Wisbech Morning

Florescent clothed neighbours gather

Morning whispers as they board their bus

Fields outside the town shrouded in mist

Already people hunched and busy grabbing

At the soil and filling the towering crates


We call her Anna from Warsaw

But she lived in a small town like ours

Far from family and home but remembers

Every month she gives but cannot afford to

But her mother is so proud


Our market is shambolic and adrift

This flagship lacking in colour, joy and pride

Facsimiled mini-markets keep economy afloat

But no value added to a day trip

No sail to drop, without even a breeze to threat


Mothers complain about how hard life is

There is genuine need and want all about us

People have lost ambition and focus on their loss

As looking for treasure but not leaving the harbour

And this fog of disillusion makes it hard for me to see
Yet there is no satisfaction to settle for less

And we listen to the siren song of malcontents

Thoughts rather stray to triumph far away

Sending our children on the airstream frustrated

Passing other’s children landing on an easterly wind


Dean Reeves

My Poetry

Ghost Tree

The First Fen Blow

You should look away

I have not woken 

Bottled Love

War end

A lover’s touch


Beauty of her nature 

Fierce Love

The Rat

My Moody Girl

We have met before…

You are….

Looking Up


Stare of the Moon

Holding the thread


Stone cold love

The imps are feasting

I am more than a tree

Wisbech Morning

The bleeding fields of Naseby

I did not cry

We are England

Curtain Call

Do not pity the English

Turning Left

Prosperity of Evil

Bang Up

“The Return of Black Shuck”

“I saw You” by Dean Reeves

“Bring the wind” by Dean Reeves

“I choose” by Dean Reeves

“Forgotten Dancer” by Dean Reeves

“Market Day” by Dean Reeves



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