Best Bolton Poems
Remembering the days of yesteryear
when family ties were held most dear,
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”
eight pints 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 situation 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 cultures
in shadows of decency vile vultures.
Repetitious days of school yard might
the bullies reduced one’s life to plight,
parents queried yet misunderstood
reasons for mayhem in the neighbourhood.
Lad and lasses lost in “Hide and seek”
games of “Stroke a back” every week,
by the old school grounds we all did laik**
now the street is naked for heaven sake.
Why on earth would a mind keep drifting back
this poetry constantly placing me on track,
when life was a role without fame or stars
only toil and trepidation and these scars?
© Harry J Horsman 2013
*Living in sin
** Play
Beneath a perpetual sky
Longing to perceive nature’s sigh,
In lanes of sparkling morning dew
Before ‘Draughton village’ we view.
Thunder lightning hoarfrost and hail
Sunbaked days when coasting the dale,
‘Bolton Abbey’ stone throw from home
Muscles taut, like a garden gnome.
West wind howling hard to face
When 'Crindles Hill’ did slow the pace,
Delightful scene when on the crest
Downward cruise gratifying rest.
This green bike bought from ‘Uncle Cliff’
Dreams fulfilled with chain driven diff,
Simple, yet it was nature’s plan
This childhood journey that began!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
UFOs have been sighted in Yorkshire,
a global hotspot it appears,
witnesses, mostly sober
to the moors and up over
have regularly seen them for years.
They all give them various descriptions,
some were captured on video tapes,
as they hovered and zoomed, no jet sound
or smoke plume,
and they come in a variety of shapes.
Several saw an enormous black cylinder
it slowly climbed up, then moved faster,
through the clouds it went scudding
like a giant black pudding
could it be Bolton has it's own NASA?
One arrived with three coloured lights, flashing,
seems like ET had finally phoned home,
as it buzzed the landscape
a triangular shape, maybe from the planet Toblerone.
Whatever these visual conundra,
their existence must convey some meaning,
I've seen them, a lot
mine are little black dots
and they tell me my glasses need cleaning.
I stared intently at blackbirds on a wire
they were lined in a row
as though someone had painted them there
fascinated, I continued to gaze
hoping to identify which one would fly away first
knowing if one flew
the coop so to speak
the rest would follow because of some unknown
inner requirement
determined was I to single out the leader
of the flock
(do you call a group blackbirds a flock?
even if they are not flocking
but sitting?)
I dared not blink
but I knew that at some point in time I would have to
but I refused
the world stood still
there was no noise about
although I knew cars were passing by
concentration
intense concentration on that damn line of blackbirds
"Hey!"
startled I inadvertently turned to the sound
a woman
unknown to me
said
"When I fall in love and marry
I want to be studied with that
same intense consideration
hearing the sound of fluttering wings
I turned too late
the blackbirds were in the air
©June 29, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Did I not help you?
Was I not there when you fell?
I’m crying alone….
My secrets are mine
Do I question you of yours?
The heart is silent….
Intentional pain
Do you think I’m made of stone?
Please handle with care….
I love who I am
Why do you want me to change?
My heart is constant…
Unfettered by time
Do you want to live the dream?
Let me take you there…
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Special thanks to Arthur Vasso for title suggestion
One good turn deserves another...or so they say. How easily we forget to repay a kindness. I love the song by Michael Bolton...Lean on Me.
LEAN ON ME
WHEN YOUR NOT STRONG
I'LL BE YOUR FRIEND
I'LL HELP YOU CARRY ON
FOR, IT WONT BE LONG TIL IM GONNA NEED
SOMEBODY TO LEAN ON
Ecclesiastes 4:9 - 12
Two are better than one,
because they have a good return for their labor:
10 If either of them falls down,
one can help the other up.
But pity anyone who falls
and has no one to help them up.
11 Also, if two lie down together, they will keep warm.
But how can one keep warm alone?
12 Though one may be overpowered,
two can defend themselves.
A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
"The third strand being the strongest one...GOD"
the catholic nurse
all sensitive
caring noticing
everything
what can she think
of my hot/cold torment
always near blowing it
living in the fast lane
so friendly kind
the girls
dewy eyed
wanda abandoned me
bolton is in my hands
and yet my coldness
hurts
the more emotional
they stay
trying to find a reason
for my ice-like suspicion
fish eyes
coldly indifferent eyes
suspect everything that moves
socialising just to be loud
compensate for cold
lack of essential trust
warmth
i love them
despite myself
my desire to love
is unconscious and gigantesque
i never know
when i'm going to miss someone
strange coldness perplexing
i've got to work to get devotion
but once i get it
i really get people on my side
there are my people
who can survive
my shark-like coldness
and there are those
who want something
more personal
i can be very devoted to those
who can stay the course
my soul is aching
for an impartial love of people
i'm at war with myself.
("Strange Coldness Perplexing" was forged using notes scrawled onto seven sides of an ancient now coverless notebook sometime in the late 1980s, or early '90s).
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
A lone woman visits the graves,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
She speaks, but her words are not loud,
She whispers and calls them by name,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds.
The deceased has grown to a crowd,
She speaks tenderly to the dead,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
With the handgun she kept her vows,
As her victims entered her net,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
They came strutting and oh, so proud,
And many more will find her web,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
Her name is Danielle of the Marsh,
She hides her real name, Black Widow,
When the moon is blocked by gray clouds,
She wears a black dress like a shroud.
©December 18, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton
I envision myself as a talented soloist,
After singing Elvis in the dinning-room, to a thankful audience
Would i be nervous or feel comfortable with the audience,
I would dream of wearing a beautiful gown.
Along way from choirs through the years,
Now I have the confidence and ability.
I studied with the Royal Conservatory of Music for a year,
I had to audition at the teacher's house in order to qualify.
I remember singing a very simple song,
Which I had memorized and accomplished.
Music through years and I am a fan,
I have a selection of songs, I like Kareoke
My favorite role models are Anne Murray, Neil Diamond and Michael Bolton and Elvis Presley
I like listening to Michael Buble.
Concert visitation to Neil Diamond and Michael Bolton concerts was very
exciting.,
i used to like the Sonny and Cher songs and wish I could sing with a
handsome friend.
I think Christmas songs are beautiful to sing,
I used to guide our senior choir on the piano.
To become a performer takes a great commitment and is very time
consuming.
I think of singing with my sisters and calling our group "The Serendipity Singers'.
My brother could record our music because he is n AV specialist..
Here's to hopes and dreams and I pray that God continues to guide us.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz.
An add to two to form a paste
three in a tie as a broom
try to fit in, it's a waste
one to gel on two in the room
not on a ban, the spy has taste
one bad eye to bid for a groom
can aim, fly and get in a haste
a pet ago is now the doom
war for a bro, she is to let
her hug can dig a big outlet
to tow any to the toilet
day to day, he is her button
he's not for her, far in Bolton
how to cut him out, ask Newton
we're wrapped in each others arms
sans clothing discarded our peculiars
I'm filled with testosterone she has lured
as would a snake charmer robed
our fires supply our individual piaculars
seeking to find its concluding flameout
we clench, saliva kisses; they are our mettle
my chest pressed into her soft woman's pride
her tongue, searching, finding, teeth biting
her mouth to my thoughts conveyed
pleading to reach the destination as one
concerning the all-consuming fires down below
my quivering soul overflows with love
from my Goddess' devilishly kisses and nips
I hover o'er the suspended brink of bliss
her hands busy with reckless extravagance
fluttering, seeking my soul and my heart's core
enough! enough! I dissolve within myself
head held high bellowing with gasconade
sounds from her brought on by new sensations
and the collapsing corridors within her
the night is ours, love is rambunctious
©September 10, 2015 / Jerry Pat Bolton
If I possess a living soul
Let it fill my life's frugal bowl:
And mix elixirs' grand design,
To give me peace before my time:
Give me intellect to inspire,
To always be one to admire,
And if my breath will breathe for naught,
'Ere the cause of death; a love clot.
©April 13, 2016 / Jerry Pat Bolton
Alma is back on BBC
with tales of eccentricity
even the critics said it’s good
they’re calling Bolton, "Brollywood"
claiming it's worth the licence fee
It's warmth is positivity
facing life and absurdity
in ways no-one else, would or could
Alma is back
BAFTA award winning TV
based on the writers family
Willan, she's our Walters and Wood
champions the misunderstood
if you catch it, then you will see
Alma is back.
Trinity Street, Bolton,
it was Jack and Jaya’s first date,
Jack had got there early,
worried he’d be late,
the ticket woman said,
to head for platform two,
“you’ll have to get a move on though,
your train is almost due”,
from Moses Gate to Manchester,
the world went flashing by,
factories and football fields,
beneath a clouded sky,
soon the train screeched to a halt,
with much anticipation,
our young couple disembarked,
and left Victoria Station,
Jack and Jaya walked and talked,
round Manchester for hours,
Jack laughed and said that “their town hall,
is not nice as ours!”,
in Piccadilly Gardens,
Jaya groaned at more of his jokes,
whilst they ate cheese pasties,
and shared a can of Coke,
travelling back Jack wondered,
about a kiss on the cheek,
but Jaya simply smiled and said,
“let’s try Wigan next week…”.
For me, crazy is a loose term.Crazy is when you
stare at a pencil and laugh when someone
asks you what you are doing that is so
interesting about the eraser. Crazy is when you have
an hour-long sob fest, and then start singing
and dancing when your favorite song comes on.
Crazy is when you do or say a
completely random thing, like "Do you ever wonder
where the eraser bits go?" or
having a thumb war with yourself.
Crazy is when you type up all your favorite sayings,
print them off and tape them to
your wall, just for something to do.
Crazy is when you memorize the complete
biographies and physical traits of every
character in Twilight (or almost, at least).
Crazy is when you write Emmett or Edward Cullen
is hot on your homework instead of doing it.
Crazy is downloading all of Twilight and New Moon off the books on C.D.
fromthe library, and listening to them over and
over again.Crazy is when you first read twilight you push
the book in every ones faces and yell out
EDWARD. Crazy is also when you pretend to skate in your
bathtub in your bare feet with soap. Crazy
is when you run around the house screaming that you have
lost your mind. Crazy is when your friends and family are
scared of you because you are suddenly cheerful then not.
Crazy is when all you can talk about is Edward Cullen or Troy Bolton.
Crazy is when you have conversations with the Twilight and/or
High School Musical actors/actresses in your head and yell,
DON'T JUDGE ME when some one asks you what you're doing...
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'