Best Shires Poems
The Great Meadow
Beyond the high hedge the great meadow extends to the sky
Its fallow grasses fanned into waves by a breeze.
While down the slope the bearded barley and rye
Make a downy golden fabric that clothes the leas
The largest field in England, so it's opined
Though a child beside an endless Kansas prairie
Beneath heavens that can be reached by heart and mind
No distant scene but a piece of homeland friendly
As I walked its hidden life became revealed
A pheasant ran with ungainly comic indignity
A startled cat leapt from a nest concealed
And a sky lark rose to sing an unfettered symphony
Across the counties were such prospects planned
From days when mighty shires hauled their wains
And still the fields and hedgerows shape the land
So let it ever green and pleasant remain
Categories:
shires, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Yorkshire, 1914
I patch mended her copper saucepan,
Edged an axe, two cleavers and a knife.
I did all the jobs that were required.
By this comely young farmer’s wife.
She served me a platter of rare beef
With chunks of home baked bread,
And along each large slice of meat
Relish of horseradish was spread.
She served me there in her kitchen
Sat me at a large wooden bench
As I watched all around the room
A young and fine buxom a wench.
She slid on my knee quite suddenly
And I held her there in my arms.
For how could any young man
Refuse an offer of such charms
She kissed my mouth with a passion.
She kissed me with a lust and desire,
That set may pulses off racing
That set my whole body on fire.
I held her for all of that evening
And most of that coming night,
Enjoying the play of our passion
The pleasure and sheer delight.
She served me a farmhouse breakfast.
For which my whole body yearned.
Eggs and home slaughtered bacon
Bread, and butter near freshly churned
I held her once more in that kitchen
In thanks for the love we had made
Then out to follow my fortune,
A wandering Jack of all Trade.
I could hear Shires in the stable
That fine November’s morn
As I set off on my journey
Just at the crack of dawn.
I strode away quite briskly
Down that winding cart track,
My body so pleasantly sated,
Possessions slung over my back.
Oh how I so love this my freedom
To enjoy while there’s still chance
For I reckon it’ll soon be the recruiter
And a spell in the trenches of France.
Maybe this really happened.
I wonder did he survive
The carnage of that bitter war
To come back whole and alive.
Yorkshire 2022
Categories:
shires, imagination, passion, romantic, world
Form:
Rhyme
Let's flee to Little Langdale,
where mountains pierce the sky
through layers of cloud and fog,
past birds that swarm like flies.
Let's find the quarry tunnels
and tour Cathedral Cave
We'll hear our voices echo
like pebbles skipping waves.
Let's walk the hills till twilight
past crumbling ancient walls.
We'll stroll 'cross Slaters Bridge
and watch the evening fall.
Let's grab a pint or twenty
at the old Three Shires Pub.
We'll drink the finest ale
and feast on English grub.
Let's stumble home together
'neath stars we've never seen.
We'll find our merry way
along the winding stream.
*Last year, my family rented a 16th-century cottage in the Lake District of England. It was surreal to wake up in the mountains every morning.
*See "About This Poem" for links to photos
Categories:
shires, adventure, mountains,
Form:
Rhyme
I pored over my weather maps contriving a prognostication,
Of the weather forecast for the consumption of the British population.
It comprised all the towns, villages and shires from A to Zed,
To include the burgs of Wookey Hole, Wyre Piddle and Guys Head!
The towns of Crazies Hill and Cuckoo's Nest could expect clear skies,
Nasty, Mucking and Mousehole were included in this surmise.
Rain bode for Scrooby, Spital, Tiptoe and Brian's Puddle,
Ugley, Ramsbottom, Fitchfield and the village of Affpuddle.
Hail would visit the towns of Piddlehinton, Diddlebury and Pill,
Sots Hole, Inkpen, Birdlip, Scagglethorpe and Toot Hill.
I warned Catbrain, Clock Face and Daffy Green to expect sleet.
That also included Giggleswick, Kibblesworth and Cackle Street.
Broadbottom, Muggleswick and Barking were to be aware of fog,
As well as Yelling, Wigglesworth, Slaggyford and Black Dog.
Scattered clouds were billed for Crackpot, Beer and Fairy Cross,
And for the areas of Fugglestone, Great Snoring and Balls Dross.
Beanacre, Fatfield, Wham and Jump could expect some light snow.
Raging gales I predicted for Lickey End and Harrowbarrow.
Conditions change in minutes in High Brooms and Frog Pool.
I dare not divine weather for those blokes, 'cause I'm nobody's fool!
Categories:
shires, funny, weather,
Form:
Rhyme
This Regency Dandy flying across the river,
Jumping Jack Flash of kingfisher blue that
I was lucky t see, this dainty dandy of English rivers and streams.
A compact colourful apparition my sore eyes waited some
Sixty years to see, others boast much earlier visitations of these
Bluish-green, orange and red feathers attached to a Cyrano De Bergerac
rapier beak,
Outshining the honking harrying flotillas of Canada geese not capable of
Competing with this fisher of minnows, as we strolled across the Georgian
Bridge at Blatherwycke straddling the nonchalant flowing Nene of this
shire of shires,
Now of only one squire, but still many fine spires in this shire of Northampton.
Categories:
shires, bird,
Form:
Free verse
Bevy of swans in a sea-fowl cloud,
starling mumuration,whispering aloud.
Wray of quail,where teal spring,
tiding of magpie,as larks nesting, cling.
Nightingale watch a hover of crows,
herd of wrens,hosting sparrows.
Flight of doves,lapwing deceit,
charm of finches,swallows sweet.
Kindle of kittens,knot of toads,
a yoke of oxen shed their load.
Den of snakes,skulk with fox,
shires stabled and boxed.
Business of ferrets,labour with moles,
span of mules in a string of foals.
Harrass of horse,husk of hares,
rake of colts with a stud of mares.
Drove of cattle,with a tribe of goats,
downs of sheep,pack of stoats.
Spider cluster in a thatch,
brood of game,hatched,matched
and despatched.
Categories:
shires, animal, bird, fish, insect,
Form:
List
grey skies drop gruel
shoppers shelter in the shires
drinking weather, spoons
whatever, raining, trowbridge
pea soup puddled county town
by gail
Categories:
shires, depression, drink, england, food,
Form:
Tanka
(* to be read in the style of Heny V before the battle of Agincourt)
To arms! To arms!
Men of the Shires, rouse from your winter sleep
the game's afoot, waste no more time abed,
to Hardware stores you have a date to keep,
fight through the drapes of cobwebs in your sheds.
To arms!
Unshackle pasting tables, wipe the trays
for paint rollers not used in many moons,
the paint brushes that have seen better days
left to go hard in pickle jars since June.
To arms!
The squeaky front gate mocks you as you pass,
the peeling paper teases in the hall,
Greenhouse offends thine eye with broken glass
house number upside down upon the wall.
To arms!
Onward, onward you face your foe alone
tirelessly strive, no weaknesses, no flagging,
your only ally, her true colours shown
through bouts of sharp critique and constant nagging.
To arms!
We few, we happy few with common bond
will tackle each new challenge with no fear
for though the day be long you see beyond,
when all is done you're off to have a beer.
To arms!
Categories:
shires, house, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
Brexit Sonnet No. 46
‘A Brexit Gift’
What larks! A Brexit gift with double bow,
A tale of two shires with border slung between.
As cameras flash, a cashing stream doth flow
To feed and nourish London’s clear air dream.
Have I missed a move, a deliberate flit,
To lands with stranger names I do not know?
Wonder or Never look a perfect fit,
Where puff and bluff are seen to run the show.
At Camden’s line, keep thy steely gaze
‘Gainst escaping toffs with stupid schemes.
A channel bridge, some bodies to be raised;
And poetic gaffes galore with clumsy themes.
So watchtowers keep your silent, weary guard.
See him escaping, blow your whistle hard!
©Keith Murphy
Categories:
shires, political,
Form:
Sonnet
Bevy of swans in a sea-fowl cloud,
starling mumuration,whispering aloud.
Wray of quail,where teal spring,
tiding of magpie,as larks nesting, cling.
Nightingale watch a hover of crows,
herd of wrens,hosting sparrows.
Flight of doves,lapwing deceit,
charm of finches,swallows sweet.
Kindle of kittens,knot of toads,
a yoke of oxen shed their load.
Den of snakes,skulk with fox,
shires stabled and boxed.
Business of ferrets,labour with moles,
span of mules in a string of foals.
Harrass of horse,husk of hares,
rake of colts with a stud of mares.
Drove of cattle,with a tribe of goats,
downs of sheep,pack of stoats.
Spider cluster in a thatch,
brood of game,hatched,matched
and despatched.
Categories:
shires, animals,
Form:
Rhyme
About the end of times when
Carts were hauled by Shires,
Coal was king and homes
Were heated by open fires,
A seemingly huge dark figure
From my early childhood days
As he drove his horse and cart
Through the country byways
From village to village to village
Delivering sacks of coal
To feed our coal fires, then
Each home’s heart and soul.
One hundredweight of coal
Measured into each heavy sack
Which they’d hoist off the cart
Onto a waiting broad back
To be carried to the coal shed
To be skilfully slipped
And with ease of movement
Very carefully tipped
Not a black lump wasted
As it piled on the coal heap8
For money was tight
And coal wasn’t cheap.
His horse patiently standing
By each house’s kerb side
Waiting to be led on or
For him to climb up and ride.
Hours they must have spent
Huddled on that cart seat
Muffled up for winter’s cold
Or soaking up summer’s heat.
One day suddenly, progress,
The Shire retired out to grass
The second hand liveried lorry
Shelter behind steel and glass.
Still a hard dirty job but warmer
As the world moved slowly on
King Coal was coldly murdered
And the job was virtually gone.
Just a figure from history
From a simpler, slower age
Not even meriting a foot note
On a social history primer’s page.
Is there a niche in time and space
Where a coal man and his horse,
Waggon piled with sacks, eternally
Trundles his once essential course
Categories:
shires, change, history, nostalgia,
Form:
Rhyme
Reminders of looking back the other way
Impossible to recall 'just' the way we were
Took the road few travel, wiser for it today
And yesterday, took a road to travel away
From here, the angels tears and the silver fir,
Now the Pacific rim sat motionless, dull and silent
No longer quaking, but aware our departure
We found beauty there, but never relent
To find it here, as the molten magma is sent
To engulf in flames those who didn't capture
Magnificence of nature quite as concisely as he,
But trust me, went down that other road too
We find it full of bears, demons, the crocodile be
A terrifying thing, tearing and shredding what we
Dream of at night, under the stars, down to two
The two of us at last out here in the Shires
So much more mellow of a meadow, and a fir
Or two to rest under still, contemplate desires
That still beat in our hearts, perhaps us liars
Find peace, in the end, just me and her.
We took the road...
-Frost Inspired ;)
Categories:
shires, adventure, love, nature, travel
Form:
Rhyme
My mam used to clean at Billy Bulson’s farm,
A magical place of mystery and charm,
With geese that cackled and hissed and every day.
Without my mam I’d have run away
As they charged with flapping wings.
I was really scared of those fierce big things
With their open beaks and lowered necks.
It really hurt if you got a peck.
But through the flock and into that house of joy
Where I was treated like their own little boy.
A passage was guarded by a stuffed dog fox
Watching the world from his glass walled box.
I knew he watched with his beady eye
And I always walked respectfully by.
Out in the orchard with their daughter Jill,
Amazingly we were never ill,
Stuffing our faces with fruit on the ground
Fallen from the trees growing all around.
Apples and pears and plums and cherries,
In the kitchen garden currants and berries.
Once a week was butter making day.
Mrs Bulson would separate and skim the whey
Then pour the rest in her electric churn
Driven by a rubber belt that made it turn
Producing yellow butter fresh and creamy
I can taste it still - so fresh and dreamy.
She’d shape it all into little square pats
With a pair of special wooden bats
Sometimes there was a little pat for me
To carry it home and eat with our tea.
They still had Shires working on the crops.
Those old boys just never seemed to stop.
I can still feel the thrill deep inside
That first time Billy Bulson let me ride
Holding me on that Shire’s back
As it plodded its powerful track
Turning the potatoes out of the land
To be grasped by the picker’s hands.
The more they picked the more their pay,
Paid by the bag, not by the day.
Close my eyes and I’m back there still
Guzzling the fruit with my friend Jill
When mam cleaned at Billy Bulson’s farm
A magical place of mystery and charm
Categories:
shires, childhood, happiness, memory,
Form:
Rhyme
Be not drawn in other directions be not' for such' or other cause
Or any external wars.' Make fixing your country the ultimate
Chore..Call out corruption.' And examine your laws return
To God give Him trust, He will guard the shires and
Your soverign shores.'
Categories:
shires, allegory, bible, christian, freedom,
Form:
Rhyme
The Thames
Pretends
To be
A sea,
But knows
It flows
Through towns
And gowns
And spires
And shires.
(One last one.)
Categories:
shires, nonsense,
Form:
Footle