NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) 2024 - Sonnet's in Spring

Starting on 01 April 2024, my NaPoWriMo (National Poetry Writing Month) project for this year will be a new sequel called ‘Sonnets in Spring’ where I intend writing 30 sonnets throughout April.

As noted elsewhere, I have been writing poetry in one way or the other since I was about 10, but over that period I have only written maybe 3 or 4 Sonnets after a period of three years or so of writing Haiku throughout April, this year to keep myself pushing onwards, I have decided to try writing 30 Sonnet’s over April looking at the change between Winter and Spring.

There will be audio versions sometimes backed by Ambient Music (credited) here -

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Warm Up Exercise - Spine Poem creating a poem using the title of other books.

Between here and there (Sinead Morrissey)
Through the Square Window (Sinead Morrissey)
Rebel without Applause (Lemn Sissay)
On the Road (Jack Kerouac)

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I – Chorlton Water Park

Face down in the water, she was found, unknown,

a mystery shrouded in the middle of Chorlton's grace,

No name breathed out, no story to call her own,

her life lost in a fleeting, haunted trace,

Lime-green top, drifting in endless sleep,

jeans covered in watery hue lay tragically still,

A tragic tale over the banks, sorrows deep

her mystery longers, pushing against our will.

Detectives approach the press in tears,

their words carried out in a broken sound,

begging the public to come forward and flow,

so her identity will hopefully be found,

standing unified, their voices resound

urging all to help her identity to be found.

*

II - Stretford

Across the mist that rises from the cobblestone,

I see ghosts wandering through the grey,

Through streets where I grew up in Stretford,

past my old school where others' memories lay.

Evaporated whispers of my past,

A mist above South Mancunian sprawl,

Peering through windows, shadows they cast,

wherever they stand, they silently call.

These are the spirits of the foggy day,

filling the air and shrouding the streets away,

Ghosts of April, in the northern breeze,

haunting the footpaths that lead home, the factories,

following me whenever I return with an embrace,

watching everybody who remains in silent grace.

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III – Chorlton I

Every time I leave Chorlton I see a different scene,

Where once familiar streets held a steady ground

Leaving Lloyds, a transformation can be seen

Everywhere closing, change is all around,

More and more shops becoming an echo of the past,

Down to Beech Road where everything thrived,

Now bars and coffee shops, deep and vast

As old shops fade into nothing and dive.

Look at the closing of the mall, a sad sign

Becoming flats, lives shift and areas evolve,

Traffic gets worse when the area used to shine

A transformation too hard to quite resolve,

Yet in the darkness, a glimmer remains,

A sense of history, even though changed, sustains.

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IV - Urmston

Its gates closed where friendly haggling thrived,

the market square, once filled with laughter and cheer

is now deserted, it's heritage temporarily deprived

awaiting some miracle reopening there,

Eden Square, moments walks is a beacon bold

with supermarkets, gleaming new and grand,

haunting Urmston's past, a story barely untold

of generations unaware of memories close to hand,

Stepping into the bright lights, a modern face unfolds,

with cafes down Crofts Banks Road with trendy flair,

people down Flixton Road where older stories hold

A different feel can be felt up in the air,

Though change may come with a bewildering pace,

the closed market's spirit lingers in this place.

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V – Chorlton II

Mirroring over the meadows, the sky reflects its gleam,

a path familiar over 30 tears etched in memory's hold.

As a child following the Mersey's silver stream,

witnessing my growth from young to old,

At Chorlton Water Park, where our laughter soared,

then Sale where the swans offered peaceful rest

and in the middle of Jackson's Boat, a haven yet explored,

One, then two pints sat outside, our contentment guest.

Change has swept through Chorlton's busy core,

but by the river, so many memories echo true,

of childhood with parents at the edge of the water evermore

a different life coloured in charcoal bold, though new.

Though shops transform and streets may lose their guise,

This walk to the Mersey, a constant solace, lies.

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VI – Chorlton to Timperley

Thirty minutes from Chorlton you said we were not lost

Stumbling across the River Mersey’s silent flow

Past Cooper Street in Stretford path’s embossed

The M62, even though the fence said it was a no-go.

Further along the Mersey's winding, gentle course,

Through fields and towns, our wandering souls roam,

In nature's arms, we found our source,

Each step an testament to hearts that roam.

Chorlton Water Park, new sights unfurled.

Sale, accidentally finding our journey’s end

covered in sweat in Timperley, a tranquil world,

Laughing at or stupidly, forever penned.

Though paths may wander, the world spins ever on,

Memories hold us, though youth may now be gone.

VII – Secondary School

Gritting my teeth stood at the gates,

Every day, I stood there, shoulders slumped,

Trying to avoid their constant baits,

Wondering how bad it would with a gulp.

Five years wishing I could take flight,

Afraid to speak out, yearning to be heard,

Classmates bathing me in mocking light,

Whenever I stumbled like a tormenting bird.

Shoved, locker slammed in spite,

Subtle threats, threats to step into the light,

Fear, Terror, a lesson etched in pain,

A silent victim, in the pouring, endless rain.

Five years locked in that cold cage,

Trapped down corridors, my voice unheard.

VIII – Chorlton Bookshop

Unsure briefly whether it was Winter or Spring,

the rain comes down unexpectedly like a rhythmic song,

leaving Chorlton Bookshop, footsteps sing

running past Lloyds, across the road I rush along.

Glass on the Bus stop broke, no haven from the rain,

Other shops shut early, an blurry scene unfolds

No other places to hide what once did reign,

waiting for the bus, memories stir.

Ghostly quiet in the rain, a metamorphosis profound

an imaginary book started, now a different trade,

a different genre, a brief glimpse in the mist found,

from noir to crime to comedy, the scene has strayed,

in the downpour's embrace, a solace remains,

a fleeting moment, nature in urban refrains.

*

IX – Piano Shop, Beech Road Early 1980s

Centrefold in between Winter and Spring,

a storm takes hold, a fickle tight sprite,

pushing the sun violently behind a cloudy ring,

forcing everything below to take flight.

Arriving at Beech Road, a piano shop did call,

after school suggested to I should take its form

but nature had other plans with rain's unexpected squall,

dashing hopes of School band with a storm's wicked swarm.

Hiding from shelter and the relentless downpour

we didn't leave the cars warm embrace,

leading my dreams instead down a different door

snatching away the dream of the school band to chase,

instead, too wet, we returned home to adjourn,

and the shop closed before we could return.

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X Finding a different love (Chorlton Water Park then Shepley Woods)

In two different places, here and there,

You followed me there, where trees

Whisper secrets in the softest breeze

And falling leaves weave tales of beauty rare,

Lead you down Lovers Lane to the river,

to Marple, all the way past Newton then Hyde

Hand in hand, our hearts entwined, we'd glide,

through the wood's embrace, our bond to deliver.

But in my heart, Chorlton's Water Park still calls,

It's river and meadows mirror memories of old,

And my Childhood stood by imaginary waterfalls,

as much as Shepley's Woods in their verdant fold,

Holding echoes of a different love's sweet thralls,

Memories of Love's echo lingers in this verdant fold.

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XI Chorlton Mall

Dissolving into the past straight in front of us,

Chorlton Mall, once bustling, now fades away,

Where shops once thrived, now silence does discuss,

The memories lost as time's relentless sway.

Gone are the days of a bustling commerce's hum,

boarded up into shadows of what it used to be,

The transformation leaving us feeling numb,

as it is demolished, and the memories slowly,

In it's abscence, we witness a new chapter begins,

a block of flats will rise where the shops once stood,

new memories will begin in just a few more years,

replacing the bristlness where old ones withstood,

leaving us stood there watching it vanish like a hourglass,

a boarded-up cinema of the past buried beneath the dust.

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XII Davyhulme

Amidst the echoes of Davyhulme's past,

Where once the streets with life did overflow,

Now shadows linger, memories amassed,

In silent whispers of the ebb and flow.

Gone are the days of bustling town's embrace,

Now faded hues of what once used to be,

A somber scene, a melancholic grace,

As time's relentless march eternally.

But from the quiet of this hallowed ground,

A new dawn rises, breaking through the haze,

The old gives way, a future yet unbound,

In transformation's ever-turning maze.

In Davyhulme's embrace, we see anew,

Past's fading, future's promise coming into view.

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XIII Trafford Centre

Next to Urmston and Stretford leaving not a trace,

In 1998 pulling everything towards it in a sheltered fold,

the towns all around were dealt a swift and harsh embrace,

when the Trafford Centre's presence took its toll.

It's genesis increased the traffic into something fraught

making me late constantly for university, a costly quest

laid out over miles and miles, a retail judgment,

leaving town nearby it in a nervous, frightened unrest,

Changing the high street leaving smaller shops to fade,

business stood for 100s of years, their dreams erased,

and larger shops the new over hills, concrete displayed,

and local commerce left in tatters, displaced.

The big shops echoes mix with a modern hum,

changing society overnight like a juggernaut come.

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XIV Eccles

In the shadows of the Trafford Centre's spire,

Eccles's history whispers the reduced market's din,

a town once bustling is now left to tire,

the bus station waning 'neath the weight of sin,

a hub of industry down Eccles Old Road's might

were left to languish in a shadow of decline,

and its historical market is left in a sight,

with Morrisons replacing it an endless twine,

The Trafford Centre looms like a silhouette,

casting darkness on Eccles's once bright day

pushing everybody to Monton in a net

while commerce withers in dismay,

We hear news of a shopping centre begins to rise,

Hope blooms anew under this town's skies.

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XV Salford Quays History

Salford Quays a few miles up the road danced with grace,

When Queen Victoria opened them in 1894 echoed a silent tale

Boats lined the docks thriving with each other in a bustling race,

By the end of the 1970s echoes haunted in a melancholic wail,

Spanned 120 acres of water by the modern world industry’s might,

A jewel gleaming at the end of the Victorian age’s sight,

But 80 years later, time passed by with a cruel bite,

Left the docks almost deserted underneath the fading light,

As children, we saw the last of the boats in a fleeting gleam,

Watching history fall asleep for years between here and there,

Dreams of industry faded off the way society left to rot and teem,

Before it was transformed by a society led stare,

Its legacy laid open to emotional care,

Its insecurities are still left wide open bare.

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XVI – Salford Quays Lesson

Moving away from the boats of its storied past,

Salford Quays stands as a modern sight to see,

in contrast to the history burst in boats cast

skyscrapers and offices took over with majesty,

museums reflect in the water, lights aglow,

a symphony of colours in the sun painting the night

bars buzzes on the edge with a lively flow,

people unaware of the history beneath the city's height.

Industry changes, a different lifestyle blooms,

Art galleries, theatres, shopping malls line the shore,

buildings, dockyards transformed into urban rooms,

history in a square window and the new explore,

rubbed off scars of time lingered here and there,

flashing across the past like a beacon fair.

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XV Salford Quays History

Salford Quays up the road danced with grace,

When in 1894 Queen Victoria opened it a silent tale

and Boats lined the docks in a bustling race

but by the 1970s was haunted in a melancholic wail,

120 acres of water by the modern industry’s might,

A jewel at the end of the Victorian age’s sight,

But 80 years later, time passed with a cruel bite,

left the dock deserted underneath the fading light,

We saw the last of the boats in a fleeting gleam,

history deserting for it for years there

left by society to simply rot and teem,

Before transformed by a society led stare,

Its legacy laid open to emotional care,

Its insecurities are still left wide open bare.

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XVI – Salford Quays Lesson

Moving away from the boats of its storied past,

Salford Quays stands as a modern sight to see,

in contrast to the history burst in boats cast

skyscrapers and offices took over with majesty,

museums reflect in the water, lights aglow,

a symphony of colours in the sun painting the night

bars buzzes on the edge with a lively flow,

people unaware of the history beneath the city's height.

Industry changes, a different lifestyle blooms,

Art galleries, theatres, shopping malls line the shore,

buildings, dockyards transformed into urban rooms,

history in a square window and the new explore,

rubbed off scars of time lingered here and there,

flashing across the past like a beacon fair.

*

XVII – Manchester Ship Canal

Walking up from Quays feels like another tale,

Past into the future ignited in a different scene,

Different worlds whisper faintly yet prevail,

Linking worlds together in shadows lean,

The Ship Canal, a ribbon stretched over time,

Weaving waters, reflecting each dream

Employed over us all in a subtle like mime,

roar on the tram over Manchester’s grand stream

Spiral under steps lead you like a soft tread

Retracing other's paths over the water of yore,

Over journeys generations we are lead

Stepping over the lives of those who lived before,

Walking through, where the world aligns

Past, Future, and beauty in reflections shine.

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XVIII – Manchester Oxford Road

Stood outside in the mist, shadows creep,

Inside the doors of Oxford Road Station

staring outside at the secrets it keep,

deep in the night, a cloak of contemplation.

Platform 5, deserted with no more tales untold,

No commuters arguing, shuffling, torn ,

Coffee shops closed, papers unfold,

Midnight, the mist whispers a soft mourn.

Alone, you look at the city's jewelled maze,

Inside a world of different dreams,

With nobody else lost in this urban daze

The world is asleep in a silence that teems.

Wait for the last train with tears in the air

bound in the mist, nobody else cares.

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XVIII – Manchester Oxford Road

Outside in the mist, shadows creep,

Inside the doors of Oxford Road Station

staring outside at the secrets it may keep,

As deepens the night, a cloak of contemplation.

Over Platform 5, deserted with no more tales untold,

commuters arguing, shuffling, torn ,

Coffee shop closed, newspapers blowing unfold,

After midnight, the mist whispers a soft mourn.

Alone, you look at the city's jewelled maze,

A place you know in the sun, a world of different dreams,

With nobody else lost in this urban daze

The world is asleep in a silence that teems.

Waiting for the last train with tears in the air

Homeward bound in the mist, nobody else cares.

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XIX – Walking to Manchester Piccadilly

Walking towards Piccadilly from Oxford Road

the centre of Manchester's change as they flow

past hotels old and new, grand and small

next to myths from the Sainsbury whispering hello,

Down St Peters Square, watching trams passing by

Manchester Central Library merged with history's gaze

Piccadilly Gardens in ruins left to sway

Everything changes street by street as in a maze.

Stood outside Piccadilly, you see the sun in the sky

hidden by buildings, a testament to a city in change

with the old and new hanging together in a uneasy sigh

almost afraid progress is almost within range

In Manchester's streets, a tapestry unfurled,

Each step a story in this bustling world.

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XX – Guide Bridge Train Station

Leaving Piccadilly, I get off the train

at Guide Bridge stepping up the ramp

and then past the Canal towards Guide Lane

facing St Stephen's Church in aim,

towards the 347 bus stop in a quiet hush

the platform lost in Winter in the night

rushing past the Golden Dragon in a rush

a journey all too familar in the fading light,

Guide Bridge Theatre, its story barely told

over 50 years touching some many lives unknown

in contrast to the almost forgotten of old

the cinema where the weeds have grown,

guided by the breeze, I walk slowly along,

back home to Denton, where I now belong.

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XXI - Denton

Leaving Stretford where my soul is strong,

I moved to Dukinfield then Guide Bridge

then Denton thought it wouldn't be long

I wouldn't be here alone on this ridge,

instead, I fell in love marrying after the lockdown,

discovering Denton cut off from my family,

wandering sometimes alone around this town

discovering a different reality from banality,

Victoria Park, the Library, Crown Point North

Marking our journeys with an evolving stride

Onwards, our lives changed every day going forth,

Stood at St Annes, our love grew from the inside,

In the centre of Denton, we saw silence reside.

discovering a different beauty deep inside.

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XXII – Wedding in Sale

The sun didn't fade that day fresh out of lockdown

all the way out the registry office by the town hall

right by the Ship Canal on the other side of town

before lunch at the Slug and Lettuce on the next wall,

Our lockdown wedding was more than when history aligns

over the cobbled paths when kevin tried directing us

for pictures, his hands like how a conductor guides

from the hall to the canal somehow avoid that bus,

I remember the evening at the King's Ransom more

and Amanda's face when trying to eat ice cream

then had ten cameras facing her, some on the floor

leaving us both sitting there as if we were in a dream,

A day etched in time, sealed with a kiss,

Countless memories captured, in moments of bliss.

*

XXIII – Changes in Stretford

Stretford is changing again, where history once flowed,

with the Mall's roof being taken off, the mood changed.

for the first time in fifty years, trade bestowed

causing delays on Chester Road, memories estranged,

Longford Theatre, left deserted with just ghostly feet,

Lacey Street, Kingsway traffic left to digger's might

lost in a slow decline since the trafford centre in a tired beat

trying to recreate its once vibrant light,

The ship canal next to the Old Royal Mail Office

are becoming bars, leaving the past so many tales untold,

Shifting over the past, its essence is unfurled,

leaving it as a town in change, its future less bold,

The Mall's roof feels like sails in the wind, bowed

making it feel almost like progress is not allowed.

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XXIV – Statue outside Manchester Piccadilly

In plain sight, the scars of war still ring,

Outside Manchester Piccadilly, firm and true

Over a century later with a vicious sting

no matter when in the year in a sad review.

there is a statue outside Piccadilly Station

seven figures crafted, blind with no blame,

taking you back to another time in migration

guiding each other along with no shame.

I lost a uncle in the second world war,

bring back similar memories of this in the rain

even thou its over a century doesn't feel that far

whether miles away or stood next door to a train,

Begging please don't turn away, do not obscure

for both ours and their scars will always endure.

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XXV - Deansgate

From Medlock's ford to Deva's distant gate,

Deansgate over centuries have proved a vital thread

mansions, quays, protests, life did congrgate

Saxons, Norsemen, Peterloo, countless blood tread.

Fresh out of work, I can hear the ghosts call

facing Peter Street and the job I had just left

From Slums to Spires and posh offices sky feet tall

the centuries feels like a hugh, giant theft

Cast adrift across time and anicent thoroughfare

far away from Roman Days where forts stood valiantly,

alone, my life feels like a prologue to a random airfare

fresh out of work again, on the edge again defiantly,

tying together the past, I know will somehow find my way

whether looking forward or backwards on another day.

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XXVI – Manchester Victoria Station

Freshly unemployed again, that train home feels long

Victoria to Ashton, a symbol of transit's grace

the old and new mixed together in a soft song

the beer house and the arena blended into one place,

Built-in 1884, outliving two wars, its tale unfurls

following me over two heartbreaks, a railway shrine

and 3 years of my degree in Bolton, treks and swirls

missing journeys, snow storms, half-cut on cheap wine.

Developing constantly as I have over time,

Rebuilding ourselves over and over

rewriting new chapters constantly with a new spine,

no matter what life throws at us shoulder to shoulder,

Through heartbreak or pain, we will never cower

facing challenges in a mirror, we'll rise and tower.

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XXVII – Ashton Under Lyne Market

Stepping off the train, there is a dismal sight

Pass the market, deserted stalls nought to sell

when in the past, vendors shouted with might

supermarkets taking over yelling farewell.

Shoppers pushed away, a damning stain

Ripping the town apart, letting the market fade

With redevelopments failing again and again

Leaving the town dying, a fading shade.

I worked when I was 16 in Urmston Market

Selling discounted and second-hand jeans

And anything else I could do as a direct target

Fighting, screaming, everything seemed,

Walking past in shock, that life faded

Time building guilt and how that essence laid.

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XVIII – The Death of Denton Market

Stood near Crown Point North, I hear people talk

about Denton Market ripped away to a mournful song

and the square left in silence in white chalk

113 years of commerce pushed simply along,

Petitions were signed with thousands of names

but the bulldozers still came with no condition

burning down a community's heart into emotional flames

113 years of commerce left with no submission,

Spiralling through time like a staircase

last Christmas there was next to no lights

no market, just a town centre lost in its space

and wondering will it will ever return to its heights

Though hearts may ache, memories rise in flight,

Lost in the echoes of a market's fading light.