Wednesday, 9 March 2011

Poetry or Booze

It’s nivver easy being a poet

fra Yorkshire, wi an accent set to confuse

‘do ya like talkin’ wippets?’ Nah, forgedd it

let’s hit the booze;

no longer bothered by any rhymes, hooray’s or boo’s.

But Larkin, Armitage, Harrison, they upset

t’establishment - summat like Ted Hughes -

by spoutin’ swear-words in a sonnet

(even in a luv sonnet)

using bar and bitter as their muse.

A genie fra t’coal-hole’s what ya get.

No wonder Friday night’s the night to booze.

It’s reet ‘ard graftin’ as a Yorkshire poet;

done now and I’m off to turn to booze.


  1. It is a rare event online to come across a body of poetry that is so universally stimulating and profound. I am going to take time to enjoy your work.

  2. Love it!! Love it!! I'm a northern lass living down South and am starved of the delicately nuanced speech of home. Not the booze though,thankfully there's plenty of that down here. Thanks.

  3. It's just a tough, being
    a southern lad. when
    searching for the muse
    cos shandies all I've ever had
    & coq au vin, not stews

    So where's my inspiration from
    I have no dogs or grit
    & the sun breathes gently down upon
    no dark satanic pit

    So here I am a southern boy
    bereft, forlorn, no muse
    Trapped by wealth & all its toy
    and definitely no booze

    even all the wildlifes dead
    old Hughes would be struck low
    To write pomes about stocks instead
    of dear old faithful crow

    so next time you think its hard
    up north think of a southern lad
    who's tried his best to be the bard
    when shandy's all he's ever had.