Wellies Poems

soul surrender

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

Paddy Stopped at Empoli

In Ireland wellies sell and wells are holy:
our names are legion in the roll of honour.
We have a singing priest (Sinead O'Connor),
and though we didn't think of ravioli,
we DID produce an extra-special goalie,
the legendary hero Packie Bonner,
renowned as Glasgow Celtic's Number Oner.
We're not restricted to our frontiers, solely:
the land of Stradivarius and Stromboli
embraced one of the lads, and did so wholly!
(The place is EM-poli, and not Em-PO-li:
you'll find it easy if you say it slowly.)
The Church of Rome, today, would be so lowly
if not for San Donato, our boy Donagh.

a Sunday eleven year ago

Any Sunday 2015


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

Out in the snow

Winter is so cold, snow is on the ground,
sky is looking grey bare trees all around.
Leaves have fallen there's a cold breeze in the air,
pretty glowing snowflakes are fluttering everywhere.
People building snowmen and having a snowball fight,
sitting cosy by an open fire on a cold winters night.
Children on sleighs sliding through the snow,
pretty white snowflakes makes the community glow.
People making angels in the snow so soft and white,
remember wellies for your feet you don't want to catch frost bite.
Going on winter holidays some people like to ski,
packing wooly hats and gloves as cold the days will be.
I do love making footprint trails in the soft whit snow,
snowflakes fall upon my face making my rosy cheeks glow.
If your bored in the winter, got nowhere to go,
put on your hat and gloves then go out in the snow.

To Sock Or Not To Sock

He wore his desert wellies
With suitably besocked feet 
As he strode manfully along 
The rain driven wet street.
Britain in the summer time,
Ten climates in one day,
So the British stiff upper lip
Really is the only way
To extract maximum enjoyment
From such a variable clime 
And to spend hours pondering
Is just a waste of time. 
So we wear our Desert Wellies
Ensuring we’re not being rude
By appearing on the street
With feet that are nude.
A man can maintain his dignity
Ensure his social stock
So long as each sandalled foot
Be modestly clothed in sock.

Raindrops

Brooding nimbus darken the sky
suddenly clouds burst
Rain drops thunder down
then subside to a gentle pitter patter
on the Perspex  conservatory roof

I watch as raging rivulets of rain
run down the windows
and hear the old drains gurgling
at the deluge of water

I peer outside as the pitter pattering ceases
to see the sun
She’s playing peek a boo from behind a cloud

Huge puddles have formed on the stone flags
Millie, my young granddaughter grabs my hand
“Come on grandma, grab your wellies” she giggles
“Let’s go out and jump in the puddles”..
And so we did!

An Aardvark Walked Into IKEA

An aardvark walked into IKEA
Why he did that I have no idea
Ignoring their calls
To try the meatballs
He searched for some ants out the rear

He does ‘civilised’ when he’s able
So found a flat pack dining table
He’d built one - not ever
In inclement weather
And thus it was rather unstable

You don’t see aardvarks wearing wellies
While stuffing ants into their bellies
And if he should drown
While slurping ants down 
Would it show up on closed circuit tellies?

He wouldn’t be humiliated
Embarrassment is over rated
The ground was now boggy
And aardvark was soggy
His hunger was not to be sated

So he snuck in to get meatballs - Swedish
He was wet so they gave him a free dish
He ate them real quick
And then he got sick 
Had somebody done something fiendish?

The police came and said, “Well I Never,
Was it IKEA food or the weather?”
They found lots of clues
They thought they could use
But they struggled to put them together.

Jack In the Green

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

Squishing and Squelching

All night long
rain bucketed down
When going out this morn
Water ‘twas almost everywhere
Squishing 
and
Squelching 
As
Seagulls swam without a care
though not a fish in sight
My feet in giant wellies
were damp and cold
as well they might
Squishing
and
Squelching
without a care
Too much water everywhere
So swam back home
to my nice comfy chair
breakfasting
on kippers
with a pot 
of Earl Grey tea
No more 
Squishing
nor
Squelching
in the rain  
for me…

NO 1246 NEW POEM ONLY	
Sponsor Brian Strand

Warm Wellies

Warm Wellies 

I asked what you want for Christmas 
And you replied "warm wellies" 
I thought about that for a second 
And how they are just like you

So warm and comforting,
Dependable and safe 
Less shiny now, but never to me,
Made all the more charming with their cracked armour from storms past,
Forever protecting from the bad weather and  ahead

I might even get red spotty ones 
Just to hear that chuckle of yours,
That propels me back to a girl again
Looking up into those eyes,
Crinkled at the sides with laughter,

My favourite.

So yeah, dad. I'll get you those wellies.
Those wellies that are just like you.

Etty Kett

Who the hell is Etty Ket
To keep interfering in my life?
I keep hearing its not Etty Ket
From my very soon to be wife.
I bet she was a Victorian
With a long pointy nose
Red flanellette bloomers
And long stripey hose.
One of those very worthies
Who, year after year
Just couldn't resist
That urge to interfere.
Oh the embarrassments
At odd times of my life, 
Eating soup with the wrong spoon
Or fish with the wrong knife. 
 I've laughed when I shouldn't, 
Wished that I was dead,
Stood there in horror
Face glowing scarlet red,
Having absently committed 
Some perceived heinous crime,
Just an ignorant peasant
Trapped by the rules of 
A more stiff and formal time.
Etty Ket thanks to you
I've gone through times of stress
But now I've reached an age
When I couldn't care any less.
So now I wear desert wellies
All the year round
And I wear  odd socks
When a pair can’t be found,
Spill food down my pullie
And don’t give a damn
Take it or leave it
For I am what I am.
Life’s too short to worry
You’re dismissed out of hand,
Farewell Etty Kett, get back
To your Cloud Cuckoo Land.

Conkers, Bonkers

Off us two went, beneath the trees,
that crackled and snappled
in Autumn’s crisp breeze,
our wellies slish-sloshing through the pelting rain,
plip-plopping, plip-plopping
again and again.

The thunder it rumbled,
and the wind it blew
but on and on,
the adventurers, two,
rustled through leaves
till we came to a tree,
and the treasure it threw -
just for you, and for me.

Dark red-brown shiners
were there to be gathered,
the bigger the better -
that’s all that mattered!
We took them in armfuls,
filled carrier bags,
then we strung them on strings -
“Oh, what fun we had!”

Crashing and bashing,
we let the strings fly,
around our knuckles,
and up, to the sky!
Knocked them together,
till they spun around,
in a smackety wallop -
one fell to the ground!
One of the shiners
was all split into two,
twas tough on the outside,
but inside, all goo!

The champion, victorious,
announced that she won
and I was defeated, but still, it was fun!
Conkers, all bonkers,
Oh, what a game!
And when next year comes
we will do it, again.

Suzy Davies, 2017. Copyright. All Rights Reserved.

Weather You Want It Or Not

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

Damned Poetry

Poetry be damned 
     
The grey coloured straightjacket of poetry
I have, like, Houdini freed me of these shackles
flowers, loveliness and mendacities.
An unbearable burden getting buried by a ton
of rotten blooms. I am free!
Fly from tree to tree not seeing the foliage, 
soar higher than anyone before so elevated,
the blue planet is a bauble on a Christmas tree.
I land in a potato field with ordinary colours and 
brown soil and when flowers from Amsterdam 
are in season I`m free to wade in a muddy pool,
wear yellow wellies towing on a string a tiny sailboat
that (as by magic) becomes a three mastered schooner.
All this because I ain´t no poet but a writer and can
use double negatives if I so wish
(from my book When Beelzebub Ruled)
 Poetry and vignettes)

Billy Boots

“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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