Not Always Rosey In the Valley

Remember the days of
                   yesteryear
when family ties were
                   held most dear,
and gas lamps flickered in
                   the back street
while most of us danced a
                  different beat!
Tragic alleyways of
                  smog and smut
“Live over the brush”
                  Branded a sl*t,
silhouettes infringe the
                  darkest night
gullible back shift broke the
                  morning light!
Adventurous nights at 
                  “Townhead mill”
A pint of beer the
                  back porch thrill,
when no! Meant yes in
                  rapturous skill
to fumigated music from
                  “Nashville”
Obnoxious libertine this!
                  Bread man
bay curtain drawn
                  delivery van,
the structure conspired
                  indiscretion
clinical the world’s
                  oldest profession!
Sporting gentlemen in
                  summer bliss
caught first ball! Costly night
                  on the piss!
Pavilion home to
                  moorside drover
many a chaste maiden
                  bowled over!
Partial pilgrimage down
                  “Bolton Road”
Black and amber heroes
                  round ball code,
liniment buoyant throughout
                  the room
manly skills embroider the
                  village groom!
Cardinal days steeped in
                   “Rock’n’Roll”
Sire in fear of them out
                   of control,
a colossal wedge
                   between culture
in shadows of decency
                   vile vulture!
Repetitious days of
                   school yard might
“Alfie” Reduced to a life
                   of plight!
Parent queried! Yet
                   misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the 
                   neighbourhood!
Lads and lasses lost in
                 “Hide and Seek”
Games of  “stroke-a-Back”
                 every week,
by the old school yard we 
                 all did laik*
Now the street is naked, for
                “Heaven sake!”

© Harry J Horsman   2020
*laik  Yorkshire for play, as in 'play out'

Copyright © | Year Posted 2020



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Date: 5/9/2020 1:37:00 AM
I'm a millennial, so the "good ole days" of some of these traditions come to mind ... but certainly not all (at least I can say I wasn't raise entirely on technology ... still remember dial up and landline phones). You stoked a lot of nostalgia and activity in this quirky write. To tell the truth ... the formatting was a little strange at first, but not so bad when you got used to it.
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Date: 3/3/2020 6:38:00 PM
That's one big list poem! So nice to hear from you, Harry! I do talk to Mandy on Facebook. Her paintings coming along grandly! Light & Love
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Date: 2/9/2020 8:58:00 AM
You are from Yorkshire? Your poem was like a trip down memory lane ..
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Date: 2/7/2020 12:01:00 PM
Memories can never be taken away from us, they are indelible and strung together like a necklace tells of each one's history. My dad was from Yorkshire and my son will support Leeds United, come what may! A gem of a poem Harry. Blessings, Jennifer.
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Date: 2/6/2020 12:39:00 PM
- ... never forget ... part of our history, Harry - Skillfully poem :) - hugs // Anne-Lise :)
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Date: 2/6/2020 7:07:00 AM
Much to ponder in your sights and sounds of yesteryear--well done, harry.
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Date: 2/6/2020 5:21:00 AM
Well written Harry, we'll never see those days again. Tom
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Date: 2/6/2020 4:33:00 AM
Brilliant your free verse is as always brilliant xx
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Date: 2/6/2020 2:02:00 AM
great stuff; would I have the discipline to write similarly? Glory to positive thinking, but I would slave over my first effort. ENJOYED your offering. Yes, we idolize at our risk. Who will give up light bulbs for paraffin lamps, the telephone for walkie-to-talkie. shalom, shalom Sir Harry
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