"crewe" poems
The party starts at ten to three.
On the second floor,room twenty two
two vicars who had come down from Crewe were wondering just what to wear, to the shindig going on down there.
They collided,both decided to put on crimson frilly frocks,this was not a 'do' for cassocks or for smocks.
Room forty four up on the forth,was Lucy Ann,a double barrelled name of course,a horsey type who came by invite to liven lively up the night.
In number ten slept teacup Ken,who had never once imbibed,the porter was slipped a twenty,but was bribed to keep his big mouth shut, as ties were cut and Ken found Zen in a brandy glass,
and discovered parties were a gas.
The police arrived to room fifty five and found Miss Sterling doing the jive around the severed head of Fred the cook,
poor Fred never had any kind luck.
There is no escape from the party at Lancaster Gate and those who come are those who'll die
but the party is so flamin' good I'll try to sneak in,got to take a peek in room number twenty seven,where it's said,that the lady there can show you several kinds of heaven before you meet your doom.
Got to get in, get a room,check in time expires at noon.
I shall no doubt expire,naked by the fire in
room, one o one.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 4:44 PM UTC
There was a vicar from Crewe
Whose congregation were few
To make amends he brought in his hens
And they all lined up on a pew
Then he compiled an avian choir
(For the singing voice of the hens was dire
And the only song the cockerel knew
Was cock-a-doodle-do)
The church fell silent as we heard
The Lord is my Shepherd from the minor bird
The vicar invited us to pray
And we got the Lords Prayer from the African grey
There followed a rendition of psalm thirty four
Performed without fault from the tenor macaw
The parakeets squawked and scratched their fleas
As they jumped up and down on the ***** keys
The vicar was thrilled it was going so well
The geese gave a honk as they pulled on the bell
But then there appeared right at the back
An evil sparrowhawk poised to attack
Calamity reigned inside the church
The African grey fell off his perch
The first to escape was the tenor macaw
As fast as he could through the open door
The chickens shrieked and went home in a flap
The minor bird had a heart attack
The geese walked away back to their pen
And the church fell silent once again
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 1:28 PM UTC
'Tis heartbreaking to see you marvel so at children's play.
Do you not remember that you were once a child?
Have you lost the sweet ring-a-ding-dings of fairytale teachings?
Each day you fall further into The Man
And away from Peter Pan, Sara Crewe, Alice, and The Great Baron Munchausen himself.
I have not forgotten the road to where they go.
Begin where you are,
Sitting mundane, in your realm of logic and laws, tasteless office cubicle.
Now close your eyes and count to ten!
One Mississippi, two Mississippi...
When your eyes creak open you'll have to think fast!
You've no weapon against that smelly pirate with his dagger to your throat!
Give a good kick and a hard shove and you'll see the blade has changed hands, AVAST!
One good ****** and you slice through his thieving guts like butter!
Abandon ship! And SPLASH! into a garden surrounded by stone.
All you've to do is turn your head to see the peonies, the morning glories, the honeysuckle dripping in dew.
Now straighten up and grab hold of your bearings; that's it!
What was that?!
It blew by you, fast as lightning and just as bright.
A fairy! It must have been!
You run off after it but your foot catches a mangled root and you
SLAM! Face first into...WHAT IS THAT?!
Bones?! Now scramble to your feet and dash to the opening of the damp cave,
Round the corner and AH! crash into a giant gray ogre! GRRAAAGGHGHH!
Quick! Pick up that femur at your feet and pitch it into his eye! Ha! You big brute!
Duck between his great tree trunk legs and RRRRRIIIINNNNGGGG!
There goes the office phone.
But you're still out of breath and desperate for more.
Silly, don't you know? It's not something I can teach you.
You just have to REMEMBER.
Jul 8, 2012
Jul 8, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
There once was a poet from Crewe
who'd down at the pub had a few
he couldn't write a sonnet
though his life depended on it
So in the end he wrote a haiku.
Aug 3, 2015
Aug 3, 2015 at 5:04 PM UTC
hello, love.
one day
i would like a library
a whole library, in our very own house.
I've already started collecting, you know
(things like that take a lot of planning)
books, i mean. collecting books
from second-hand bookstores and thrift shops.
floor to ceiling to floor, the room will have books
and millions of golden threads leading from the pages,
connecting our little corner of the world to the rest of it.
to London in 1854, and Iran in 1990, and India tomorrow.
we can walk into our library any old time
and amble right on through to anywhere.
mom didn't like to buy me many books as a child
oh, yes, she taught me the importance of reading
we read every day, and for that i owe her my life.
but we didn't buy them
books, i mean
because i'd read them too quickly
a day or two, maybe
and so we used the library
want to know something nerdy?
i was probably the only nine-year-old in the city
to have the library card number memorized,
all fourteen digets.
did you know they max out at 30?
books, i mean.
30 books at one time.
We will read to our children every single night. we will act out the stories; we will help them see that the stories are just as alive and breathing as they are. you can be Peter Pan, and i'll be Frances Hodgson Burnett's Sara Crewe.
and when they are old enough, they will read to themselves every day as a chore, like making their beds or unloading the silverware. hopefully they won't see it like that, like a chore. hopefully they will become addicts. they will sneak flashlights into their rooms and read underneath the covers after bedtime every night.
but we'll never ground them for that.
instead, we'll take trips to the library
and teach them how to dream.
all my love.
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 2:21 PM UTC
I could of course get on a horse and ride to Huddersfield
but
I shall not yield to that temptation.
Oh no,
I will wait with her on platform three at St Pancras mainline station and catch the 15.40, (change at Leeds) or if needs must
just carry on to somewhere North of York.
When we talk we lose all sense of time and place,
I lose myself as I look into her face.
Once I almost lost my suitcase too,but that was
South of Crewe
and everything gets lost there.
Aug 16, 2014
Aug 16, 2014 at 5:17 AM UTC
*Paul Simon wrote of sitting at a railway station,
With a ticket for his destination,
A cool autumn morn, and I’m doing the same,
Penning my thoughts, while awaiting my train.
A nice warm coffee cupped in my hand,
My trusty pen, the poet’s wand,
More travellers arrive, their tickets purchase,
While I just sit, composing verses.
My I-Pod blasts out Thin Lizzy live,
The music helps my poem thrive,
People staring, I'm deep in thought,
Me thinks this poem won’t be short.
The train arrives, of course its late,
So much to do, I cannot wait,
We pass through villages, towns and fields,
The lonely scarecrow, no secrets he yields.
The stunning views sure do amaze,
As we journey on through drizzly haze,
The farmer’s fields and their misty shroud,
As I travel further from maddening crowd.
Through the cloud comes a shaft of light,
Then forms a rainbow, bold and bright,
You see the world with a different view,
Or perhaps not, as we pass through Crewe.
Great, sods law, one working loo,
And yes of course, there’s quite a queue,
I-Pod still belting out the tunes,
As along the track, the train it zooms.
Ahh, now my destination is in sight,
Now a cracking day and drunken night,
A time to catch up with good friends,
And where both Journey, and poem ends.*
© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2013
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
When Cameron came to Stratford
he came in disguise,
afraid of the eyes accusing him,
he stood in the stadium
like an Athenian,
but we saw through his games
and Olympiad flames,
when Cameron came to Stratford
we buggered off to Crewe.
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 4:44 PM UTC
I wrote it
rehearsed it
performed it
I owned it.
The spotlight, hit me just right and casting my gaze through the haze of blue smoke which rose from the cigar smoking crowd,
I announced quite loudly,my name
and my game was to be a night full of poetry,
if they had the time for it
I had the rhyme to hit them head on.
and then I was gone,
full on in a twister
a blistering piece about pulsating quasars,black holes and lasers,wrists cut with razors in the dead of the night,
I had them alright
there was a silence that stunned them,then I shot them with love songs,short rhymes but long lines,
then before they recovered and came to their senses,a poem followed on about the pretence that men favour
and the flavour of lies that lick off the tongue,another twelve bored out shotgun and a run in with death that undressed them,slightly depressed them,
and a funny rhyme about Harry Lime which the older ones got and the young ones did not.
Taking a ten second break to await the applause,I cut it off short,got caught in another rose,a tinctured vial full of prose,elastic and bending,sending this crew into waves of delight,
it was late night in Wigan or it may have been Crewe,I wasn't so sure but the audience knew and I didn't care there was lots more to get through,and the words partied out,spread about the seated like spice heated so hot, it would burn them, or it would not,
another shot from the stage,the rage of a victim on Jeremy Kyle,held out in my words,another funny one,make them smile,they never forget that,
they may forget me
but they'll remember my poetry.
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 7:29 PM UTC
P Diddy, ha
I remember him as Puff Daddy good or bad he
was the bom, but
P or not to Puff a point and be the Diddy play a joint or two down in Brixton town or up in Crewe,
do you give a krap for rap by any other name but puff the last out blast your brains out, sing and shout, his name, is Puff, no magic dragon drags him down, he burns the stage, he wears the crown and I am still in London with a clown beside me on the number eight, a bus because I finished late and the underground was shut, but the clown tells me it's all a joke and then I wonder was it him that spoke or was it me, I blame it all on Mister P and puff my chest out anyway.
May 2, 2015
May 2, 2015 at 9:42 PM UTC
I was on a train out of Chorley
Happy to be sad to be leaving
Smalltalking strangers with a great accent
Hot and uncomfortable because my super cool leather jacket wasn't breathing.
Lancashire, you've made me think!
Actually, trains make me feel pensive.
Or was it Mrs Barton?
Bumbling and hypersensitive (in a nice way)
"Remain vigilant through your journey"
"Do not leave your heart unattended or it may be destroyed"
We'll get into Cardiff at zero zero six teen
That's technically Friday; there'll be drunks to avoid.
We're past Crewe and I know
Younger me made the right decision.
The path I sometimes hesitate to follow
Is bold, beautiful and scenically inefficient.
It twists and turns, trees stream
Past the train's windows
The sky looks lovely tonight
A candyfloss cloud for each of my woes (only three or four obstruct the sunset and they make it shine all the softer)
Mother of a lover, you said
You thought you'd never see me again
You often think of me, and will "follow me".
Facebook makes it easy to pretend.
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 2:02 PM UTC
I never saw the woman who talked the hind legs off a donkey
but I've met a chatterbox or two who lived in Crewe,
not in a box.
Nor have I heard a banshee howl
a tiger growl
but once I saw a matron scowl
before they did away with matrons.
Open to suggestions
and you thought my mind
was closed,
well
it's closed from one 'til three
for a spot of tiffin and some tea.
Life's all about the japery
the capers and the
shapes I see,
colours too.
Feb 24, 2017
Feb 24, 2017 at 4:05 PM UTC
Just a thought that whistled through,
like
a slow night train on its way to Crewe,
but
you don't find many vegan birds, if any,
do you?
the worm that never has a chance
hears in that great expanse of sky,
these chilling words,
die worms die,
that's why
they live
underground.
Apr 22, 2023
Apr 22, 2023 at 2:19 AM UTC
Stopping at
Lancaster
Preston
Wigan
and
Crewe.
all aboard.
Jun 28, 2019
Jun 28, 2019 at 4:51 PM UTC