Beautiful Yorkshire scene disturbed as one local calls the other “a right cow bag”.
I spent World Poetry Day doing a stand at the local library services literature festival, “Turn the Page”. At one point I took part in the “Poetry Cafe”, where I read a poem about war, “The Crows, the Crows”.
Yep, it was pretty chirpy.
Here’s one from a few years back. It’s a bit more upbeat, and was published in a local anthology.
Immigrant’s Song
fee
You pick it up like a cigarette or a mint
roll it around in your fingers try the heft of it
try on the accent like a cap feel it slip
don’t you ecky thump me you dumbass thick git
fi
I have worn my flat cap, I have seen
the smiles which we provoke together
he in his cap, me in me cap
shall I get me a duffle coat or anorak
to wrap this foreign body in?
If an anorak shall I be forced
to spot trains not merely ride them?
Fo
Dare I eat a gooseberry?
Dare I – more to point –
pronounce it?
Fum
I practice my “oo” sounds
like some run round ragged rocks.
Say them now:
Duke
tulip
Dewsbury.
Eee
The next person to mention
Vietnam The Gulf Ronnie
Loredo will get a clip
right up yo’ head.
by
Oh bring me me flat cap
my bit o’ black pudding!
I shall carry white roses
I shall drink my beer strong,
my tea weak! The fish
shall lie down
with the chip, the eh
with the up.
gum
Pirate hat and book mark from the “Turn the Page” festival.
