"wellies" poems
Yesterday sugar became unspeakably irritated because mother’s apron crushed ants wearing stillness caped wonder just William author wrote ****** explicit headlines newspaper columns pillar architecturally sound villages super-imposed images quivering Shepard’s ******** antelopes jumping furiously with tyramisphorising fornicating flanges woodwork lessons gym period ****** advert teasing testicles sumptuously ravishing me sideways and erupting deep blasts suffocating you inside without *********** headlong in my armpits.
Eventually everyone always signs legal documents leading to ****** bondable zoos inserted buffalo sized puddings eaten by frogs spanking archbishops underwear while licking toes crushed under fridges dropped from clouds of buttercups being pushed into ovens smelling gorgeous not consumed pimps and alarm clocks ring people to talk for hours and pineapples exchanged cod fish for tickets to see S Club 7 being caressed internally whilst ******** bags covered in water deserts sunk from space aliens from Tescos selling hardback fish cleaning toilets and singing in pink wellies dancing to Madonna look-a-likes prosecuted for *** shops selling frozen fish socks washed daily in cranberry coffee after being passed under bridges flooded in margarine soaked pillows.
Jul 16, 2010
Jul 16, 2010 at 2:19 AM UTC
Mud is good,
Its dead good mud,
It's in me blood,
But where not understood,
Us people of mud,
In the shadow of a gas tank and born on a Mersey bank, I lived on cobbled streets dark and dank,
I played on a ship that sank, and for anything else I wouldn’t thank....... you
On king street docks, girls in cheap frocks, curly locks, time tocks, the boat rocks,
The tanyard smell made life hell for all that dwell, under the bridge,
In Garston L19, it’s the scene, its clean, it’s where I’ve been, it’s not obscene or green, if you know what I mean.
Its community security sincerity and every other word that ends with erity,
But it’s fallen apart,
Don’t lose heart.
I go into town when I’m down, it clears me frown,
I don’t go in me jarmies or me dressin gown,
There’s men with round bellies, toddlers in wellies,
Posh ladies gather in their marks and spencer swagger,
There’s scouse brow teens, sunbed queens,
Hunks and punks, lonely drunks,
Suits in boots forgetting their roots and hens in *****
Big issue sellers, statue fellas holding golf umbrellas,
Coz of all the rain,
But it’s all good, coz we come from mud,
Let’s cheer, why?
Coz I’m here,
I’m me, me names T, and me hubbys P me best friends she..... lagh,
I like coffee and toffee and Roger Mcgoughy,
I like statistics logistics eye shadow and lipsticks,
I like bags and wags and cigarette **** but not beer,
I’m fine on wine if I take me time,
I don’t do a line, unless I’m hanging me washing on it,
I work in a bar, not far, I don’t drive a car, and I don’t say Lar or kid or lad or lid or mar,
I’m proud and loud, don’t live on a cloud, and I don’t follow the crowd,
I’m a mum to some, I’ve got a big round *** but I’m me you see,
I’m not square, I dye me hair, I swear but you can take me anywhere,
Coz I care,
I’m good,
I’m mud; it’s in me blood,
Understood
By Christina Ford
Feb 3, 2014
Feb 3, 2014 at 7:23 PM UTC
way high on brecon beacons,
amid the rain and sleet,
along came a ***** ole collier,
with wellies on his feet.
i said, you ***** ole collier,
my wife is fast asleep,
she's always got an headache,
please help me catch a sheep.
i am a ***** ole collier,
my name is slimy sam,
but you see i'm gay boy,
so lets go catch a ram.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 11:49 AM UTC
valley mountains high,
cattle there to serve us,
rugged men are men,
sheep are very nervous,
megan's dentures in a jar,
pug face snoring porker,
drove llambo to his wellies,
the mountain mutton stalker.
valley commandos camouflage dress,
headband, wellies, wooly string vest,
llambo llewellyn up to the test,
heads for the hills searching his quest.
english may laugh,
and label us sinners,
while we **** sheep,
they eat them for dinners.
Feb 16, 2010
Feb 16, 2010 at 11:57 AM UTC
The first pair of shoes you wore were black,
velcro straps sat atop your pair of dollies
to make it easier to put them on for the park.
They were meant to be smart, but you laughed
as you wore them against the ground so free
as dad slung the swings, smiling at his child.
Our mum told me I was a creative child:
I didn't like to wear anything black. Red
suited me in how I stood in puddles, free
in indifference to how brown my wellies
became. If I was asked why, I'd shout,
“I'm pretending we're all at the seaside.”
From there we made our way to beaches,
where the wind was crisp and the children
we could see around us acclaimed screams
of emphatic joy at how the sea was so blue
and big. We had to wear pairs of sandals
when we went, but being barefoot felt free.
All that time we had at being young and free
soon went with the summer ending in school,
the arrival of my freshly polished black boots
was identical to almost every other child's-
a lather of paint dripping over in mud yellows
proved who I was with a mother's groan,
and this wasn't the only time she wailed.
As we grew older and wanted to be free,
my sister started to experiment with pink
highlights in her hair as I visited clubs
with fake ID. We were adults with childish
personalities in how I wore my Docs
like a religion for feet, my sibling in high heels
that you could hear in Sunday morning claps.
The arguments broke out: she wanted a child,
mother saying was too young, needed to free
herself from lazy culture and find a workplace.
I'd never seen both their faces so gushed red,
just like the red richness of those wellies
I had worn in the park. I pipe up and say,
“The best freedom is our time as children.”
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
As rain beats down on canvas,
I squeeze my face through the zip.
The clouds are swelling and angry;
The wind hits my cheeks like a whip.
I retreat to the core of my tent
And trip on the wellies inside.
Still covered in last year's mud,
These purple boots fill my mind.
I am fond of my waterproof shoes.
I ponder their rubbery struggles:
Abandoned for most of the year,
But mighty when dealing with puddles.
The water rises and enters,
It covers my groundsheet in mud,
But I've got wellington armour
To conquer the enemy flood.
I must learn to rely on my wellies,
When storm clouds rumble and growl.
I have come to a happy conclusion:
My wellies will not let me drown.
I squeeze through the zip of my tent
And plant my feet in the slime.
I am met by a brave fellow camper
Wearing wellies the colour of mine.
There are porches all over the country
With lonesome wellies inside.
If ever a storm is a-brewing,
Put them on, take it all in your stride.
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Lie back think of England
Tuck into toad in the hole
Cider with Rosie, peaches and cream
Juggle dumplings scoring a goal
Oats in the nose-bag, flip-flop away
Doggie do in the park
Scream shout, dip in and out
On the side after dark
Wellies squidgy in the mud
Carpet burns tickling trout
Marigolds in the soap suds
Eyes askew, up the spout
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 4:30 PM UTC
Christmas is upon us !
Another year is gone
It seems like only yesterday
We celebrated the last one
Adverts on the t.v
Toys upon the shelves
Children are told stories
Of santa and his elves
Food is on the table
Theres turkey , christmas pud
Children on their best behaviour
Trying to be good
Carol singers outside , singing in the street
In woollen hats and scarves they dress
With wellies on their feet !
A snowman stands a guard outside
With a carrot for a nose
Presents under christmas trees
Tied with pretty bows
Jingle bells are ringing
As rudolf pulls the sleigh
The saviour lord jesus
Was born upon this day
Christmas is a time for peace
To last the whole year through
May santa bring his greatest gift
Of christmas joy to you !
Sep 19, 2010
Sep 19, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
Wellies crunch through the snow
Leaving footprints as I go.
Children’s laughter fills the air
Enlivening souls everywhere.
You can taste their ecstasy
As they slide down the hills next to me.
It’s a sugar-coated wonderland
I nearly slip, quick! Grab Mummy’s hand!
Pick up some snow and make it round
Flies as high as a bird before it hits the ground!
We build a snowman, up it goes
Make sure there’s a carrot for the nose!
Toes in wellies have turned to ice
Tea and biscuits would be nice.
But look at the beam on her face
Dancing around with so much grace.
Weatherman was right, more is falling
Heavier and heavier, warmth is calling.
Look! Look! It’s a blizzard
Maybe it’s the magic of a wizard!
Shiver, shiver, my lips start to quiver
The water has frozen, lets skate on the river!
Time to go, tummy’s rumbling
Mummy slipped! There she goes tumbling!
Mar 12, 2012
Mar 12, 2012 at 12:23 PM UTC
Little feet
on mounds of earth
Lots of stamping
childrens' mirth
Jumping mole hills
wellies high
How fast these precious times go by
Little voice from mum (disguised)
wonderment shines in widening eyes
believing the poor jangled mole had said
"Stop Stamping On My Head!"
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 8:52 AM UTC
Oh Mr Ted is not in bed
I think he's run away
or its a game without a name
he's made for us to play
Oh look a note pinned to my coat
It says I am a clue
Seek out the home of Mr gnome
he waits to talk to you
So down the stairs in one's and pairs
and slip my wellies on
then out the door and read once more
the clue marked number one
There just beyond the goldfish pond
the gnome awaits me so
He points the way as if to say
that ways the way to go
I rush on past going so fast
I nearly missed clue three
So slowed my pace to find the place
the clue was sending me
it said take time to read this rhyme
as I lend you a hand
the shadows tall upon the wall
Will show you were I stand
The sundial loomed where roses bloomed
the sunlight at its back
upon its face a note was placed
a picture of a sack
Toward the shed and Mr Ted
but no he was not there
another clue tucked in a shoe
that said make me a pear
The old pear tree yes there I see
another picture clue
back to the start and search your heart
to know what next to do
Back up to bed now what was said
my heart what does that mean
of course the box once filled with chocs
we ate on Halloween
Opened with care the clue is there
it says now come find me
I'm in my seat waiting to eat
as it is time for tea.
What fun I said hugging dear Ted
your games are just the best
I've had such fun but now I've won
and how I need to rest
So sitting there beside my bear
my eyelids felt like lead
I'm tired see please come with me
it's time we were in bed
Goodnight God bless we need our rest
It's been a busy day
and Ted and me are so sleepy
from games we love to play
Nov 13, 2013
Nov 13, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
Believe me when I say
I am an above average equivocator;
A hyperbolic exaggerator;
But I love to listen to the experts,
Their promises of love, wealth, justice.
Now, I'm also a reflective skeptic,
Remembering in tranquility and such.
And the wellies fit well.
Dec 18, 2016
Dec 18, 2016 at 10:31 PM UTC
Scrambling upon slimy rocks
Pocketful of glistening pebbles
Wellies damp from taking just one too many steps
Tiny soft mottled green shelled crab
Held delicately between forefinger and thumb
Smell of salt air on your jumper
Knees scuffed red raw from exploring
Daring adventures of a boy
Down upon St. Mary's Isle
Teasing little sisters with monsters from
Recently refilled rock pools,
Sea anemones, all shiny slippery jelly
A dead lobster with only one claw
Amazing treasure from a world, he knew well
Early morning, cold breeze cutting through
A green jumper, mother shouting at the gate
Something about being warm, he didn't really hear
Skipping over seaweed covered rocks,
Net and rod grasped firmly in hand
Off to catch a monster, fish from beyond
The edge of an island, where magical things occur
Like weathered, washed up wood, from
An imagined wreck, or
Bright blue netting, and seaweed cage
A sharks purse contained within
The salty, sweet taste of the sea air,
And the splash of frothing white spray
As the seventh wave hits the rock
A boy or a man in paradise
A simple boy in paradise, skipping over rocks
Discovering seaside treasure, by the rocky shore
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 2:39 PM UTC
A boy called bill grew up on a farm,
So bouncy, smelly and loud,
Mum shouted over "bill clean your plate, it won't do you any harm",
She gave him some new shoes to set him a test,
let's see if they can stay clean, please do try your very best,
Bill ran outside wearing his wellies so proud, happy and sleek,
Click
Clak
Click
Clak
Horses, cows all so fluffy and cute couldn't help but take a sneak peek,
Bill hopped, skipped and leaped so high,
he thought for a moment he could fly,
As he jumped over the fence to tend to the pigs, the wooden panel broke off,
Bill could see as he slowly fell down he was landing face first in pig trough,
When he collided there was dirt everywhere,
Poor little bill looked up surprised, he had it in his face and hair,
He opened the fence not daring to leap back to his mum, woke her from sleep,
Slip
Slop
Slip
Slop
He tapped on her shoulder smelly and brown,
His mother looked curiously and began to frown,
She said "bill I told you and what did I say?",
Bill said nothing, looked down stood in the doorway,
He slowly looked up and said "ok you were right"
And bill started cleaning his plate every night.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 8:45 PM UTC
Wellies
Unfull cups of funny puddlewater
Around the feet and toes of happy children
*****
Stamp
Splish
Splash
What
Fun
A memory of that darling child
Hand around her mother's
Fascinated and absorbed
By those little lakes and worlds
Her little pink coat
And wellies
Keeping her warm as a snug bug.
Stamp-Splash-Fun
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:56 AM UTC
I still love you. Is that a bad thing? I can’t eat or sleep. My thoughts hallucinate at the mention of your name. I see your face. Everywhere; my dreams- you’re holding me close, and you never let go. Remembering that time we shuffled out over the desolate forest in our aging wellies- you’d squeeze my hand tighter for reassurance.
I can still feel you’re warmth condensing against my skin. But it’s beginning to fade. . And I’m lost. I’m beginning to drift away. Endlessly searching for that closure you bestowed within me. I need you. I’m lost without you by my side.
Everything seemed to erode when you’d left. The ache for forgiveness is still there and forever will be. You carved that dagger into my heart like it was funny. Like you found humor in my agony. It pierced through your azure globes as your smile widened at the excruciating pain you threw upon me. You just walked away and I shouted and I screamed;
COME BACK! COME BACK! COME BACK!
I just lay there on the ground. Numb.
You gazed deeply into my soul, robbed me from of the little purity I had left. You left me. Shattered. Broken. Unusable. You ripped out part of my heart as we said our goodbyes. And I still love you.
Nov 15, 2015
Nov 15, 2015 at 1:05 PM UTC
weather: wild and brooding,
seas, roaring and bruising
the coast.
rain, bucketing down and flash flooding, about.
trees, going side ways,
three doors down, red gum
uprooted, narrowly missed the house, garden shed obliterated.
it appears that winter has
saved it's fury for it's last gasp, this year....
time to get the wellies on...
Aug 26, 2014
Aug 26, 2014 at 5:14 PM UTC
**Rows of stone houses, all back-to-back
lined by the side of streets cobble set
housewives with shopping, segs in their heels
clopping down ginnels with ringing footsteps.
Cast iron lampposts, corporation green
daily were reset by clockwork it seemed
casting more shadow than light which to see
brimstone edged steps, scrubbed 'elbow' clean.
Sweeps on their rounds, in Summer would rush
cleaning the flues with rods and brush
kids in the street, staring in wonder
at soot snowing flurries, from porcupine pots.
Nutty slack in the grate, drawn by the pan
coal smoking stacks, pouring out grime
creels of damp washing, stealing the flame
when years end smog, jaundiced the sky.
A trip to the 'flicks', Saturday morning
'thrupence' for best seats, 'top-a-the-stalls'
rounds of cheers as good-un's were chasing
the bad-un's were boo'd, soon to be caught.
In 'wellies an scruff,' we went to the 'flea-pit'
with 'ha-peth o' cheap spice', soothing the throat
food for thought, all week long
and played them all, the films we saw.
Cowboys and Indians, cap guns held high
annoying the neighbours, 'bye it were grand'
riding the range on imaginary horses
best we ride on, with slap of the hand.
'Play in yer own street', my recallection
and 'geer off mi steps, they've jus-bin-swilled'
yet still we 'mucked out' with die-cast toys
against the 'midden', and on the walls.
No more adventure, making own fun
young-un's today don't know how it's done
cartoon and serial, games of war
we'd launch to the moon, upon the see-saw.**
... ... ...
Apr 12, 2011
Apr 12, 2011 at 12:05 AM UTC
I'll meet you in the park, yes the usual place
no don't be silly clear skies there's not a trace
oh hold on I see it one big black cloud
on this day of all days, for crying out loud
ok you bring a brolley and I'll grab one too
I'm not letting the weather keep me from you
what? What about the picnic and the radio
well put it in some Tupperware and.. oh I know
we can improvise the music from the busy street
as we slow dance together to the car horn beat
so no high heels just wellies and a big rain mac
to replace that little number you bought in black
you don't have to worry you'll still look sweet
as we enjoy our us time on that old park seat
so I'll see you there in twenty. Of course I do
I can't say it, no as I'm standing in a queue
ok I'll whisper but I'm not so sure you'll hear
because of my heart beating knowing you're near
Now hurry as I miss you and your sweet embrace
just you and I together in our secret place.
Nov 21, 2012
Nov 21, 2012 at 8:05 AM UTC
Off into the van.
A jolly holiday.
The sun is shining pleasantly.
Hi ** hi **
It's off to market we go.
Wearing yellow wellies on a summer day.
Must be ****** hot.
Feet are probably a little pongy.
Turn to my mates in the back of the van.
Grin at them,
Ha ha.
Look at that stupid man.
Wellies in midsummer.
The farmer opened the back of the truck.
They're all set free.
Jamie and Hubert.
And of course me.
Ushered into the hotel reception.
A terrible pong.
Overheard the farmer say we're going for a song.
Everywhere a riotous flipping racket.
Hit on the head.
A bolt right out of the blue.
The rest of this poem is up to you.
(c)Livvi
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 6:54 AM UTC
I’m a dalmatian in the park this morning
leaping with a grace I can feel
a toddler by midday, splashing
unashamedly into gleeful puddles
red wellies into small pools of sky
a bird by the afternoon
giving the impression I may take flight
as I perch wise on the wall and
stretch my feathers
watching you
a fish by the time the evening is here
paper-light and shining
pretending I am not gasping for air
but I’m gasping
because I know night is coming
And the pretence
Should really be over in time for bed.
Jan 8, 2022
Jan 8, 2022 at 5:09 AM UTC
mr puddles was a cat he loved the puddles so
he just loved the rain in puddles he would go
every little pool that the rain had made
he put on his wellies and in the pool would wade
splashing having fun passing on the day
whenever there was rain he just love to play
watching all the water with its gentle flow
heading for a drain the water it would go
he would play for hours until the rain had stopped
then into his bed the little cat he hopped
falling fast asleep curled up in a ball
waiting once again for the rain to fall
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 10:49 AM UTC
Sometimes I wonder if I’m mad or if it is a joke,
Because of all the love I get it makes me want to choke.
For it is so plentiful its hard to swallow in one bite,
But then I close my eyes and choke it down with all my might!
I can feel it slide through my throat and then it hits my belly,
Were I in my stomach right now, I’d have to wear giant love wellies.
The feeling I get starts at my heart then travels to my center,
The warm fuzzies were on attack again as soon as they did enter.
I start to get all tingly as this feeling travels through my body,
Warming every part, even my knees though they be shoddy.
It continues down thoughout my legs until it hits my toes,
Flushing out all my sorrows and everything that blows.
Then it starts back upwards, straight into my head,
It ***** up what I was thinking, filling me with you instead.
My brain gets all silly and can’t remember things,
Flooded with the thought of you and what our future brings.
The love that I feel back for you is more than sick and wrong,
‘Twould make a super strength ****** want to sing a heartfelt song.
I know it’s kinda early, and maybe I should guard my heart,
But I just cannot help myself, I want to give you every part.
I am blithe to share this love and get some back from you,
For I thought there was no hope and love to me had bid adieu.
So now I have to thank you for this gift you have given me,
For without it I’d be happy, but not as happy as could be.
Because when I take a look inside it makes me understand,
Before I had you and all this love my life was rather bland
Jul 31, 2010
Jul 31, 2010 at 11:49 PM UTC
you were tig
I was tag
bright pink wellies
a duffel bag
the snowball
that I threw
I wonder if
you ever knew
It
was always
you
Sep 8, 2016
Sep 8, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC