Poetry Centre


  • Nomads, we came here
    thirsty for knowledge.
    Remember those nights
    shooting pool in the Elm Tree?
    Heppy – Mr Graham
    behind his bar, dreaming
    of Caribbean nights; 52s
    rumbling by to unknown places,
    Cowley, Blackbird Leys.
    You moved on. I stayed, walked
    up and down this road
    ten thousand times.
    Now my feet carry its smell.
    They call it home.

    by Alan Buckley