Best Midlands Poems
TRENCHANT WENCH FROM THE UNROMANTIC MIDLANDS
In the pub, I serve out the pints
My comely bosom gives a hint of home
And what men are escaping from – dreary sex
With housewives who scour the sink with vigour
Trim the joint and lard the fowl
Gristles of fat clinging to their knuckles
As the froth of beer clings to men’s beards.
England is a riff between the breakfast table and tea
Where homely condiments drown the flavour
Of each day, and newspapers live on scandal
The seamier the better. It makes the ordinary man
Happier than ever not to be one of the toffs
Glad that she can be had for a song
Save the one that lies buried in her throat.
There is a pub in the Midlands
Which goes by a fishy name.
Be careful what you say in there.
Or you won't be let in again.
It won't be swearing that'll get you barred
Or the starting of a fight
But suggestions to improve the beer.
Or compliments when it's right.
So when next in Leicester
Try a friendly pub instead
The place many recommend
Is the good old Kings Head.
Dark skies lurked to press upon 'em
To Autumn they succumbed
Trying to change was superfluous
By twilight, the hills were overcome
Fingertips of trees reached upward
Hoping to prick the clouds
Windy spirits then flew skyward
It was heartfelt and profound
A kindhearted spirit disappeared
Beckoning the leaves to glow
They could not refuse adherence
When down came the shadow
Rain embraced green hills abruptly
Drizzling its dainty fingers
Across grasslands prematurely
Where puddles would linger
Dancing like the deities
Of pagans long ago
Nature shared its transiency
And shone itself aglow
Autumn carried its winds above
Not knowing what to think
About nature's labour of love
To which humans are linked
The night solemnly awaited
Dusk's passage to morning
The course of time was fated
For Derbyshire's adornment
Animated eastern midlands
And the good people there
Enchantment set them free
Whilst Autumn filled the air
With colourful leaves everywhere
The Autumn brings them joy
Loving hearts are found in the square
Bright new daylight galore!
The water, sandy shore, lush hills, swaying trees, the smart lakeside houses and
boated fishermen in the breeze from the Spit of the largest reservoir in England's
smallest county completed our beautiful Spring day in the Midlands.
A Lincolnshire lass was she
in youth and bloom revealing,
and upon us all God smiled
when unto this world a child
was born and bred in Healing
Red flower of the Midlands -
O’ English Rose sweet and fairest!
Who heard the sirens roar
when fell the bombs of war
on village row and terrace
Where old port fishing boats
off the North Sea tied dockside,
and there their catch unload
where the mighty Humber flowed
as they came in on the tide
She met her Ted a likely lad
from the seaside town of Grimsby.
Unto a rose a prickly thorn
whose love to she was sworn
and wed the twain would be
And so it was it came to pass
a great debt of love was owed.
Dreaming of a foreign shore
in old England’s cold bitten door
from her house on Oak Road
Unto an isle beyond her own
in a far land and Bay of Plenty -
to sail a ship from Glasgow
and off starboard bow long ago
wave farewell to old Blighty
Away the colonies away on
berth and passage of ten pound.
Leaving her home by the sea
and the life she knew in Grimsby
on the Captain Hobson bound
Ocean to ocean voyage long
the bow waves did pitch and toss.
By day their slow time biding
and by night the ancient guiding
lights of the Southern Cross
Soon a year passed and nigh
that Midland girl a mother to be.
Once again in a seaside town
dressed in a maternity gown
across the world in Opotiki
But the Firth she calls home
and there in time raised a family,
and I remember to this day
her gentle and motherly way
to me and to all, dear Audrey
Written: December 2017
Colored checkered patterns,
Dashing, vibrant colors,
Hand-woven cloth strips,
Dazzling geometric shapes.
Characterized by weft designs,
Vivid, eye-appealing texture,
Ghana’s national cloth,
A royal favorite outfit.
From the coast of Western Africa,
An indigenous, local brand,
Handed down from ages to ages,
Maiden style left intact.
Renowned across borders
For its alluring tapestry marvels,
Its cherished history staggers,
Our obroni friends adore it.
Oh yes, Africans just love it!
So get a piece of kente that befits,
With its uniquely native patterns,
And let’s celebrate and project.
This is our heritage, our culture, our tradition.
This is Ghana’s premium kente,
The golden cloth from the midlands.
Phil is a Welshman from Cardiff, basketball,
Who plays for the club the Sheffield Steelers,
On the 2nd February 1994 he was born tall,
And wears vest 11 for TeamGB, has feelers.
His classification is 3.0, he’s experienced,
‘Cos he was a junior before being a senior,
He first played as a senior very balanced,
2012, Standard Life Continental Clash leer.
In 2015 TeamGB won the European gold,
In Worcester in England’s West Midlands,
So in Rio in 2016 the basketball team bold,
Beat Turkey to win bronze, third strands,
I’m back from the aborted time
Where mother earth’s womb foiled me an innocent prime
A crime precipitated with tears of revenge on my carefree mondaine,
Again I’ve come, ushered by thunderstorms and hurricanes
Descending with spleen of capitulating rage from above
Where I had seek castrated-justice from people who know not love,
My angered tears are tattooed. Henceforth, ye’d find my sweets bitter.
Imperiled and mutilated on surgeon’s blade, my spirit groans and quiver, while hers glitters
Her joy of motherhood quakes with the sound of my blub at the doomy sands
When sweats of sorrows and heavy downpour ferries me to the midlands;
Oh my arrival, she’d be filled with a painful smile, a tragedy of happiness!
She’d wish she never pulled that plug out of coyness.
Again, heaven dims its light as one of its kind depart
Downwards. I’m the earth child, the wailing nipper with no heart!
My own version of 'Abiku' written by J. P. Clark
Dinner Date or Date for Dinner?
When the harvest moon is full and bright,
And the wolf bane blooms on an autumn night,
If the guy whose kiss used to make you swoon
Starts to lick his lips and howl at the moon,
You'd best decline if he asks you out for a bite.
A Midlands Urban Legend
A village somewhere in the Midlands
Was harassed by a bodiless dead man,
But sans charger or steed,
How could they, indeed,
Be afraid of a lone horseless headman?
Robert Lang set out from London,
it was ten minutes to eight.
He meant to travel to the Midlands
to be with his dad in hospital
in Birmingham. Weather forecast:
chance of rain.
Peter Smith drove down from Penrith,
he was traveling to Dover
to take the channel tunnel to spend
the next two weeks vacationing
with his family in France.
On a section of the M1 south of Birmingham
a Vauxhall Vega, its driver asleep at the wheel,
jumped the grassy median into the north-bound lanes
and crashed headlong into a Ford Cortina.
An unclaimed hotel reservation
and the latest Playboy magazine
fluttered to rest, side by side,
on the shoulder next to exit 31.
Rupert Lang set out from London,
it was ten minutes to eight.
He meant to travel to the Midlands
to be with his dad in hospital
in Birmingham. Weather forecast:
chance of rain.
Peter Smith drove down from Penrith,
he was traveling to Dover
to take the channel tunnel to spend
the next two weeks vacationing
with his family in France.
On a section of the M1 south of Birmingham
a Vauxhall Vega, its driver asleep at the wheel,
jumped the grassy median into the north-bound lanes
and crashed headlong into a Ford Cortina.
An unclaimed hotel reservation
and the latest Playboy magazine
fluttered to rest, side by side,
on the shoulder close to exit 31.
Liam is a qualified green keeper at a golf club,
Attended Mill Vale Middle and Queensbury Upper,
He’s from Dunstable and gained a degree, hub,
From Dunstable College in Business clever.
Born on the 17th day of December in year 1990,
He plays for 61FC in the South Midlands league,
And also plays for Saints FC on Sundays, frisky,
But was spotted playing on a Saturday, intrigue.
His Paralympic debut was in Rio, they placed fifth,
He just loves the game: “…I definitely think [that]
I would love to get into coaching when I can’t, [sith]
play anymore…[because] it's life changing.” Rap.
Rupert Lang set out from London,
it was ten minutes to eight.
He meant to travel to the Midlands
to be with his dad in hospital
in Birmingham. Weather forecast:
chance of rain.
Peter Smith drove down from Penrith,
he was traveling to Dover
to take the channel tunnel to spend
the next two weeks vacationing
with his family in France.
On a section of the M1 south of Birmingham
a Vauxhall Vega, its driver asleep at the wheel,
jumped the grassy median into the north-bound lanes
and crashed headlong into a Ford Cortina.
An unclaimed hotel reservation
and the latest Playboy magazine
fluttered to rest, side by side,
on the shoulder close to exit 31.
And so we traveled very, very high,
Our destination seemingly to reach
The gathering mist and
Dreary grey sky.
The path rather track that we took,
Could have been misunderstood,
For a stairway to heaven.
Are you going right to the top,
Are you mad to go,
Asked a kind old man with a mop
Of pure white hair, walking his dog.
He seemed to think so.
At every curve we went higher,
I feared we could not travel further,
As the track became even curvier,
Our altitude terrifying,
But still we kept climbing.
I did not utter a sound,
Just accepted that we might die,
And might shortly be heaven bound.
No alternative to be found,
We had to face this rocky terrain.
The mist arrived, low and blanket like,
It was recommended that this
Area was good for a hike,
Or mountain biking,
Perhaps even cycling,
And what about the mist,
Pray tell, I Insist.
We finally reached our rustic
Holiday accommodation,
And destination,
Off the grid,
With feelings of trepidation,
Not a property
For which I would bid.
What a magnificent sight to behold,
We avoided little mounds of sand,
When walking on a gravel path,
Towards our wood cabin,
Cows munched grass outside our door,
A worker, hired as a farm hand,
Covered cow dung with this sand,
Thank God for small mercies,
Hallelujah, hubby said.
The Natal midlands, we will
Visit again, but will stay
on lower Terra Firma
So that we may
Live. to see another day.
Facebook, my wall, not at all
Mini Digger hire £75, same day delivery in the Midlands
Join couples dating agency, meet new friends
Buy Horny Goat Weed to spice up your love life and avoid erectile disfunction
Which affects two out of four men, which is half of all
Facebook, my wall, not at all
Ah, a red light, I have a message, maybe from a friend
Mini digger hire, £75, same day delivery in the Midlands