quite a building and to me, the enormity of it dwarfs the locality, just as industry dwarfed its workers, who still fought to preserve their individuality and pride…