We need your help to create Sheffield's BIG poem!
We want the bits about Sheffield that mean the most to you. A memory, a place, a person – anything you love about your time in the city. Something you’re proud of, something unusual, something only you might have noticed.
All you need to do to be involved is send us your words – they can be a single word, a single sentence, or a few lines. Post them on our Facebook page or tweet them to us using the hashtag #SheffieldLuv or add them as a comment to this blog post.
The finished piece will be collated and edited into a poem (or two!) by Writer in Residence, Nik Perring, to be displayed in very special way and will form something that will last way beyond the Year of Reading.
We might not be able to get out into the city as much as we like but that’s no reason for us not to celebrate Sheffield it and all it means.
Send us your lines and please include #SheffieldLuv in your posts.
Our Sheffield is
Love parks and city squares with flowers and benches
with space to meet friends
not social distancing.
Our Sheffield is the vernacular:
Ey up love! Giyore!
It’s the people
overdoing food at The Cabin and seeing kids go to hug the stuffed bear,
my first ever market with my shop
someone commuting on the same train
every day for 40 years
and going to Sheffield Central station, ready for a long trip.
Our Sheffield is that graffiti that says "I LOVE YOU WILL U MARRY ME?"
calm blue water at Redmires on a nice day
The restaurant we always go to in town with a wooden decoration we always wondered about conveniently hiding the fuse box
It’s heart pain in Canals, it’s rain touching water.
In Millhouses holding the stream within its bushy trees following my loneliness.
It’s the Northern General with the biggest hospital ground in Europe.
Our Sheffield is a guy I see singing on the moor
it’s the scaffolders on Chapel Walk
the cleaner at one of the high-rise apartment blocks overlooking town
the gardener that looks after the winter gardens.
It’s street pastors. It’s the short wall that makes the entrance to the
university building a squat courtyard.
It’s the fire station that used to be on Ringinglow Road
the Endcliffe park heron
and, of course that old couple kissing.
It’s the terraced houses balanced on steep streets, cranes on the horizon,
it’s poetry on walls.