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Page last updated at 12:26 GMT, Tuesday, 17 February 2009

Poems on the North-South divide

Story about North-South poetry event
England's North-South rivalry is alive and well, judging by the readers' response to our story about a poetry event exploring the country's cultural divide. We asked for some poems of your own. Here is a selection.

We've had bickering over football, food, comedy and weather.

But where do the best poets reside?


The North is where the angels play,
we turn out on election day.
Vote the people,
fight the power,
from the top of Blackpool Tower
Tom, Yorkshire

Land of rocks,
Of peaks and pikes,
Fleetwith, Langdale, Scafell,
Of edges: Alderley,
Striding, Stanage, Robin Hoods, Froggatt.
And wizards.
The green knight with hair bristling,
The wizard asleep by the Iron Gates,
The wizard Earl of Northumberland
And yet further
The high hills of the Cheviot
With curlews calling.
Jan Church, Winchester UK

Head down, scurry, look away
no time for strangers in London today
"scuse me mate" face in a frown
no response in this lonely, strange, town
pound the pavements, Piccadilly lights
heart swelling at patriotic sights
but there's summat not right in this great abyss
it's not my home and it's that I miss
Meeting's finished, sweaty and dirty
slog back through town in the rush at five-thirty
no room to move no space to breathe
I'm glad it's time for me to leave
18:10, Kings Cross, platform seven
take me home to my Northern heaven
it's not all factories, caps and smoke
there's wealth, expansion and kind hearted folk
step off the train in God's own County
take in the fresh air of my free bounty
I'm stopped outside, bloke's lost his way
"it's over there mate, have a great day"
I'm happy in my northern City
picture postcard outskirts, hillsides pretty
that London just don't meet my needs
'cos in my heart I know I'm Leeds
Gareth Senior, Leeds


Seashores, glittery traffic lights
the swirling seagulls
I have crossed the imaginary line
divided we speak our backs turned
heading to the haven of soft sounds
into the arms of Hove angel
and pescarian food wafts my nostrils
its bedazzling to be home
fermenting and freewheeling
into traces of the channel
this love I have for southern shores
rests within my soul
a place I come to express
all that is within me
hail the south
crowned queen of stars
shimmering mirage
of potential dreams
the South speaks for itself
Yassin, Brighton

Up North, rarely do I go there,
At southerners, the folk do stare,
Food nought but chips and pie,
A southern softy, they call I,
The colliery shut, Thatcher they blame,
But who'd go back to that old game?
Terraced houses are every street,
Weather poor, Lord give me heat!
Football is religion and more,
About its tales the people bore,
National anthem the Hovis song,
Everything here has gone wrong,
Not London but before Scotland,
The North is a strange old land.
David, Ashford, Kent


North versus South,
East versus West.
A great divide and debate over which side is best.
Yet one thing has slipped our minds,
A verse left from the riddle.
What about the people who are living in the middle?!
Joe Tierney. Worcester

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