"leeds" poems
Back in the day,
When I was a little whipper snapper in Leeds,
We would go “chumping”, as we called it, for firewood,
For weeks and weeks.
Everyone built towering infernos,
Ready for November Fifth:
Bonfire Night.
Some made effigies of the “evil” Guy Fawkes,
Leader of the “Gunpowder Plot”
And stood in the street saying
“Penny for the Guy”.
What a night!
Roaring fire on a chill Winter night,
Those flames burning your face.
A World War Three
Of Fireworks:
Rockets, Catherine Wheels and bangers.
Bangers to scare the girls.
Kids painting pictures in the air
With sparklers.
And best of all,
That yummy gingery Parkin cake:
A taste I cannot put
Into words.
Oh and deep dark
Treacle Toffee,
Jacket potatoes,
Roast chestnuts
And Crunchie-like cinder toffee.
It’s many a year since I went to a bonfire.
Politically correct firework displays
Are more the modern thing.
Seems strange to burn the effigy
Of a man who had the sense
To try to blow parliament up –
Especially a Yorkshire Man.
Ha ha.
But then I read that good
Religious reasons are behind
This bonfire Celebration:
Those flames are orange
After all.
Not wishing to create divisions
Anywhere in the world,
It’s still good to see traditions
Being maintained.
Let those fires and fireworks keep rising,
Constantly emerging from the shadows
Of Halloween.
Paul Butters
© PB 27\10\2018.
Written at the request of Stephen Chapman. “Treacle toffee” added later, with “jacket potatoes” and “cinder toffee” added on 31\10\18. "Roast chestnuts" added 18\11.
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 6:35 AM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
An away game at Leeds!
The Loiner Lion will have its feeds.
So it was, back in the day
When Revie’s Men held full sway.
Reaney, Charlton, Hunter, Cooper,
That defence was really super.
David Harvey, ‘keeper complete,
Guaranteed a solid clean sheet.
The midfield ruled by Bremner and Giles,
Billy’s energy, Johnny’s wiles.
Lorimer and Gray down the wings,
Recalling Eddie (Gray), oh my heart sings.
Jones and Clarkey gave us goals,
Lots of them, shoals and shoals.
73-74 our greatest year,
Opponents always full of fear.
Man U relegated that season too,
Better days there were very few.
We won the league by a merry mile,
Time to smile as we did it in style.
In 69 we lost just two from 42.
Opponents didn’t know what to do.
Burnley and City our only losses,
Otherwise we were the bosses.
92 was another good year,
Man U crying in their beer.
Then we sold them Cantona,
That really was a bridge too far.
The rest is history as they say;
We strive again to have our day.
In the second tier on Italian money,
Seeking the land of milk and honey.
The Premiership’s the place where we should be,
Please Messi, join us, on a free!
We hanker for those glory days.
God please help us with your mysterious ways.
Paul Butters
© PB 11\9\2015.
Sep 11, 2015
Sep 11, 2015 at 5:42 AM UTC
Skipper Kevin Sinfield
Rugby League man who’d never yield.
Inspiration to his team,
Leeds Rhinos: Living the Dream.
Paul Butters
Dec 23, 2015
Dec 23, 2015 at 5:32 PM UTC
Light spreads darkly downwards from the high
Clusters of lights over empty chairs
That face each other, coloured differently.
Through open doors, the dining-room declares
A larger loneliness of knives and glass
And silence laid like carpet. A porter reads
An unsold evening paper. Hours pass,
And all the salesmen have gone back to Leeds,
Leaving full ashtrays in the Conference Room.
In shoeless corridors, the lights burn. How
Isolated, like a fort, it is -
The headed paper, made for writing home
(If home existed) letters of exile: Now
Night comes on. Waves fold behind villages.
3.8k
The solitary reminder,
a sole survivor,
hopeful-placed,
forgivingly encased
in little boxes decorative
hidden in plain sight
throughout our home.
Single and incomplete,
the lonesome leftovers,
openly hid upon bookshelf,
desk corners, fireplace mantels,
storage units of the
I am unlost,
I am unfound,
Raise your hand,
stand up and say
that is me,
that is me.
Minor treasure chests,
of carved wood, seashell real,
acquisitions of trips
to faraway places,
these boxes, they themselves,
visible but unremembered,
just there, no cares,
no one knows,
when or why.
that is me,
is that me?
Space fillers, memory taunts,
grandchildren's playthings, delight,
when they someday come visit,
weather and parents permitting,
finding keys for locks, doors,
from three homes ago.
Can they unlock me too?
Boxes hoard the things
we have lost, but cannot discard,
can't sacrifice, gotta keep,
an admixture of buttons,
dried flowers, faded notes that
once upon a time mattered,
shook someone's world...
Some kept in hope,
others, sequestered, lock-up,
jails that we are both
jailor and jailed,
the joke being on me.
Should we, you and I,
exchange these
cases histories of lost hopes, memories,
it would not be surprising,
if when opened,
the contents identical,
even if you are in Manila,
Leeds, places of need,
and yet,
we would be shocked,
asking,
*that is me,
is that me?*
Dec 9, 2013
Dec 9, 2013 at 6:34 AM UTC
A light came into the world,
Wearing a long dress,
The nicest smile,
Carrying the greatest heart of gold.
That light had a son:
Our best friend, father and Grandad,
The most wonderful other half
To an already lovely woman.
Together they had a family,
Joining heritages,
Crossing seas,
Found themselves in Leeds.
But that was only the beginning of the journey:
Between the weekend trips with their good friends,
The cruises where they laughed and danced,
Wearing his best bow tie;
To the sofa days,
Keeping up with the Gaelic.
A man with many loves,
And Ireland remained one.
I remember when Grandad would visit home,
And he would share stories of their travels.
He was so kind-hearted, and so accepting.
His mother's light shone on him.
Years pass us too quickly.
Thank you for being a great father to my father and his siblings, and the wives and husband they love too.
Thank you for giving Granny such a wonderful journey in this life. May her voice still linger in your ears.
And thank you for being our Grandad. Our days with you will never be forgotten.
***
Mar 19, 2024
Mar 19, 2024 at 1:53 PM UTC
The flames were so high, Byron was fighting hard against them, to no avail."Megan"!,"Megan"!, screaming her name, he felt engulfed, and light headed.A thousand thoughts raced through his head, panic, seering pain with every breath he took, call an ambulance, Megan,s screams cut through him like lasers, she was trapped, scared, how must she be feeling right now?
Wood crackled, metal creaked, echos, lights, sirens!
Byron jumped, bolt upright in bed,"O **** SHIT",another nightmare, each one bringing his memory closer to what happened in their cottage they had built together.
Byron was working from Leeds, commuting to Killough, his favourite village in Ireland, well, it had to be, it's where he and Megan had met. He'd planned to run the architecture business from home.HA!, home, where was that?, he wasn't sure anymore.
As Byron strolled into the bathroom, turning on the shower he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.Almost forgetting the scars he had aquired from the fire, those visible reminders that his electrician was skimming from the funds, cutting corners, greedy little ******* The sight was gone from his right eye, and his face bore severe scarring right down to the collar bone. A small price to pay, at least he made it out alive.
He made a mental note to get back to Killough, this very night, to see Megans grave.He'd settle for anything, any reminder of Megan, she was slipping away from him, he couldn't have that, ever...another reason for moving to Killough.
Jan 23, 2011
Jan 23, 2011 at 7:11 AM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And all round Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
Down there to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s County Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling near Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all do hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
© PB 2\5\2016. Slightly Amended 14\4\2023.
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 3:09 PM UTC
Write a Clerihew:
It’s easy to do.
Two rhyming couplets of any length:
Short and simple, that’s its strength.
Remember Johnny Giles
A player with all the wiles.
In midfield he did scheme:
For Leeds he was a dream.
Nicole Scherzinger,
What a messenger.
A Friend so loyal,
Regally royal.
Oh Nick Clegg,
Why did you have to beg
For a Tory-led Coalition,
Sending the Lib-Dems into Perdition?
(PS) All hail be to great Don Newton,
Always had a winning solution.
Played table tennis with flashing blade,
A Legend that will never fade.
Paul Butters
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
I was travelling along a busy road-
Eyes opened and closed.
I had music in my ears so loud that
I could hear the sound of
Ringing with every note.
Way out of the window,
I raced the ****** train to Scotland
Up a dual carriageway and felt rapid
Time dispel all notions of
Going nowhere in life.
Without warning my world was jolted and
Came to a stand still.
We were in motion but
I was trapped and uncomfortable as
I remembered that yesterday,
In your thoughtful, rash way,
You texted me from a tent in Leeds
Telling me that
It was over.
Grass looked so much greener on the other side
Of the glass, yet I was
Unable to let go of the past.
I thought to myself
'This is not how I planned my life would turn out'
At least, not today.
It hit me that I can
Never plan to be happy because
On the days I plan to be happy I will
Think of this moment and
Be sad.
Earth seems out of tune as
I lose the race through thoughts of you and
Begin to
Hate my favourite songs;
I love you.
I should have known better.
I can't decide whether to
Live my life and jump onto the train ahead or to
Jump in front of it.
I'm sorry I wasn't enough and
I could never be
No matter how hard
I tried.
I'm in a traffic jam now.
I watch the sun become eclipsed by the clouds and
I wish you were
Here.
Aug 26, 2018
Aug 26, 2018 at 8:46 AM UTC
So you pulled again.
In Essex, in London, in Leeds, in Weymouth...
The list goes on.
Why do you always tell me?
I'm not jealous. You're just ******* them.
But that photo with your arm around her.
You ****** her too, I'm sure.
Complimentary of toga night you're pretty much semi-naked.
It was the two lipstick marks on your bicep that got me.
Not one, but two! On your perfectly firm, right bicep.
The one I gladly tied a blue ribbon around, whilst
my face was turning as pink as my Girl Power bandanna.
I hope you'll change back to the changed man you said you would be,
after the Fresher's fortnight is done.
If not, as opposed to ******** me emotionally,just **** me too.
It'll never be enough, but it's better than your smug texts! x
Oct 1, 2012
Oct 1, 2012 at 7:34 PM UTC
Dream on, my friend,
Like me.
Of a future Heaven on Earth,
Or even just a Heaven.
Peace to all Men,
And Women.
Nor more starvation,
Disease
Or Death.
A Paradise in full bloom.
Endless forest, savannas and parklands
Ringed by towering mounts.
Habitats for countless species:
Humanity united with Mother Nature.
Trivial pleasures too.
Leeds United World Champions.
British wins at Wimbledon.
Another World Cup win.
Girls Aloud joining me,
For a fish and chip tea.
More medals in Rio,
Than we got in twenty twelve.
Crank up that warp drive,
Or better still,
Open up that Uniscape
So we can go
Into a parallel universe
Of our choice.
A realm where fiction becomes fact.
Where Captain Kirk is real
And Shatner just a character
On TV.
Where Telletubbies really watch us,
And Father Christmas truly shows his face.
Golden pavements are mere trifles,
And God gives us his grace.
We have to keep on dreaming.
Our hopes must never die.
Just simply keep on dreaming,
No need to reason why.
Paul Butters
© Paul Butters 27\10\2012 (2) in Yorkshire.
Sep 2, 2016
Sep 2, 2016 at 10:42 PM UTC
Mike Bee,
Wandering Free.
My Willy’s Pub Sunday Luncheon mate,
With always plenty on his plate.
Then at The Crow’s there’s John and Keith,
Using Sam Smith’s to wash their teeth.
What they don’t know, isn’t worth knowing,
Lots of banter to keep me going.
They call Brian there, “Encyclopaedia”,
With lots of facts, he will feed ya.
He’s so bright cos he’s from Leeds,
And knows his I before E except after Cs.
Paul Butters
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Byron couldn't get home quick enough to get a drink, so much so, he stopped at a wine bar not far from the hospital and swallowed two large jack daniels.
He felt sick to his stomach when he saw Holly, standing there in all her beauty, looking every inch the throw back of his very own Megan.
Every nerve in his body felt like electric, his first instinct was to run, far away, perhaps back to Leeds where her ghost cant be seen.He started thinking he'd had a vision or something , too much alcohol and strip clubs for one lifetime.
After a hot shower and a few more Jacks, Byron began to see things clearer. He was more focused now. He clicked open his laptop, typed in "Beautiful Words", and began reading. He read for hours, all the poetry by Maiden,the same Maiden he'd thought about, the same Maiden he'd envisioned with red hair, ample ******* and an innocence about her, like Megan.Jake was gonna have a hard time explaining this one to Byron !!, "Let's see what you're worth now, buddy!!"
Thinking back to earlier, Holly didnt flinch when she saw his face, his scarred and mishapen face."Well now" thought Byron," perhaps life is worth living after all".......
Feb 27, 2011
Feb 27, 2011 at 4:40 AM UTC
I was brought up in Western Leeds,
Almost two miles from the nearest cow or sheep.
In sprawling suburbs:
Row after row of smoke stained redbrick slums.
We had our fields:
Jungles of Rose Bay Willow Herb
(Fireweed to the Americans)
On former demolition sites.
Our childhood spears were honed
From fireweed spears.
Our house was in a terrace
On “School Street”,
Where we took baths in the sink
And crept to outside toilets
In the dark of the “back yard”.
Those days were punctuated
By the “Yie Yie” blare
From the local factory siren.
A deafening sound.
And by endless hammering
From the scrapyard nearby.
But we loved our dripping and bread,
And our walks to the sweet shop.
Playing hopscotch on those stone “flags”
Along the sides of the cobbled street
Under old Victorian gas lamps
Straight from Narnia.
I recall crying on our return from the coast
At a dismal scene
Of soot shrouded trains
On tortured railway lines.
But I also feel nostalgia
For those heady days
Of childhood innocence.
Wearing a cardboard box as a space suit,
And running around
During a “New Year’s Revolution”.
Happy Days.
Paul Butters
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 5:10 AM UTC
There was an Old Person of Leeds,
Whose head was infested with beads;
She sat on a stool,
And ate gooseberry fool,
Which agreed with that person of Leeds.
1.5k
Whatever is coming out from the chimneys
is catching the light in the distance,
it trails across the auburn tree tops that are
shedding autumn and getting ready for
the already-here winter,
then flails and falls down.
The train carries on
as does the couple next to me,
they're on about
what they've done and achieved in Leeds
throughout the day;
they paid for a first class carriage
but ended up in carriage C next to me.
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 9:54 AM UTC
Let us imagine, we write together!
You come for a visit,
From Germany, the Philippines, Singapore,
India, Nepal, even from industrial Leeds,
Bring me some Aussies and some Kiwis,
Green Tennessee, Nevada City (Ca?), the Canadian Plains
Hampshire & Haverford, where the H's get lost,
Even London, where everything is pensive expensive!
Cannot forget Minnesota, hotbed of poets restless.
If you are crosstown, let's meet on the Great Lawn in
Central Park, by Shakespeare's castle,
Let us turn my, now our, town into a belle-ville!
Side by side,
Stride for stride,
Manhattan, we connive
As our source, spring waters
For inspiration.
You come to me not as tourist,
But as explorer.
Ever-after twenty blocks,
Movement ceased, halted,
The mile, approximately travelled,
We then stop-sit.
Park bench, museum steps, bus stop,
Street curb, ok ok, Starbucks!
We each write a poem.
Exchange fluid words.
No proceeding until each have
Completed composing.
That's the rule.
A poem per mile.
I see this lovely island,
As home,
The sidewalk cracks, my veins,
The harshest of noises, my siren harmonies,
The dirt, my soul food.
But you, fresh eyes for me to
Discover what's been missed, for
Familiarity breeds cataracts,
Clouds the visionary.
I need you beside me
To be my teacher
To see my city
Anew.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 9:22 AM UTC
Leeds United on the attack
No sign of holding back
No matter what the score
We keep knocking on that door
Slicing through opposing lines
Creating chances many times
We really should score many more
That would bring us to the fore
Bamford bangs them in of course
Making us a formidable force
Get those shooting boots on, one and all
Let’s get past that defensive wall
Raphinha brings Brazilian magic
His silky skills are so fantastic
Kalvin runs the midfield show
Gives our team a rapid flow
Bielsa’s brain and dedication
Provides us with a firm foundation
He has us marking man for man
Keeping to the pressing plan
People hated us in the past
Now they love us, no more typecast
Strange to be so often praised
Enjoying having our profile raised
So here’s to Leeds, our beloved team
Hoping soon to be the cream
Keep going you men in white
Aiming for a future bright
Paul Butters
© PB 10\3\2021.
Mar 10, 2021
Mar 10, 2021 at 9:01 AM 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
Tonight is gonna be difficult, I'm in Leeds and in a Hotel I tell a very old friend that I'm on town she comes to meet me we talk and talk, all the way back to my Hotel, time flys I thought to my self yet she was still smiling at me and Danm that smile it could melt anyone's heart, I let her in she puts her bag down and turns round " so you've been alone without anyone for how long" I'm lost for words didn't know what to say I swear I blushed, she smiles and takes
My hands and says "not tonight".
That was last nigh never got a chance to post it, happy and bad memories,
She made me
Smile and I get we both slept after and she woke with a smile that I've never seen on her face before.
I'm going to miss her.
May 16, 2014
May 16, 2014 at 9:03 PM UTC
Recruitment without Naukri
Is like a cobra
Stripped of its venom
A tree without leaves
A musician without an instrument
A Mutton Biryani without the mutton
A laptop without a battery
I can go on and on
But you get the gist, right?
Recruitment without Naukri
How does it even work?
Of course, there are other portals
LinkedIn, Monster, Indeed
TimesJobs, Shine, Updazz
Dice, Hirist, Instahyre
But do they even come close
To matching the pin-point accuracy
The sheer amount of detailing
The refreshing practicality
And finally, the user-friendliness
That Naukri brings to the table?
The answer to that, unfortunately
Is a resounding no
Recruitment without Naukri?
Can it be managed?
As mentioned earlier
There are other portals
But will your boss be ready to pay
For any of them, apart from LinkedIn?
The answer to that, unfortunately
Is again a resounding no
Recruitment without Naukri
Coupled with a miserly boss
Is like chasing 350 in 50 overs
On a seaming wicket at Leeds
All your hard work at the nets
Goes to the drain
As you keep trying to hit boundaries
And end up getting clean bowled instead
Ultimately, the loser is not the client
Not the boss either
It is you, and only you
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 2:22 AM UTC
Bielsa’s Boys go bombing on.
Hear it, hear it,
Hear our song.
Running further than the rest,
Leeds United are the best.
Scything through the opposition,
Scoring goals our only mission.
Top flight teams are running scared,
Afraid of a team that’s uncompared:
Players drilled on “Murderball”,
Making them feel so very tall.
We’ve even a Brazilian in our team.
Bielsa buys only the cream.
Brazil themselves are doing great deeds:
They say they’re playing just like Leeds.
Shame about those missing fans,
Still busy washing their hands.
Can’t wait for that Elland Road roar
Celebrating every score.
Before too long we’ll be World Champs,
Shining bright like electric lamps.
Bamford scoring all those goals,
Shutting the mouths of Keane and Scholes.
Bielsa’s Boys go bombing on.
Hear it, hear it,
Hear our song.
Paul Butters
© PB 1\1\2021.
Jan 1, 2021
Jan 1, 2021 at 7:36 AM UTC
i wish i was in the u.s.
we live for these moments
where time is not too far
ahead or behind,
when we whisper across
w a v e s and p a s t u r e s
that the only place we
see ourselves in five
years is rings and creaky
floors, maybe a cat
(maybe t w o , love)
and an old couch from
a thrift store in
leeds. this is the
time when you sing to
me all the songs we're
now calling "O U R S,"
and we make some kind
of playlist up for the rainy
days when you say you
feel unsettled and grace
is the only thing
holdingyoutogether.
there is comfort in
knowing that our feet
touch the same earth
day after day
step after step,
that we have no choice
but to only keep
going until we are
toe-to-toe,
heart-to-heart.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 12:54 AM UTC