'Write Thirteen Beautiful Lines' Poetry Contest: Sponsored by Constance La France (April/May 2025).
Where hills are alive
with imagination
carried by clouds
toward their destination
Lakeland fells and sheep
Liverpool of cormorants
Wales with its dragons
Yorkshire and terrier dogs
in Lancashire towns
of redbrick and cobbled folk
who worked with bare hands
to build a much better world
beneath these beautiful skies.
Lancashire the land i love
with Gods blessing from above
a land where I was meant to be
a land where all are strong and free
With history told down through the years
my Lancashire of love and tears
though years ago, we had to part
your place is still within my heart
I will not see you again
but memories will ease my pain
I will always dream of you
“we won the war of the roses too”
Roy Broadbent Fuller of Lancashire
of poetry never did tire
With a style of didatic
he sounded it with a sel-critique
'JACK the DAW' (In Lancashire Dialect)
Struttin’ and Puffin’ his big chest out,
The streets all clear, when he’s about.
Inside all’doors, waitin’ for’ thump
Families quake and animals jump!
Mam goes to’ door, money in hand
Shakin’ as she stares at his black neck band,
She dares’nt look in his blue black eyes
They say there’s murder an’ spent-up lies.
We just hear his voice, raucous and loud
“Your rent, your rent!” he shouts out proud
An’ all the street kids play
An’ all the street kids say,
Jack the Daw walks down the street
Jack the Daw with his great big feet
Jack the Daw, if he looks your way
Run away, run away, run away, run away!
Context,
Boer War , South Africa
The Battle for Spion Kop
Slag van Spioenkop
Ladysmith , Natal
23 January 1900
British forces under the command
Sir Redvers Buller
Dug in to take the higher ground
on Spion Kop
In order to engage the Boer army
encircling below
Lead by General Louis Botha
The rest is written down in history, folklore and infamy
And a famous football club's stand named after it
Dedicated to it's fallen
2nd Battalion Lancashire Fusseliers
243 Dead
1250 Casualties
I write this only because,
i myself visited this hilltop graveyard paid homage and knelt before it's unkept memorial upon it
And instead of feeling what i thought
i should be the travesty, horror and
utter futility of war
And whilst leaving took 1 final glance over my shoulder at the vista and panorama only to be over come by the sheer unadulterated serenity and beauty
And i left perversely thinking what a beautiful place to die
Death has a hell of a lot to live up too
I'm not sure who you were speaking to but the man in the greatcoat assumed it was him and he could have been 'the thin man' or 'the third man' but not the 'bird man of Alcatraz'
see me and
it's jazz painting by Dali
or possibly
Toyah slings Goya on the canvas
she's a lass is our Toyah
but is she from Lancashire?
doubtful.
Tracey
will you race me
around your unmade bed?
There's
nothing peculiar in being peculiar
the peculiar thing is it's not.
There worra a young lad called Albert,
He were allus up t' no good,
He'd stand ont corner by t'lamp post,
sparkin' 'is clogs like mad,
'til day he were caught by 'is Dad.
Dad said to him, now stop it,
Tha's wearin' out tips my lad,
an I'll 'ave t' up n fix 'em
wi me hammer n me last,
Then 'e gave Albert a clip round earhole,
wi' edge o' his cloth cap as he passed.
Albert thought sparkin' were painful,
holdin' 'is ear, n sheddin' a tear
So he buggered off in t' next street,
mekkin sure is Dad weren't near.
In Lancashire dialect
© Dave Timperley 18 July 2017.
Blue Cheese
There is Cheshire, Red Leicester, Emmental and Brie,
Double Gloucester and Edam, a delight for all to see,
Stilton, Caerphilly, or Cheddar mature and mild,
Lots of subtle flavours to drive my taste bud’s wild.
There is Lancashire, Wensleydale or Derby to please,
So why, oh’ why, would you serve me Blue Cheese?
That smelly Blue cheese you know I cannot stand,
Give me Shropshire Mild, or something rather bland.
I don’t want that stinking dairy, in my salad box,
Opening the lid to an odour of sweaty socks.
So, hear my request I am begging of you please,
No more, no more, of that smelly blue cheese.
Inside a barn long since made into a chapel,
The congregation sits on wooden pews among the calves.
Maybe others a dog or a cat or two,
Creatures two legged,
And ones who stand on all fours come to rest...
Perhaps play and eat their meals for the day.
Man, woman, beasts together in a special hollowed place
Bow before and PRAISE THE LORD.
For none can forget that our Savior was born in a mere stable.
In tribute to that special night and that special morning,
Now here in Farm Chapel you can hear the angels saying,
"GLORY TO GOD IN THE HIGHEST, to baby Jesus our
King of all that is and is to come. AMEN."
Southfield Chapel is located in Lancashire England
Farm Chapel is the first of two poems written at the
prompting of my beloved friends Pastor Barry and Dorothy Dickinson.
A Son's Tribute (spoken at my Dad's Funeral)
A quiet man,
A family man,
A proud to be a father man.
A handy man,
A lively man,
Not known to be a dandy man.
A humble man,
Clear thinking man,
A need to know what's what man.
A warm man,
An organized man,
A man who had a plan, man.
A sailing man,
A camping man,
I'll do it as I said I would man.
A fair man,
An I'll be there man,
I'll help you if I can man.
A deep man,
A neat man,
A standards keep us straight man.
A thinking man,
Light drinking man,
I have responsibilities man.
A technical man,
Get things done man,
A lovely to see him smile man.
A husband man,
Love my family man,
I'll be there when it matters man.
A brother man,
An Uncle man,
A wonderful Grandad all these years man.
A Blackburn man,
A Lancashire man,
Without a northern accent man.
A Rovers fan,
Real football man,
Legendary goalie in his time man.
A gentle man,
A driving man,
Keep going till we get there man.
A homely man,
Come on in, kind of man,
And now, in our hearts and minds man.
A lovely man,
A loving man,
I'd like to go on, but I don't think I can...
There was young man from Lancs
who had a strange way of saying thanks.
With his mate Billy
they'd do something silly
like rolling in the mud down the banks.
Gregg is greatly revered by his younger brother,
For his basketball shooting, skill and dexterity,
He was born Nov. 1996 in Leigh in Lancashire,
And is a 2.0 player with much junior activity.
In 2010 at Lord Taverners Nat. Junior Champs,
He was the most improved Under 15 player,
And at the GB Junior Summer Camp, amps,
He was also the most greatly improved player.
He became a part of the England North team,
In 2012, and they won Sainsbury’s School gold,
And at the Under 22 European Champs mean,
He helped to collect the bronze with his hold.
In Japan at the Kitakyushu Cup, Junior Men’s,
2014, his basketball team won the silver medal,
And in Rio they won the bronze, had gold pens:
Gregg enjoys playing drums for his twaddle.
When Tom was ten he was told,
To give up swimming, outrightly,
‘Cos it would get him nowhere,
But at 12 he swam the Channel.
He has an intellectual disability,
And is in the new class of S14,
Which he embraced 14 aged,
To join the ParalympicGB team.
Commonwealths were his debut,
Glasgow 2014, Tom won bronze,
For the 200m, the freestyle event,
To make quite an entry splash.
And still in Glasgow, the Worlds,
2015, for Tom another bronze,
In the 200 metres freestyle again,
Which he did celebrate totally.
Then 2016 and the Euro Champs,
Took him onto Rio 2016 in Brazil,
Because he secured two medals,
A gold, a bronze: individual, free.
In Rio Tom hit a high silver note,
To take a second placement fair,
In the men’s 100 metres freestyle,
With a time of 1:56:58 minutes.
He comes from Rawtenstall town,
Which is in hilly Lancashire county,
In the furnished Rossendale Valley,
And has set three British records.
54.79 secs for the 100m freestyle,
1.57.27 mins for freestyle 200m,
And in the 200 individual medley,
2.15.65 minutes: all UK records.
Stewart’s accident almost amputated his leg,
So now he’s a para-shooter from Bacup,
Which is a town in Lancashire, English peg,
He trains at Blackburn RPC to rise up.
In Glasgow’s Commonwealth Games 2014,
He came fifth and was chosen for Rio,
He was born on the 2nd day of July in 1966,
And model making is his top hobby, bio.
On this St Georges Day
In 1940 On this St Georges Day,
It was my wife Frances' birthday.
Born in The City of Salford,
Up Lancashire way.
76 years have now gone by,
Now I get my chance to say.
Frances, I love you more
With each passing day
Especially on this St Georges Day.
© Dave Timperley April 2016
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