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…
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