Short Wellies Poems

“Billy Boots”, was a comic strip in the seventies
British it was, it referred to rubber boots regularly
Wellingtons or Mukluks
Useful for ducks
Momma wouldn't let me outside without my wellies...

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Spring is late in coming and March is chilly,
England’s weather seems to be getting harsher,
Friends had snow and here it is cold and raining…
Easter in wellies!*

* Wellington boots

For Craig’s Sapphic Stanza contest...

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Dry stone walls
And rambling lanes
Fell ponies with six foot manes 
Farmers at the market with sheep  to sell
Snow in the winter blocking shap fell
Wellies in the kitchen 
Straw in the hall
Not forgetting the barometer on the wall....

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A manor house on a hill
Petit-fours & cheese trolley
These small things...
A whiskey glass clinking
Musk of ancient tweed
 wet dogs by the fire
A front door strewn with wellies 
and autumn leaves
These are the small things 
of a perfect country afternoon...

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Wellington boots are useful things
You wear them on your feet
They’re good at keeping water out
But don’t retain the heat
So if you go out walking 
Through puddles, streams and lochs
Take my advice, make sure you wear
Two pairs of woolly socks 

© John W Fenn  16-04-2009...

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The pig goes oink,
The cow goes moo,
The farmer carries buckets of smelly stuff and poo,

The farmer pulls on wellies
A raincoats and a hat
Taking care not to get run down flat

Here comes a wild tractor,
Flying madly out the barn
Driven by the pig and cow from Spitalfields farm......

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Hail, snow, ice cold sleet,
Fur lined wellies,cosy feet.

Wind gusting,like an arctic blast,
Wayward brollies, flying past.

Hot sun shining,ice cone treat,
Sand so hot, burning feet.

All this weather,in one day,
One thing more,left to say.

Enjoy your hols,
Your in the UK.

31/3/2022...

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My Wellies

You would not recognise me today
My skin is olive when not tanned
My eyes are avocado
As God planned

You would not recognise me today
My head wrap keeps the cold away
In France they would sing and dance
And there would be no second chance

You would not recognise me today
My sense of humour kept at bay
Unless beneath my coat you see
My royal crown adorn Wellies !...

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Sunday

Long is Sunday, empty streets
a tunnel of silence,
damp pavement, water trickles
into gutters.

Burnt matches, fag butts and
yesterday leave form a rust
brown dike, it bursts and floods
tiny pebbles-

flowers on the window sills
admire sift rain on glass.
A life spent in a pot fear
no weed and see no evil.

A black cat decides not to
cross the road,
a child in yellows wellies
dreams of tomorrow....

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Any Sunday 2015


Long is Sunday, empty streets
a tunnel of silence,
damp pavement, water trickles
into gutters.
Burnt matches, fag butts and
yesterday's leave forms a rust
brown dike, it bursts and floods
tiny pebbles-
flowers on the window sills
admire the rain on glass.
A life spent in a pot fear
no weed and see no evil.
A black cat decides not to
cross the road,
a child in yellow wellies
dreams of tomorrow....

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layers of smudged colours were dripping with rain
bowed to sunshine and did not resist quiet descent
sometimes a rainbow is painted in wax of a crayon
born from fear insecurity pain and heartfelt surrender

he resisted to reach out for wellies and brolly 
better to stand naked in the face of thunder and light
his thick skin dissolved under pressure the torrent
which became the only way to reach mind body and soul


 
...

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It rains as if an ocean has been tipped
Out of a bucket into my garden.
This is a serious downpour, ask Noah.
A wet towel in the face and my goldfish
Hide under rocks although they like water.
Rosie next door shakes her head and
Coughs at the deluge. This is like being
Born in a washing machine or running
In wellies through a swimming pool.
So before you flush me away just this;
If you want to baptize, wait until it`s dry....

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sowing a melange 
of veined wafers 
viridescent shavings
leaves upon leaves
chaotically neat
layered in tranquillity
for the theatrical show
of first feet
premiere wellies
curtain up at dawn
cue the early walkers
after a night’s forlorn

which unseen hand
spritely close
knitted the forest
cross-stitched floor
taking their time
perfectionist
preparing fallen 
Jenga sticks 
behind the scenes
but never seen
Jack in the Green...

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Rivulets of rain run down my misty window pane 
All day long the cats and dogs have teemed down
I really need some sunshine on my pale skin
Non-stop rain makes me feel chilled to the bone
Drip, drip, drip, crystal teardrops fall from the sky
Rivers are swollen I hope there is no more flooding
Overcoats and wellies are worn by everyone
Please can the rain stop falling 
Summer sunshine you are welcome to come and visit us soon

22nd July 2015...

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A farmers works not easy
It’s a hard and lonely life
I never gets to town much 
So its hard to find a wife
I’m up at dawn most every morn
A milking and a feeding
Then afternoons I’m in the fields
A hoeing and a weeding
So when the sun goes down at night
The working day be done 
I’ll go down to the sheep pen
Just to pick a pretty one
They sees me in my wellies
And they all begin to bleat
They know that I am there to give
Some special girl a treat...

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The rubber rain boots occupy
The cubbies, standing tall,
With ladybugs or butterflies
Or Superman on call.

The grown-up wellies line up, too,
In boring black or green.
I guess there's not a market for
A product in-between.

I haven't owned such rubber boots
To help my feet stay dry 
Since I was just a child
And today I realized why...

'Cause I'd prefer mine colorful
And sadly, I surmise 
They don't make ladybug-style boots
To fit my grown-up size....

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Red wellies and no pants!
you were such a funny child
hard to keep you safe from harm
as you were running wild

An easier kid there could not be
your childhood felt just fine
an adult's what you thought you were
when you were only nine

you always ran before you walked 
an urge to grow up fast
your teacher's said you answered them 
before the questions asked

now of you go ,the army life 
I'm proud as I can be
I love you more than words can say  
until eternity....

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I woke, icicles frozen to the window pane
melting as I looked out; Snow, drifts deep
on the lawn. Still crunching my toast

chilled toes wriggled into damp wellies,
school cap askew, I slam the back door-
Sinking to my bare knees, I stumble to the gate.

Along the school lane, boys snowballed
shouted and slid. At Auntie’s house I stopped,
my eyes seeking the upstairs window-

In that room, last night, another sister
new born, lay. Encore, no fraternal
frolics for’ dained, for me to play....

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Not so many years ago
I revelled in rebellion, 
Derided seniors 
In sportsmobiles,
Comfortable bellies on 
Wheels.  Waistcoat 
Fillers.  Surreptitious 
Pint spillers. 

But now I sit and scoff 
At youth and all its 
Awkward agonising 
Over lack of truth. 

Merrily I mow the lawn 
And curse because I 
Can't get my wellies on. 
And my wife orders me 
To buy a larger pair. 
And I cry 'No!' and 
She groans and I ignore 
Her as I turn the telly on
And I revel in my rebellion....

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