From Wales or Suffolk, claims knowledge of literature,
looking at sheep is far from just being some easy cure;
ever heard of Dylan Thomas, of course - one of the best,
but you're nowhere near of passing such an erudite test.
Such ingratiating manner, just playing to the gallery,
why don't you just share your homilies with old Valerie;
I have no jealousy, rather, scornful of inaccurate claims,
it's amazing that you should aspire with gratuitous pains.
However, I still forgive you for your horizontal position,
perhaps in future you could give us something to rely on;
I'm glad I'm not from a 'devolved' unfortunate nation,
next you'll be telling us that autism is advantageous.
You're bright, don't like to be assisted, oh well let's laugh lol,
perhaps you can find in your heart to forgive a bitter troll.
NB. A worzel is a country bumpkin.
Categories:
suffolk, language, literature, people,
Form: Sonnet
As centuries pass
The seas advance
To take away the land.
Lost to the waves
The ancient graves
Reside below the sand.
Cliffs that crumble
Remains lay humble
Eroded by the brine.
The final tomb
To meet the spume
Clings to the shoreline.
Categories:
suffolk, england, environment, history,
Form: Rhyme
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone
Made by potters on the Suffolk Coast
The lamp was silent, it was he who groaned
I was not angry, though I may have moaned
I loved our lamps but I loved him the most
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone
For human time on earth is just a loan
And of it’s wasting, who am I to boast?
The lamp was quiet, the man it was who groaned
Like a candle when the flame is blown
His life force waned, I saw as I was close
He fell so broke our lamp, a sphere of stone
By the following week, his soul had flown
I heard the music of a distant Host
The room was quiet, my love no longer groaned
Of the love of God, I long to boast
Despite that, some devil my heart froze
Why go down and break that lamp forlorn
The lamp is silent, now I am alone
Categories:
suffolk, absence, allusion, bereavement,
Form: Villanelle
Bright coloured chalets, (very dear !)
Stand close in military line,
Along the prom, beyond the pier
“NO CYCLING”, please, observe the sign.
The waves roll in with thunderous roar
To dash the pebbles on the shore.
Incongruous lighthouse in the town
Looks out above Edwardian tiles,
Across Sole Bay and looking down
Shines out for more than twenty miles.
The pride of Suffolk, on the coast,
For many not an idle boast.
Victorian sleepy seaside town,
That’s Southwold, home of Adnam’s beer.
I stroll the prom, first up, then down,
Sip coffee on the antique pier.
I love its charms and golden sands,
Categories:
suffolk, beach, sea,
Form: Verse
The summer air was still, 'neath golden sky
where lively birdsong filled motionless trees
sun shied away while cirrus clouds passed by
air cooled and briefly birthed a subtle breeze.
The scent was fleeting, but I recognised
the petrol fumes mixed with newly mown grass
the present scene replaced before my eyes
with summer childhood from some decades past.
Dad's Suffolk Punch striping the long back lawn
mums gossipped, back and forth like free range hens
kids coming home, hands muddy, trousers torn
a snack, a drink, then off to play again.
Though age must smother youth, those times long gone
memories on the breeze will linger on
For contest 'one in five', sponsor Joseph May
January 28th 2018
Categories:
suffolk, childhood,
Form: Sonnet
The bicycle Tour of Britain
By Stanley Russell Harris
The new mad author
& A Poetry Soup honourably mentioned poet
The tour of Britain’s is coming here.
To Suffolk County, do you hear?
To see those riders is such a sight.
As they flash pass on their bikes, alright.
The switch of tyres on the road!
As those bikes pass with their load,
of humans crouched upon their bikes.
Head held down. What are they like?
Sweaty bodies smell as they pass by.
Backside’s stuck up in the Suffolk sky.
I wonder if potholes will go,
on the route, those bikes do flow.
If not I hope I’m not nearby.
When someone off their bike does fly!
As if they do, it won’t be fair.
As will pollute our Suffolk’s fresh country air!
I do believe it is Friday September 8th 2017 we will be graced by the tour of Britain cyclists. The route being from Newmarket to Aldeburgh.
Categories:
suffolk, crush, encouraging, september, travel,
Form: I do not know?
Evie, born 13th December 1994,
Used to swim competitively,
But she finds little time around,
For business management,
Which she tries to study, sound,
At the University Campus Suffolk,
Because she loves Boccia’s ground,
That’s perfect for her in pairs:
At the Euros she was renowned.
She landed a BC4 pairs silver,
At the 2015 European games,
Such that in Rio fought for a bronze,
But the pair did loose 3-2, no blames,
To Thailand which disappointed,
Both Evie and Kieran Steer with frames.
Categories:
suffolk, sports, strength,
Form: Tail-rhyme
In Suffolk where the barley grows,
Its said that folks have seven toes,
And 'round some parts of Sutton Hoo,
They've grown an extra finger too!
They're banjo players one and all,
And tractor drivers but that's not all,
They don't go far when they get wed,
They choose a cousin to bed instead;
So watch yourself and have a care,
If you should wander way down there,
I wouldn't say they're thick or slow,
But your average Snape or Ipswich joe,
Is often found with a throbbing brain,
And his jaw dropped at the sight of planes,
Or wondering where the voice is from,
Bewildered by a mobile phone,
With flowery accent and hint of snarl,
They're more or less Neanderthal,
'Orlroit Boi' they're heard to shout,
When seeing friends round and about,
Then his brain goes into overdrive:
'Oi'll see yer ammara in the pub at foive'
But it's not my personal politics,
To claim they're cider swilling hicks,
This is of course a fallacy,
(though grounded in reality ;p)
Categories:
suffolk, funny,
Form: ABC
Where the fields meet the sky,
Where ears of golden corn reach high
And winding tree-lined lanes pass by,
See the flatlands which stretch away
On a sunny, blue-sky day
With wind-blown, snow-white clouds at play.
Where sounds of Summer fill the air
And showers sprinkle water where
Young flowers flourish without care.
Where daylight overcomes the dark
To welcome the ascending lark
Whose song is England's living spark.
Country beauty fills all the view
With shades of green and golden hue
And scents of fragrant blossom too.
Old men sit here and reminisce
About those bygone days they miss,
Evenings spent in Bury and Diss.
Suffolk countryside lies at rest,
Of all East Anglia the best,
Constable-country treasure chest.
Categories:
suffolk, beauty, nature,
Form: Light Verse
Desolate sea
between steel sky and dusky shore.
A sinister mist creeps in,
adds to the grey gloom.
Flat calm.
Stillness.
Complete silence.
A seabird cries.
Shingle-rippling wavelets, bubble and make reply.
The gull continues his mournful song
evoking sea-lost souls.
Waves,
now churning time-worn pebbles,
advance,
inexorably –
a soulful seascape in shades of grey.
Others take up the seabird’s reveille.
Ghostly forms
float intangibly
on the morning mist.
Golden light, gathers on the horizon –
slow, diffuse at first, later, laser-like,
bright rays burn off the vapours.
Then,
suddenly,
in splendour,
the Sun appears.
3 January 2014
Categories:
suffolk, bird, sea, sun, weather,
Form: Free verse
We live in a little valley
once famous for cedar trees.
The name is no longer a label
but celebrates the past
as do most places in this country.
It is a place with monuments
old but not ancient,
unkempt mansions that
cling to use,
solemnized as party sites
for weddings.
We can't deny its beauty
that lives beyond the ruins,
the joyous harbor that
harmonizes generously with sun and clouds,
the great meadow, the people with their
strange but utilitarian costumes
who build their bodies along the road.
Categories:
suffolk, history, home, retirement,
Form: Free verse
I am each stone tossed around,
each droplet of sea mixed in,
pounding each stone, churning,
in time beating me smooth,
each impact, more homogenous,
trapped in the battle of land and sea,
an eternal ebb and flow,
crasshhh, another seamless brother,
broken in battle. Oh woe to
what was I, no more, lost,
treading on frequencies that can
carry I home, no longer anything but
the present, an old soul,
given new perspective in a shell
of life, born of a spore.
(Note: inspired by a shamanic walk with a friend in the dark of a winter’s night along a
stretch of wild and (nearly) untouched of Suffolk coastline.
Categories:
suffolk, adventure, faith, inspirational, introspection,
Form: Free verse
"But Motek, it's Hanukkah!
You MUST be with the FAMILY on HANUKKAH!!"
(Ok Mom, sure Mom, right away Mom, I'll come home)
"Rabbi Grossman DOES do such LOVELY services!
Every Jew in Suffolk County will be there!
Challah Bread! Matza Ball Soup! SONGS on the ACCORDION!"
(Merry, cheery, Hava Nagilla surface tension happiness...)
"Smile everyone, and I'll take a picture!!!"
(CHEESE!!!!)
"Motek... I DO wish you spoke with him already...
I mean, it's been over a YEAR now...notta WORD!
It BREAKS my heart to see you two like this..."
(I'm sorry Mom)
"I mean honest to ELOHIM!!
Brothers should LOVE each other!!!
How can you be so NONCHALANT about this???
Breaks my heart."
(Your answer lies right in front of you Mom,
You just need to know where to look...and where not to)
Categories:
suffolk, holiday
Form: Narrative