I feel it call—
not loud, not urgent,
but constant…
a pull beneath my footsteps
leading me back home.

Nottingham—
you sit in my bones,
steady, known…
every street a heartbeat
I never really left.

I remember—
brick, lace, coal dust stories
in the air…
a city built from struggle
and the pride of standing tall.

Football roars—
through crowded Saturdays,
voices rise…
while cricket hums softer,
like summer stitched in time.

By the Trent—
I slow down, breathe it in,
finding myself…
water carrying whispers
of every year I’ve lived.

Goose Fair nights—
lights dancing on faces,
sugar and smoke…
toffee apples, laughter,
childhood spinning in colour.

Stone lions wait—
unchanged, unshaken,
watching all…
while deer move quiet and free,
like secrets the city keeps.

History speaks—
Saxon roots, Norman echoes,
stories burn…
Robin’s shadow still lingers
in corners we half-believe.

They used to say—
six girls to every boy…
maybe true…
but it’s the friends, the moments,
that made this place my own.

Because I miss—
more than streets and skylines,
more than sights…
I miss the voices that knew me
before I knew myself.

And maybe soon—
or maybe someday still,
I’ll Walk Back…
not as I was when I left,
but still belonging the same.

I am from here—
no matter the distance,
no matter when…
a Nottingham heart beats on,
calling me home again.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

A rewrite of my poem formatted into spoken word piece about identity, belonging, and the quiet pull of home—where memories, people, and place become part of who we are.

#SpokenWordPoetry #Nottingham #HomeIsWhereTheHeartIs #PoetryOfPlace #BritishPoetry #PaulBaldry