"welly" poems
Now then,(Clicks fingers and stretches out),,,I know you men out there will think i'm all cahoots,But i need to vent my feelings on the, ever, splendid, boot,There,s black boots white boots, really outta sight boots,Baby boots, Mummy boots, ever just so yummy boots,X boots, Y boots, black patent leather thigh boots,(MMMMMM)Flat boots, high boots, heels like a needles eye boots,Work boots, shopping boots, **** , real eye popping boots,Going to visit mum boots, feeling very glum boots,Welly boots, smelly boots," i'm just watching telly" boots,Car boots,"?" truck boots, "come on babe, let's **** boots,All these boots and more would make a woman want to swear,But guys, you haven't heard me go on about our underwear!!!
Feb 25, 2010
Feb 25, 2010 at 7:21 AM UTC
Incessent drumming and the roar of raindrops
Keep me from sleeping past dawn
Welly boots step into the cold, wet day
as the sky weeps for the loss of summer.
The wind takes the wheel,
driving water up trouser legs, into socks, under hats
Blown out beş lira umbrellas discarded on the overpass
A graveyard of useless metal spiders.
Still,
Still it rains
Impromptu lakes form from the spontaneous rivers flowing in every street
Bosphorus babies, cleansing the heart of the city
People look like street cats;
Soaked, preening, cowering under any shelter they can find
And still, Istanbul.
Still she rains.
Oct 29, 2010
Oct 29, 2010 at 1:33 AM UTC
Norman Stevens
Always gets evens:
Reads my stuff on his smart telly.
Go on Norman, give it some welly.
There you have it, a Clerihew,
Oh what an how to do,
Very silly, very true.
Why I love them, I haven’t a clue.
Time now for another brew.
As I’ve said before:
Write a Clerihew:
It’s easy to do.
Two rhyming couplets of any length:
Short and simple, that’s its strength.
Paul Butters
Nov 13, 2015
Nov 13, 2015 at 5:08 AM UTC
Shards of sail staple sky to sea as fingernail-thin boats lean in to the horizon.
The surge of surf converses constantly with the silent shore, urging its message upon the oblivious beach.
My children scramble on the man-made groyne, a facsimile of wild rock, in which they find caves 'with a proper rock on top' (Bea) and 'a hundred miles deep' (Willem).
We are here on bikes, salt wind in our hair, and my *** slowly absorbing moisture from the almost-dry sand as they unburden their youth upon the rocky playground.
And then come the treasures.
A flat shell the size of my palm and worn pearlescent smooth.
A fossil pebble of concentric ingrained ripples.
'Something amazing Mummy,' comes the cry. 'You have to see this stone; the colour of Coca Cola,' shouts my boy.
More treasures emerge and are grafted on to the sandy pile.
Quartz-like lumps and a mussel entangled with tiny seaweed strands and miniature white shells, like micro leaves and hints of feta in a fancy restaurant.
The boy wears welly boots, no socks, and a plastic medal around his neck. 'Batman, Batman, Batman,' comes the cry, while Bea determinedly scans heaven and Earth for jewels to stud her imagination.
Sep 28, 2013
Sep 28, 2013 at 11:03 AM UTC
My big headed people said ity, i trusted, 'hiriz' has never dissapointed themy,
my hatred for non conformity, enormous, i surely hated the conformity truly,
i almost lost it for 'hiriz' sakey, **** it, ill never have wanted to lose this beauty,
i had it weirdly thinking ablazey, loozing?, no, i hadnt and you n they didnt realize fastly,
loosing soo fast about lowly sinking sinly,curse all day i ,ever had thee meeting to lyfy,
wit all the a vitue TRUELY INVESTMENT *** no lievly, forget me darl; once and for ever dony
one more what you waznyt quetly, cool openly, man must lively sweetly
that a day woud spoily truely, madly mey, sooooooo losty i had made a choisy,
refusing my being theiyyyyy, lucky me doing, buty, i love thater that am no longy
your timey was wanting by virtuey, truey. luck **** spyty this shiety oul
endy began truely sure truelly, fukciey, its thats badyy, me lost it shortlley
man must livevy or diiey, truely, gotta ity, man look for bread i wannaity
withought even hiriz it all worked welly, herey, i am. fu**** like ity
dead
Oct 22, 2012
Oct 22, 2012 at 12:28 PM UTC
Relly?
Relly chelly?
Belly selly smelly.
Telly trelly helly welly?
Melly.
Melly.
Delly selly belly felly
Welly?
Jelly.
Sep 16, 2013
Sep 16, 2013 at 6:12 AM UTC
His name,
well it is Dominique,
wants to be a woman,
perhaps,
as he slips into his plaid skirt,
thought it rather itchy,
he could be rather ******
Starts off in high heels,
yes,
Then he dons his rubbers,
I said Dons,
not Dom's,
then feeds his fetish,
pulls up his welly boots,
into rubber you know!
He traipses to the shop of ***
there he buys a gimp suit,
gives his girlfriend whips and chains,
she locks him up in the cellar,
he's a really funny fella,
I'm sure he is okay,
but, I guess I'll never know!
(C) Livvi
May 21, 2014
May 21, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Welcome abroad Thameslink.
Grab a camera a wink at
Shaftsbury’s bootylicious dancers.
Pen in gear and know the answers to
the parade of pub quizzes.
Let your strands of raw seismic frizzes scream
on bonds lightening Thames RIB.
The Louis Vuitton wallet ‘on fleek’ for that crib inside
the Shards slender diamond belly.
Feet stay in groove with that Kidston welly against
the roaring mud at the wireless festival.
Pre dem soulful struts of de Notting hill carnival spicy
spirits, nani wines and **** kisses.
Safari hunt watch out for those hisses on
centre stage of the primeval in the zoo.
Grab my hand and come on boo steady
your bags and steady your feet on the thrilling
ride of Oxford street.
Reminisce its entirety and say goodbye.
As we take in our final view on the London eye.
Justine Louisy
Copyright ©Justine Louisy 2016
All Rights Reserved
Jul 3, 2020
Jul 3, 2020 at 2:19 AM UTC
Will we ever see eachother eye to eye?
Or will everything you told me turn out as a lie?
Everywhere I turn, I see your name, it's on the wall.
Too weak to bear this heartache, my hope begins to slowly fall.
Hope for happiness has vanished, nothing to look forward to.
Wearier to discover my love was but a joke to you.
My whole body begins to shake as I imagine a life without a guide.
I still feel the spark between us, even after you cheated and lied.
I'm beginning to notice all of this is a game you've created inside your head.
I set my heart to every lie you fed me, believed every 'I love you' said.
As I wollow, becoming more hopeless with every shortened breath.
To careless to live, awaiting for the day of my welly yearned death.
My dripping wrists are being scraped with this tiny shard of rust.
So this is my alternative to our passionate lust?
If pain is all that gives me drive to live.
I'll pick up every scent of my blood and breathe it all in.
I've replaced the moaning and pleasure for sobs of agony.
If only you did care that soon, you'll be the death of me.
Exempt from a heart beating in my chest, I start to drift away.
Her whole body, numb and broken, getting sicker everyday.
No one cares for her goodbyes, as she prepares to leave.
Her only choice was to die without love, or so she did believe.
With bloodshot eyes, and her soul still shading rotten.
Her red blood goes out to the girl this cold world has forgotten.
Jun 25, 2010
Jun 25, 2010 at 10:26 PM UTC
He is nice.
What a description.
Nice as sticky rice.
What a depiction.
He's soppy as a bubbling puddle, overflowing.
With leftovers of muddy welly boots.
Very shortly she'll be going.
He's in a muddle.
He's set down his boring roots.
He sobs as he steals the stars from up in the heavens.
So he can give her a present.
That she may not relate to.
He doesn't have a clue.
His only real interest.
Football team elevens.
Boredom is his kingdom.
His crown covers a frown.
Long may he there in peace be dwelling.
Under her nose this fellow's, a little unpleasant smelling.
His sword is made of whale blubber.
Borrowed from a passing mammal.
Like his personality...just a little rubber.
(C) LIVVI
Mar 17, 2015
Mar 17, 2015 at 5:29 PM UTC

Raincoats and Welly Boots.
Go together like
A pantomine tale and mother goose.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
Little girls and little boys;
playing in natures endless supply of toys.
Walking through puddles, almost knee deep.
Splashing in mud pools, mud covering their feet.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
Wearing Raincoat and Welly Boots
Splashing, laughing not a care in their world
Should be the entitlement of every boy and girl.
Raincoats and Welly Boots
For just 5 minutes
Discard your black shiny shoes and Italian suit
Put on your Raincoat and Welly Boots
Remember when once you were young
Splish, splash, splosh oh what fun
Raincoat and Welly Boots
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 4:26 PM UTC
To walk on water could there only ever be one?
Was it not Gods only son, who strolled in Galilee, with the fishers on the sea?
It has been disputed that another fella, name of Blaine, gentle strolled upon the river of grime, a.k.a the River Thames.
Obvious illusion, well at least that's what I'm guessing.
Now however; a change in the weather, provided squelching mud cover, engorged the fields of mud with water.
Mud supports those who walk, in squishy, squashy welly boots, fighting through, unholy mud.
Hereby, I now pronounce out loud, more than Jesus, an entire crowd.
(C) LIVVI 2014
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 2:59 PM UTC
They are coming to take you away
I dislike corners I know he will be standing there
A real Parisian apache one leg resting on a wall of a closed down factory
he is sharpening his stiletto and cleaning his fingernails
Or a farmer after digging stony ground has had enough cuts my throat
With his ***** a spray of blood and the land will be fertile again
I could also walk home after an evening in the pub fall face down in
a rain puddle where a yellow welly floats
it could be so banal falling in the night when going to the loo
a broken nose and no one can hear my muffled screams dying and
and not saying anything divine.
I have to buy a coffin it must be wide sleep in it every night wake
up in the morning dead with sunlight on my face.
Nov 25, 2016
Nov 25, 2016 at 2:45 AM UTC
Vic Davies
That Davies bloke called Vic
He showed he isn't thick.
His table tennis can get bad,
Especially when he gets mad.
Liz Conolly
Mrs. Conolly, first name Liz,
Really, really is the biz.
Loves a seat at the front table,
Always gets there if she’s able.
**** Staples
Ah, here is **** Staples:
Loves his football from Grimsby to Naples.
Could be a pundit on the telly,
Always gives it plenty of welly.
Phil Sharpe
Mister Sharpe, first name Phil:
At table tennis he knows the drill.
Master of defensive ploys,
Wins his matches with lots of poise.
Ron Dawson (added 9\1\23)
Cider and Ale to Ron Dawson known as Rocket.
He has the whole World in his pocket.
Knows the routes of all the trains:
Lots of knowledge (on brewing and trains) fills his brains.
Paul Butters
© PB 6\1\23.
Jan 6, 2023
Jan 6, 2023 at 3:39 PM UTC
I’m a ten digit
fidget; a cluster
****** mind.
a sand-hopping
hopper of the
trampoline kind.
I’m a bouncing-
bounce bouncer,
with cerebral jelly.
I’ll tap, tap, tap.
fidget finger, knee
or welly.
talk ten steps ahead,
talk five steps back.
roundy roundy garden
like a teddy-cadillac.
I’m a remote zapping addict;
buttonitis of the soul.
and finish your sentence…
I’m a pain in the whole!
Jun 12, 2019
Jun 12, 2019 at 6:37 AM UTC