"thas" poems
The village pump is where she was stationed
Her purpose in life, to glean information
Every morsel of 'news' she'd greedily savour
Though reluctant to empty her head, to fill up her neighbour's
That mucky young hussy's expecting you'll find
I'm certain I know who did it this time
He bought a bike, the crafty young fella
And no good came on it Doris I tell ya
He put one in Fram in the family way
And thas a good fifteen mile away
And if you ask me, he's too fond of his sister
If there's a young'un who's willing round here he'd not miss her
So lock up your daughter do she'll be the next
He'll be snouting round here before long I expect
And look at poor Bob, they say he's frustrated
They reckon his hip bone is half discolated
Same as old **** see him hick with his stick
All wore up and not sixty as yit
You don't look wholey clever yourself
Doris you really should keep an eye on your health
And Grandma Green has took to her bed
I'll drop by there today, 'cos same as I say
You're a long time dead
Well I should be going, I've said too much already
Cheerio now, and do you goo steady
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 3:43 PM UTC
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
Mar 31, 2010
Mar 31, 2010 at 2:03 AM UTC
I didn't feel so conflicted
till I got in the moment
holdin' strong egos,
like chessin' opponents
who could hold out and show they're the strongest
of love
tryin' to hide they ever felt any
but how could they
when everyone's the enemy
why would I trust you, when I'd do to you,
what you might do to me?
So cat n' mouse chase
won't look ya right in the face
lying to myself that I don't miss the ****** embrace
why even care when its just a race
for that feel good first hit
when it aint found
claimin rights to quit
quit ******* what
life?
ya man I'd be the first to tell ya
I've written a verse
on sacrificing myself for the own good
of the ******* earth
but hands on the shoulders
stopping the ******
from the right to shed skin
they're own contraband
n' now its tough
everyone thinks they're the diamond on the ruff
but told true to dwelling in the soul hard n gruff
keepin to the sunrise, lookin to the set
under nights hand guard
everyone's a threat
guns in the temple
consider em mental
for resenting the present social norm
of talking to everything and everyone
just to mold n conform
light n dark is a misconception
cuz there's lots of beautiful **** to be let in
by your own definition thas what matters
can't be bothered by other mad hatters perception
give what you need n always be freed
from the chains set in place by societies greedy ****** need
and
its all to god **** beautiful
to the human hating anti social
to admit they'd slice the life to their own sacrificial right
not abandoning light but the body gifted to the sight of others
that's what brings the sadness
cuz from the dirt, leaves and trees
is this made up ruling tyranny
madness to take flight n life
is just plain beautiful sadness
Jun 15, 2013
Jun 15, 2013 at 2:14 PM UTC
One day after walking one day
The middle of March
I spied a young lady
Who drew first a spark
Later that night
She held out a hand
(I held on tight)
She caressed my back (and said)
“It’ll all be alright,
“you’re still here now
“that’s all that counts.
Replied ‘yea but’
“Thas all that counts”
In the restless night I’ve known
The restless poet who has sown
His vagabondish sheet
From cradle to street
What a sight for sore eyes
The mail that cuts is own lies (eyes)
Lies lies lies lies lies (eyes)
He lies (lays)
But doesn’t sleep
The cuckoo bird, well,
Doeth cheep
Or nightingale
Or owl
Which bears a ***** scowl
‘in the forests of the night’
Blakenly defying
“It’ll all be alright”
Apr 24, 2016
Apr 24, 2016 at 11:46 PM UTC
spend less time giving a **** thn a lame horse with jellied teeth
got the whole town crawling up out the ground
dead/in\living night time
and its right here
right ******* now
resting fair shovelhands
on ***** fking mounds
cuz heavens screaming lonely + dead horse come clean
its real blood in headlights and they best ******* believe in me
because they come here to breathe
to stop and to watch me (without feeling)
+ i strangle wormclouds
out of every ******* mouth thas speaking
believe in me
watching here and learning from safety
where i hate real alive and loveless existing
skinlight like wandering
burn all your plastic things
because hell is coming harder
and we are never leaving
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 3:20 PM UTC
I'd like a basket
I am thru the brake
I'd like a basket
It looks exactly like you
I am woven accrost
simple ru les simple ounds
an' lookin' like you could
kiss me
to find wha tinside
singing your h ands
around my kybd
capitalization lifts
its top
oof is much said
long for another doncha
when they say thas all
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 1:08 AM UTC
Searching thru the
"there is"'s I might employ
there is a way
there is a thing
there is a certain
and flipping 'em over
I find the lifter
of I am telling you
the penetrant
of the membrane
invading
every molecule of now
you sitting knees up
happy in that chair
there
Nov 15, 2021
Nov 15, 2021 at 11:22 PM UTC