Dosn't thou 'ear my 'erse's legs, as they canters awaay?
Proputty, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'em saay.
Proputty, proputty, proputty--Sam, thou's an *** for thy paains:
Theer's moor sense i' one o' 'is legs, nor in all thy braains.

Woa--theer's a craw to pluck wi' tha, Sam; yon 's parson's 'ouse--
Dosn't thou knaw that a man mun be eather a man or a mouse?
Time to think on it then; for thou'll be twenty to weeak.
Proputty, proputty--woa then, woa--let ma 'ear mysen speak.

Me an' thy ******, Sammy, 'as been a'talkin' o' thee;
Thou's bean talkin' to ******, an' she bean a tellin' it me.
Thou'll not marry for munny--thou's sweet upo' parson's lass--
Noa--thou 'll marry for luvv--an' we boath of us thinks tha an ***.

Seea'd her todaay goa by--Saaint's-daay--they was ringing the bells.
She's a beauty, thou thinks--an' soa is scoors o' gells,
Them as 'as munny an' all--wot's a beauty?--the flower as blaws.
But proputty, proputty sticks, an' proputty, proputty graws.

Do'ant be stunt; taake time. I knaws what maakes tha sa mad.
Warn't I craazed fur the lasses mysen when I wur a lad?
But I knaw'd a Quaaker feller as often 'as towd ma this:
"Doant thou marry for munny, but goa wheer munny is!"

An' I went wheer munny war; an' thy ****** coom to 'and,
Wi' lots o' munny laaid by, an' a nicetish bit o' land.
Maaybe she warn't a beauty--I niver giv it a thowt--
But warn't she as good to cuddle an' kiss as a lass as 'ant nowt?

Parson's lass 'ant nowt, an' she weant 'a nowt when 'e 's dead,
Mun be a guvness, lad, or summut, and addle her bread.
Why? for 'e 's nobbut a curate, an' weant niver get hissen clear,
An' 'e maade the bed as 'e ligs on afoor 'e coom'd to the shere.

An' thin 'e coom'd to the parish wi' lots o' Varsity debt,
Stook to his taail thy did, an' 'e 'ant got shut on 'em yet.
An' 'e ligs on 'is back i' the grip, wi' noan to lend 'im a shuvv,
Woorse nor a far-welter'd yowe: fur, Sammy, 'e married for luvv.

Luvv? what's luvv? thou can luvv thy lass an' 'er munny too,
Maakin' 'em goa togither, as they've good right to do.
Couldn I luvv thy ****** by cause 'o 'er munny laaid by?
Naay--fur I luvv'd 'er a vast sight moor fur it: reason why.

Ay, an' thy ****** says thou wants to marry the lass,
Cooms of a gentleman burn: an' we boath on us thinks tha an ***.
Woa then, proputty, wiltha?--an *** as near as mays nowt--
Woa then, wiltha? dangtha!--the bees is as fell as owt.

Break me a bit o' the esh for his 'ead, lad, out o' the fence!
Gentleman burn! what's gentleman burn? is it shillins an' pence?
Proputty, proputty's ivrything 'ere, an', Sammy, I'm blest
If it isn't the saame oop yonder, fur them as 'as it 's the best.

Tis'n them as 'as munny as breaks into 'ouses an' steals,
Them as 'as coats to their backs an' taakes their regular meals,
Noa, but it 's them as niver knaws wheer a meal's to be 'ad.
Taake my word for it Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad.

Them or thir feythers, tha sees, mun 'a bean a laazy lot,
Fur work mun 'a gone to the gittin' whiniver munny was got.
Feyther 'ad ammost nowt; leastways 'is munny was 'id.
But 'e tued an' moil'd issen dead, an' 'e died a good un, 'e did.

Loook thou theer wheer Wrigglesby beck cooms out by the 'ill!
Feyther run oop to the farm, an' I runs oop to the mill;
An' I 'll run oop to the brig, an' that thou 'll live to see;
And if thou marries a good un I 'll leave the land to thee.

Thim's my noations, Sammy, wheerby I means to stick;
But if thou marries a bad un, I 'll leave the land to ****.--
Coom oop, proputty, proputty--that's what I 'ears 'im saay--
Proputty, proputty, proputty--canter an' canter awaay.

Wheer 'asta bean saw long and mea liggin' 'ere aloan?
Noorse? thoort nowt o' a noorse: whoy, Doctor's abean an' agoan;
Says that I moant 'a naw moor aale; but I beant a fool;
*** ma my aale, fur I beant a-gawin' to break my rule.

Doctors, they knaws nowt, fur a says what 's nawways true;
Naw soort o' koind o' use to saay the things that a do.
I 've 'ed my point o' aale ivry noight sin' I bean 'ere.
An' I 've 'ed my quart ivry market-noight for foorty year.

Parson 's a bean loikewoise, an' a sittin' ere o' my bed.
"The amoighty 's a taakin o' you to 'isen, my friend," a said,
An' a towd ma my sins, an' s toithe were due, an' I gied it in hond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

Larn'd a ma' bea. I reckons I 'annot sa mooch to larn.
But a cast oop, thot a did, 'bout Bessy Marris's barne.
Thaw a knaws I hallus voated wi' Squoire an' choorch an' staate,
An' i' the woost o' toimes I wur niver agin the raate.

An' I hallus coom'd to 's choorch afoor moy Sally wur dead,
An' 'eard 'um a bummin' awaay loike a buzzard-clock ower me 'ead,
An' I niver knaw'd whot a mean'd but a thowt a 'ad summut to saay.
An' I thowt a said what a owt to 'a said, an' I coom'd awaay.

Bessy Marris's barne! tha knaws she laaid it to mea.
'Siver, I kep 'um, I kep 'um, my lass, tha mun understond;
I done moy duty boy 'um, as I 'a done boy the lond.

But Parson a cooms an' a goas, an' a says it easy an' freea:
"The amoighty 's taakin o' you to 'issen, my friend," says 'ea.
I weant saay men be loiars, thaw summun said it in 'aaste;
But 'e reads wonn sarmin a weeak, an' I 'a stubb'd Thurnaby waaste.

D' ya moind the waaste, my lass? naw, naw, tha was not born then;
Theer wur a boggle in it, I often 'eard 'um mysen;
Moast loike a butter-bump, fur I 'eard 'um about an' about,
But I stubb'd 'um oop wi' the lot, an' raaved an' rembled 'um out.

Keaper's it wur; fo' they fun 'um theer a-laaid of is' faace
Down i' the woild 'enemies afoor I coom'd to the plaace.
Noaks or Thimbleby--toaner 'ed shot 'um as dead as a naail.
Noaks wur 'ang'd for it opp at 'soize--but *** ma my aale.
Dubbut loook at the waaaste; theer warn't not feead for a cow;
Nowt at all but bracken an' fuzz, an' loook at it now--
Warn't worth nowt a haacre, an' now theer 's lots o' feead,
Fourscoor yows upon it, an' some on it down i' seead.

Nobbut a bit on it 's left, an' I mean'd to 'a stubb'd it at fall,
Done it ta-year I mean'd, an' runn'd plow thruff it an' all,
If godamoighty an' parson 'ud nobbut let ma aloan,--
Mea, wi haate hoonderd haacre o' Squoire's, an' lond o' my oan.

Do godamoighty knaw what a's doing a-taakin' o' mea?
I beant wonn as saws 'ere a bean an yonder a pea;
An' Squoire 'ull be sa mad an' all--a' dear, a' dear!
And I 'a managed for Squoire coom Michaelmas thutty year.

A mowt 'a taaen owd Joanes, as 'ant not a 'aapoth o' sense,
Or a mowt a' taaen young Robins--a niver mended a fence:
But godamoighty a moost taake mea an' taake ma now,
Wi' aaf the cows to cauve an' Thurnaby hoalms to plow!

Loook 'ow quoloty smoiles when they seeas ma a passin' boy,
Says to thessen, naw doubt, "What a man a bea sewer-loy!"
Fur they knaws what I bean to Squoire sin' fust a coom'd to the 'All;
I done moy duty by Squoire an' I done moy duty boy hall.

Squoire 's i' Lunnon, an' summun I reckons 'ull 'a to wroite,
For whoa 's to howd the lond ater mea that muddles ma quoit;
Sartin-sewer I bea, thot a weant niver give it to Joanes,
Naw, nor a moant to Robins--a niver rembles the stoans.

But summun 'ull come ater mea mayhap wi' 'is kittle o' steam
Huzzin' an' maazin' the blessed fealds wi' the Divil's oan team.
Sin' I mun doy I mun doy, thaw loife they says is sweet,
But sin' I mun doy I mun doy, for I couldn abear to see it.

What atta stannin' theer fur, an' doesn bring me the aale?
Doctor 's a 'toattler, lass, an a's hallus i' the owd taale;
I weant break rules fur Doctor, a knaws naw moor nor a floy;
*** ma my aale, I tell tha, an' if I mun doy I mun doy.

they've now got a toehold in the place, they're well established
they've now got a toehold in the place, they're well established
nowt will move them, these parts suit them
nowt will move them, these parts suit them
these parts suit them, they're well established
they've now got a toehold in the place, nowt will move them

the board is crammed with their posts, over a hundred counted to-day
the board is crammed with their posts, over a hundred counted to-day
no doubt they're insistent, they'll not be nudged  
no doubt they're insistent, they'll not be nudged
over a hundred counted to-day, no doubt they're insistent
they'll not be nudged, the board is crammed with their posts

some aren't impressed with their carry on, what bugbears they've become
some aren't impressed with their carry on, what bugbears they've become
they need to be escorted from here, HP management isn't listening
they need to be escorted from here, HP management isn't listening
what bugbears they've become, they need to be escorted from here
some aren't impressed with their carry on, HP management isn't listening

the board is crammed with their posts, they're well established
they need to be escorted from here, what bugbears they've become
some aren't impressed with their carry on, no doubt they're insistent
they'll not be nudged, they've got a toehold in the place
over a hundred counted to-day, these parts suit them
nowt will move them, HP management isn't listening

HEART-SHIP

About me, I swear down.
I'll tell thee of treks – how I in radged-days
put up with fretted-time,
sought abode and still do, get bitter ***-care,
in us heart-ship, scary waves’ rolling,
where narrow neet-ogle
often kept us at heart-ship’s stem
when it scurries by cliffs.

Us feet clammed by cold,
bound by frost’s frozen cold steel,
where those frets sighed
marfin about heart;
clemmed within ripped
mind of sea-knackered.

2.  CARE-BEGGARED

Town lads have it soft, dunt know nowt
as how us, care-beggared, ice-scratched sea dwellers wintered in exile,
swayed from mates and kin,
rigged with rime-crystals.
Hail stones bounced off our decks.
I heard nowt there but sea’s groan,
ice-flecked seas furrow. Heard at times summat like swan’s. And made glad by gannet’s and curlew's clamour,
for homely laughter,
gull-shriek for bitter ale.
Hail beat up stone-cliffs, where feathered
spray nattered to them; often eagles dew-feathered screamed.
No mates sheltered us,
or made us feel minded.

Town folk dunt credit it,
complacent with blessings
and few baleful journeys –
proud and wine-sozzled, how I, knackered,
often on sea-snickets had to abide.
Night-shadow snuffed us out;
snow fell from the north;
rime bound soil; hail felled earth
coldest of corns. So, now, thoughts
mither my heart, that I the deep sea,
salt-waves, should fetch myself on.

3. NOR

Salt yearn moves us gently.
Desire is a gust catcher.
Heart-ship bobs in its harbour,
as it pitches and yaws
to stranger islands.
Refugees homeland seek.
Though embarking, the reckless, skilful, youthful, brave,
do not know what life has in store.
Nor my hands on harp or on coin,
on lasses limbs delight,
nor on owt save wayward water.


4. UNWINTER

These woodlands unwinter too much with blossom,
give too much gold to villages, overbrighten meadows. World pushes on, all this urges us,
doom minded spirits to leave on flood-ways.
Heart-ship tugs at moorings.
Summer cuckoo's mournful call urges,
bodes sorrow, bitter in breast-hoard.
If tha blessed with comfort, how does tha know what some endure on tracks of exile?


5. WHALE-WEND

Heart-ship tugs at its harbour.
My imagination in mere-flood,
in whale plunge, wide in its turns
eager for seas vastness. Gannet yells
as whale-wends, spirit quickens over holm’s deep, irresistible delights of life are more
than this life that flits on land.
Illness, old age and aggression
wrests life away, bests breath.

6. PRAISE OF LIFE

Praise life. Before tha death
tha must climb mast against malice,
shun dodgy devils. Days stale,
earth’s grandeur beggared,
now no bosses, gold-givers gone,
glorious deeds done,
live out their doom.
Joys stale, weak rule this world,
live here afflicted. Glory humbled,
earth grows old, withers this November.
Old age fares over thee; tha bright face pale;
gray-haired, tha grieves over tha mates
given to the sod. Homeless tha flesh, then, when life is lost to thee, tha cannot sweet swallow nor sore feel, hand stir nor mind think.
Tha gold means nowt beside graves of tha mates, that proud deed will not go with thee,
gold is no help to a self full of itself.

7.   THE MEASURER

The world's craftsman is a Measurer
that turns the earth. Founder of fields
and sky. Only the foolish mess with it
and die unexpected. Tha must be humble.
The Measurer helps them be strong
as is minded in steer of their heart-ship
wise in tha decisions, clean in tha ways.
Anchor tha fire or be burned.
  Fate is stronger Measurer than any a tha thought.
Harbour is a life long in love of Earth,
hope int skies. Through all rough tides
and smooth trust in water and the sod.

Red haired dame
black roots
dark brown eyes
thin lips

but smiles neat
handles the cell phone
between thin fingers
nails chewed

adding tabs
suggesting networks
that work best
thin tattooed arms

small busted
maybe less expensive
but it's better
she says

Johnny smiles
notes the small stud
in her lower lip
knows her cell phones well

that's for sure
he knows
next to nowt
just to switch

on and off
and send a text or two
and call
now and then

but it's Johnny daughter
who's buying
not he
he's just the onlooker

taking notes
for a poem
just like this
mental note as poets do

to catch the essence
before it takes flight
like some rare moth
into the night.

Magdalene watched Mary
bend down to put on the LP.
The Beatles. They’d saved

up and bought it together.
She took in Mary’s stockinged
thigh showing through the slit

in the side of the school skirt.
Mary placed the LP carefully
onto the turntable, with her finger

put the needle arm down onto
the vinyl. The music started up,
Mary stood up and sat next to

Magdalene on the single bed.
Magdalene sensed her there,
her thigh next to hers, her

warmth, their knees almost
touching. What did your Ma
say when you said you bought

the Beatles? Magdalene asked.
She said nowt, Mary replied,
but Da said it was a load of

***** and where did I get
the money from to buy it?
John Lennon's voice sang

over the twanging guitars.
Magdalene said, did you
tell him we bought it together?

Mary nodded. Her hands
pushed between her thighs,
her young face lit up by

the room's light. Don't you
think Paul's a dish? Mary asked.
Magdalene shrugged her

shoulders, studied Mary’s
knee where a spot of flesh
showed through a hole in

the black school stockings.
She wanted to move closer,
kiss the cheek, place her

lips on the skin. She breathed
in the borrowed scent that
Mary wore. Said she'd liberated

it from her Ma's room. Mary
talked of the boy they'd met
in the woods above the school.

Tried it on so he did, she said,
over the guitars and Lennon's
loud voice. Magdalene wished

she could put her hands where
the boy had tried. I put him
straight, Mary said, kneed him

where his fatherhood might flow.
Mary moved up and down on
the bed in response to the music.

The bedsprings complained.
Magdalene sensed the movement,
took in Mary’s behind going up

and down on the bed cover.
Glory be. She wanted to kiss.
Needed the hand to touch Mary’s,

the skin to join up with hers.
Downstairs a voice bellowed
to keep the ****** noise down.

Mary sighed and bent down
to turn the **** the thigh
revealed in the skirt's slit,

the spot of flesh through
the hole in the bended knee.
Magdalene captured the image.

Hid it in her memory bank for
later, for bedtime, for the cosy
pretend hold, maybe more if in
her dream she was lucky and bold.

Fill my mind with ideas, ideals

Epiphanies or banana peels

Push my back with a helping hand
Grace my cheek with fist
A sponge, I soak up everything
Assassinate me or assist  

My ears are always open
Though do not always understand
I must hear every argument
To grasp that helping hand

Fill my mind with ideas, ideals

Epiphanies or banana peels

Ignorance is bliss
How often it's been stated
Though I'd prefer to know everything
As bliss is overrated

They sow the seeds of doubt,
Where wars began, there is nowt,
Shameful displays
on the world's stage,
There's much to ponder,
On the future yonder,
No longer a slogan,
Who sells the uranium?
Oz is sowing the seeds of doubt,
Where wars began, there'll be nowt!

There’s nowt like some rapping
To get my feet tapping.
Alesha Dixon’s the *****
That got me mixin’
Today.
Saw her on a recording
Doing rap for Piers Morgan.
That might be pararhyme –
At best -
But who gives a dime.
Just feel like rhyming
With impeccable timing.
Let’s shimmer and shammer
And give it some hammer.
Alesha’s sure got glitter
There’s no gal fitter
No wonder she is
All over Twitter.
She’s as smooth and silky
As a pint of bitter.

These rhymes
Like chimes
Make me feel so fine.

Well that’s me done now
I don’t quite know how
This mood came over me.

It is infectious
She leaves me breathless
But hey I’m out of time,
What a crime.

Paul Butters

Im a time in space, a space in time forever it seems to be in a locked in a race. Cosmic karma kowpowing me in the face.  

Blackhole of despair stealing all my air, wonder all around me. But stuck in a rut, so I just dont care.

Love is within me, but never found without. Tears I cry that streak across the night sky as moving as a meteor shower.

Like a comet blazing fiercely when your near, but fading to nowt in the depth of space. No one to hear me scream out.

To be the darkside of the Moon forever there, but forever lost. Never to be gazed upon, never to be touched.

I'm a rocket man, with my course set, shame we're not going to intersect. Lost in space just as in love. Never to feel that gentle touch or the deep throb of wanton lust.

The fireside retreats
into the wall
as another TV Christmas special repeats,
with its sound echoing in the hall.

Tangerine,
Satsuma,
Clementine-Orange
peel litters the tabletop;
orange runway for the action figures,
plastic arms, moulded hairs.

Nina Simone plays loud,
'Nobody Knows When You're Down And Out',
Christmas is over,
and now there's nowt to do.

Wi yer eyes stingin n wet wi tears
N muk bungin up tha nose n ears
N a white rimmed ed where thi's ad thi hat
Up tha floats on't lift like a drownded rat

After twelve hours tha's pretty dun in
Whilst t'other folks as been kippin n dreamin
Tha's bin diggin n drillin like summart daft
Now up tha floats on't hydraulic raft

The cold morn air meks tha lungs urt
Cause tha's bin breathin muk n dirt
Fer nigh on forty years or more
That most folks wudn't ave on't floor

N as tha washes all't muk away
Tha knows thas sum that'll allus stay
N whilst outside tha luks nice n clean
Tha's stuff inside thi th't'll never be seen

Until o course tha's gon n died
N them docter fellers tek a look inside
N in amazement they'll stand n stare
At all that muk th't shudn't be there

N wen tha's ded it'll be nowt new
Not too a bloke what's lived like you
Fer now tha's on'y six feet under
Wen undreds is what thas bin used to

N't Crowner'll say thi ad a natural death
Not like them th't had their last breath
At sixteen, seventeen, twenty or more
When sum big explosions brought ceiling t floor

But a doubt if tha'll think it wer thi turn
As tha lays there nattering t worm
Crawlin in n out o yer ears
Not much t show fer sixtyodd years

Still what else cud you ave dun, that's it
But follow yer old man down pit
A mean even his dad was a facer tha knows
Kem out at thirty wi' ands like claws

Ah well it's time fer sum grub
Then half-a-dozen pints't pub
Wi an hour or two o noonday sun
Then back t wife fer an hour o fun
N be six next morning I'll be feelin well
As I teks yon raft t bowels of 'ell
Thirty shillin a week be summer the reckonin
Ah but then they can't see yon worm beckonin


Remember this is a 'Performance Poem'
and the style of writing acts as a
speech prompt. The accent is loosely
Yorkshire. A 'Crowner 'is an old word
for a Coroner.
I hope you enjoy it.

© David Irwin Phillips 2008

Lesbian, bisexual, transgender, gay
What are they all only labels anyway?
Nowt of individuals do labels say,
Truth be told all they do is get in the way!
What is it with this need to put labels on?
What we really need is to see the person!
To judge others only by labels given
Is stupidity, hard to be forgiven.
So it is with gender, race, colour or creed;
And all other labels we just do not need.

Ctrl-Alt-Delete.
Come sterilize history with me.
We'll whitewash every smudge
until its sparkles and shines,
like fool's gold.

Rich only in our own
limited heads,
we'll believe in
addition by subtraction.
Only this isn't math, it's life.

'Those who do not learn history
are doomed to repeat it.'

Sit tight. Do nowt. Say nowt.Hear all. See all.
Watch the deadly idiotboard of news unfurl.
Watch the deserving rich desert the poor.

A featureless snowstorm of foreign fear,
eyes glazing over, lacking focus. Fearing
zealots within and without. Without power
of intervention. Beyond comprehension.

His eyes were bleary
His chest it felt tight
He was bone weary
Just didn’t feel right
But work was demanding
His attention not to stray
Although he was knackered
He worked anyway

For 72 hours each week in and out
He worked on the night shift building cranes to ship out
He built them with pride, his loyalty did show
Through the quality of work and his years on the go
But they shoot horses, don’t they

High up on a crane
It did happen one night
His knee gave a twist
His heart got a fright
He worked through the pain
To the end he did stay
Only after twas done
To his knee his eyes strayed

The knee it was swollen, a great pain in its core
The skin was all puffy, to walk was a chore
The doc said, “It’s nowt--tis but a strain
Get back to work; soon you’ll be right as rain”
But then they shoot horses, don’t they

Years they did pass
But the pain did not leave
So he favoured the leg
With a mind not to grieve
But as will happen
If you must climb like a kid
The other knee went
Much like the first did

 
Back to the doctor—a new one who found
That with time unattended, injuries compound
“Both knees are torn; and surgery they need
“You must have lighter duties; to your boss we will plead”
But they shoot horses, don’t they.

Back at work
The man plead his case
Even though he was hurt
Could they please find a place?
He’d make hoses
Or sweep up the floor
Work on computers
Any task, any chore

But the boss stood firm, the man was broken you see
No use for him now, no ear for his pleas
“There is work to be done, to that we attest
But I only want you when you’re at your best.”
Because they shoot horses, don’t they.

Still a young lad
His career is cut quick
By two knees gone bad
And a boss who’s a *****
What happens now
To this good-hearted guy
Whose belief in loyalty
Is what led him awry

Well, they shoot horses, don’t they?

Strolled through the door wearing nowt but a grin.
Seeking nothing more or less than a sweet bit of sin.
Dire need for crazy ***, smacked her smartly on the chin.
She's determined to win.
She gets under his skin.
Naked as this day were born
Torn heart's broken again.

And they cry and they lie and they curl up and die.
Feelings are reeling.
They're strung on balloons.
Cascades of lust as we're shooting the moon.

Wearing nothing but Sunday on Monday.
(C) LIVVI

We're stood on a blacked out highway going to who knows where. A floodlight shines on a group of workmen in road, slow. A passive aggressive sign says "Slow, My Daddy works in here". Gaz, Frank and Jim are gathered under the floodlight.

"That ****** lads dad never worked ere! That's bosses lad!"

"Mmmm..."

"Anyway, what's this hole for do you reckon? Gas? Telephone? Electric? Dead bodies? Haha!"

"Hope not"

"Hopeless more like! Why ARE we digging it anyway?"

"We? I'm digging! You're just talking ****!"

"******* Frank! What about owd Jim over there? Old ****** never does owt!"

"Grunt"

"Leave Jim alone! He's seen it all and done it all a million times! Poor guy must be knackered! If I still have to work at his age I'll ope you young uns gi mi some ****** respect!"

"Respect?! *******! Who's getting respect ere?! Not me! I'm in the middle of nowhere at night digging an ole in a highway for god knows what reason!"

"Look, Gaz, 'oles need to be dug. It's not our job to fill em. We just dig em up!"

"Yeah, but don't you wonder why? Like, we seem to be diggin up constantly! Same ****** area of the same ****** highway! Dunt anyone plan it oot so thi can do it all in one go?! Water, cables, all of it?! Its like we're makin work for t sake on it!"

"At least you've got ****** work! There used to be 20 odd of us on this stretch o road. Are you gonna dig or what?"

"Keep yer air on frank! I'll ****** dig, but I'm only doin it for you!"

"Well ****** me! I'm honoured! Shut up n dig will ya?"

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Sigh

Scrape, heave, scrape...

"Yer know what else...?"

"Oh, for ***** sake!! What?!?"

"These shovels are ****!"

"You're ****!"

"Nah mate! Look, handles are loose and shovel bit's weak as ****! If you lift too much thi just bend! It's like thi want us to ave to work twice as ard for t same bleeding job!"

"Well there's no worry o that wi you is there?! You lift ****** all!"

"Whatever..."

Heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave ... crack!!!

"Told you!"

"Shut up smart ****!"

"Don't ya get it though?! We're nowt t them lot! Thi just use us n **** on us! Wi dunt even kno' where this place is do we? We just get a lamp post number and go! Where does this ****** highway go?!"

"Look, I don't give a ****! I just want to dig this 'ole then go ome and watch some TV and maybe get a **** before bed! There's a ****** sign over there anyway..."

Sign reads "He..."
The rest of the sign is broken away, probably hit by a car.

"Jim. Jim?! Jim!! ******* I think Jim's dea..."

"Consarnid!! Thundering eejit!! I int banna be deed, tha ****** loony! I wor banna geet some shuteye! Tha lod banging on abaat ****** why thar ****** shovlin *****?! Carnt tha led an owd bloke sleep?!!!"

"Sorry Jim. Just worried mi for a minute there. Are ta alreet?"

"Nah am nod! I wo avin a reet dree-um befoore tha wakened us! Megan ****** Fox wor sat o mi fay-us!"

In unison - "Hahaha! Tha owd dog Jim!!"

"Sorry Jim, It's Gaz, e's got more questions than a ****** 3 year owd!"

"Shut up ya miserable get!
Why do you reckon we're diggin this ole Jim? You've been doin it a long time."

"Aye... I wor yer wen thi started fixint roo-uds. It wo differnt then. Thi gi'd us reet too-uls n ad t reet ideas. Thi jus wanid us to dig reet. Bud thi dint like us knowin moo-ur than them lod! S thi gid us ****** all n wi started wokin unner leets i t deark. Nah ****** con see us then. Thas askin t rong quetsion lad! Ids nod why aar wi diggin t oil! It's why aar wi doin id int deark?!"

"Why are wi Jim?"

"Because we're expe...."

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!!
Thud!!!
Vrooooommm!!!

"Oy!!!! ******!!!!"

"Es dead Frank! What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"What?!? Jim?!! Did tha get 'is number?"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"Gaz!!"

"What the ****, What the ****, What the ****?!"

"**** Gaz, yer reet! ****** this **** I'm not diggin any more! I'm off ome!"

"F..f...fr.... FranFrank?"

"What Gaz? That were ****** up Gaz!! Jims dead!"

"B..b....bu... bury J..J..J..Jim"

"Gaz, tha'll ave t do it tharself, I can't dig anymore. Sorry. Im calling t ambulance n goin ome. You should too! Bye Gaz. Good luck."

"B..b....by... bye J..J..J..Jim..."

Scrape, heave, scrape, heave, scrape, heave

Slow. My Daddy works in he...

I really really
must not scratch
this itchy itchy itch
but what to do
when all your hands
just want to do is scratch

Diagnosed this morning
by Doctor Wicky Wong
I don't like the look of those
he said
Neither do I
I wished him wrong

Back I went this evening
as more spots they had appeared
He looked a little closer
muttered words I could barely hear
off work 3 days not 1 he said
Contagious these may spread

So here I am at home alone
with nowt to do but write
a load of twaddle on the page
as shingles rages rife
when what I'd really love to do
is sleep say nighty night

I rest in the quiet thoughts
that might involve tired arms
and unadorned hearts and faces

to fantasise boredom with you
is a new low/high to replace
my easy crippling everyday nowt

I currently know that
to fall asleep with you
unwashed and noisy tired
is all I think I need

There was something
about the peasant in her
as she lay there
in the tall grass
the sun shining on her
the white clouds overhead

birds in flight
there was that aspect
of the peasant
in the simplicity

of her manner
the gesture of hands
the look
of the big blue eyes

and the skirt pulled up
nakedness revealed
and he
lying beside her

taking in
her whole aspect
the summery smell
the heat

the almost airlessness
about them
distant train
steam sounds

and she said
you're to tell
no one of this
( she had said that

about the first kiss)
and he said
of course not
whom would I tell?

he lay his head
on her soft *******
cushion like
as if afloat

she murmuring
more words
he lost
in the softness

of her
the scent
of her mother
(borrowed lavender scent

from the dressing table)
if my mother ever heard
she said
there'd be hell to pay

so say nothing
my lips are sealed
he said
nosing between her *******

muffled words
a rush of birds overhead
her hands on him
resting on his back

he tongued her
breathing her in
you're my first
she said

at doing this
say nothing lad
his inner voice
suggested

words wound
say nowt
he felt her hips
fingers running over

finger tips sensing
smoothness
moving lower
sensed thighs

she breathed harder
words gone
utterings wordless
she spread herself

like a butterfly in flight
he pinned her there
in the tall grass
as he'd seen

butterflies pinned
to a board
in the glass box
at school

he breathed in
she breathed out
he smelt apples of her
mixture of lavender

and apples
and that earthly scent
of bodies in motion
the tall grass

became an ocean
waves moved and sank
she sighed
he uttered wordless sounds

she kissed his shoulder
bit flesh
he kissed her neck
lip bit

****** skin
the summery sky
the birds silent
clouds drifted

she saw them
white over blue
over white
her palms on him

pressing
caressing
he journeying
to a heaven

birds gone
sky above him
unseen
just the ocean moving

a huge expanse
of green.

It's getting to be posh
all these new folk
with their dosh.
buying up the property
leaving nowt
for you and me.

It's not the same
not as it was
because,
our street's got
a brand new name.
'Petunia close'
sounds like a dose of something bad,
awful sad,
that it's getting to be a bit posh round here,
next year,
I won't recognise
the pie and mash shop
the garage pit stop
it will all be gucci,reebok
smoochy bars,
fast and frantic tarty cars.

I'm moving out to Birmingham
at least up there they still
eat spam,
I may move further North to Carlisle
they'll not change
not for a long while.

Anyway
I made a fortune
holding on
not selling too soon.

(The problem is,
not the solution
or gentrifying
or more pollution
it's the weeding out
and in their place
making space for
evolution)

Nothing for nothing unless you put something in and what you get out is nowt like what you put in.

Three blind mice
didn't get very far
the Farmers wife drove
a Mercedes Benz
had a 40 gauge with a
telescopic lens,
blind or not the trio
got shot,
three blind mice.

Not relevant?
but the elephant in the room needs
room to manoeuvre and
who's going to hoover up later?

Randomness, a pick of sorts all more some less or
like a drawn out game of chess,
the elephant still leaves a mess,
the castle takes the Queen.

A cat went carol singing on a cold December night
couldn't read the words to sing so
stood under the light,
three blind mice
see what you've become
the words in a song sung under a light on
a cold and dark December night
well
I never heard such a thing in my life,
three blind mice.

A poem is grand
that's got summat to say.

But if it says nowt
it still passes
the time o' day.

Never disparage
another mans writing.
He may be twice your size
and good at fighting!!!!!