(SR) 3: Lancashire Rose
Lancashire Rose
LANCASHIRE ROSE
He who tells or hears this tale shall reach the same place
Bhishma
*********
BURNLEY
You must know Burnley to see it’s beauty,
Twixt Hamildon & Pendle where she lies,
Thou fertile region of the North contree,
Of Bingo halls & market stalls & pies,
Of cobblestones & Bovis Homes & lanes,
Of working men & the working men’s pride
Of balmy days & snowy greys & rains
& blatantly the world’s best football side.
You must know Burnley to see it’s beauty,
The arches & the chimneys & Turf Moor,
The stately halls of Gawthorpe & Towneley,
The station & the bus-stop & mi door –
You can keep yer New Yorks, Delhis & Rome
At the end of the day there’s no place like home!
*********
FIRST KISS
I was a six-year-child when first I felt
My soul entwining with the fairer sex,
Em’rald-eyed neighbor, who, one starry night
Said, “Have you ever kiss’d a lass before?”
“Of course!” I yelp’d, but grandmas do not count
& as we kiss’d she giggled at my lips
Closed shut & clamp’d by frigid innocence,
& said, “No, not like that, ya kiss like this!”
& show’d me how my mouth should act a fish.
Soon sprinting home, embarrass’d at the deed,
That never was repeated I believe,
For looking back, I was, in tender days
Contented with the kisses of grandmas
& nee-owwwwing with little Corgi Cars.
*********
PENDLE HILL
With a vigour that hordes the squirrel stores,
Fair sommer’s morning drives us to the moors,
Twix’ scatter’d wracks of industry’s decay,
‘Along the auld canal I made fair way,
Then, to some heathen sentinel upwind,
Treading rough fields, the roads, the world behind.
Shelt’ring from northern breeze I lounge supine
On whale-back’d peak, thou solit’ry Pennine;
All in the misty vale an entity –
Slashing terraced rows round Pendle City,
Whose galaxy of lights shatters the gloam,
& one of them’s the hearthstar of my home.
Forever, here, my spirit shall abide,
Fair-feather’d by this precious countryside.
*********
GANNOW TOP
I learnt to swim right at the top o’ Rosegrove
& got a ten-meter badge for mi speedos,
I was seven or so, & two years later,
Went off wi’ mi class to the baths, n’ that.
So, as I’m sat down wi’ mi mates on the bus,
A poo started moving, a real turtle-head
& instead of rushing straight to the toilet
I thought that I’d get changed first, n’ that.
Then, lo & behold, on mi cubicle floor
That self-same poo plopp’d down all goo & stinkin,’
So mi teacher made me clean the buggar up,
Then sent me to sit in the stands, n’ that,
Where I waited mi teasing classmates with dread,
But never, to their credit, was one word said!
*********
MI MUM’S
Ah breeze in, kiss mi Mum, butter some bread,
“A phone call, letter, we thought you were dead!”
“Mum, chasin’ destiny, I’ll do great feats,
But you treat me just like Abbey treat Keats!”
“Yer no son of mine get a proper job,
Yer nowt but a no-good, bone idle slob!”
That same old twitterin’ in mi ear lobe,
I shit, shower, shave, raid mi Dad’s wardrobe…
Down the Burnley Miners, men dodge their wives
Best bitter’s well cheap & bonhomie thrives.
“Oi thats mi shirt!” “Owdo Dad? “Owdo Son!”
“How was London?” “Funny!” When the drinking’s done
Back at the ranch Mam curses bingo numbers,
Dad snoring thro’ his twelve bitter slumbers.
*********
ME
I love the smell of garlic on mi finger,
& The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe,
Can’t stand a tuneless karaoke singer,
Or pain whenever stubbing any toe.
I’m angry when the chippies charge for ketchup
& Burnley losing to a stupid goal,
I’ll never try an internet match-up,
& always save spiders from the plug-hole.
It’s joy to hike about, up hillsides camping
& daft to have a shave & leave a tash,
Its excellent to DJ, vibes upramping
& buzzin’ when mi pockets cough-up cash.
‘Cos when I’m not writin’ mi poetry
The little things in life are what make me!
*********
ARRAN STREET
As a poignant time-lapse of the soul
Removes my child-hood street-by-street,
I brood upon an artificial meadow,
Where recently dilapidated terraces
Were brick-by-brick demolish’d, levell’d low.
Once, with life, these districts resounded,
But all is fading now, like fallen flies;
Grandmas, Grandads, Cousins, Aunties, Uncles –
A generation bounden in photographs –
Back then they laughed & cried like me & you.
My own street seems to have survived the cull –
But for how long? If others of its ilk
Were deemed ungodly, surely snobbish time
Shall banish mine beneath some grassy mound.
*********
MI’ DAD
Yes, I’m really glad yer mi dad, Dad,
Yer the best that a young lad could have, Dad,
Far better than the king o’ Baghdad,
Yer mi dad, Dad!
Aye, I’m really glad I’m yer lad, Dad
Cos I get to crash in yer pad, Dad
& chat to yer when I’m all sad, Dad
Yer mi dad, Dad!
Yer always so bloody well clad, Dad
& make the best eggs that I’ve had, Dad
But yer brews, bloody ‘ell, they’re so bad, Dad
Yer mi dad, Dad!
& better still, yer mi mate, mate
& I love yer, an that’s fuckin’ great!
*********
ON THE PISS
one of my my mates is a right piss head
& he said are ya coming down town fir a piss up
but i said its pissin down, mate, im not coming out
& he goes stop pissing about get yoursell’ down town
so i did, had a few pints, needed a piss
& i said ter lads, lads im off for a piss
anyway this lanky streak of piss were there
coke head n all, a right piss tekker
you could tell he was well pissed up
& he’s started tekking piss out mi new top
said it was a piss poor effort & his were better
so told him to piss off, finished my slash
& by the time i’d got back to mi mate I were well pissed of
he said dont worry about it, damo, lets just get pissed
*********
HOT-POT PIT-STOP
Up Manchester Road, b’ Shanks’s Pony,
Inter Scotts Park, then on up t’ Summit
T’pay mi Grandparents a swift visit
Fer a bowl o’ the best broth in Burnley.
Grampa potters about ‘is garden shed,
Granma slaps th’icin on’ slice from market,
Cake crumbs fall on mi old Batman carpet,
Big piles o’ comics & games under’ bed.
Wow! Space Marine, Gnasher Badge, Hairy Hand,
Toy Soldiers, Test Match & mi old Spectrum –
“What fun,” said Gramps, “We ‘ad back in those days…”
“Yer tea’s ready!”
“Mmmm…them dumplins look grand.”
“Do you like ‘em son?”
“Aye Gran, I love ‘em.”
& polish seven platefuls in ‘er praise.
*********
BINGO LINGO
“…Eyes down fer yer full house!” the camp caller croons,
“Kelly’s Eye, on its own, the number one,
& its thee & me, two & three, twenty three,
Heinz varieties, five & seven, fifty-seven…”
Mary glances nervously at Eileen Pointer’s sheet
“& its Sherwood Forest, all the threes, thirty three,
You’ve been & gone at eight & one, eighty one!”
Tension, frustration, tutting & twitching,
“A fumph & a duck, five & two, fifty two,
& its those legs, eleven!”
The room fills with wolf-whistles…
“Who didn’t flush the toilet? It’s a dirty loo, thirty two,
Ooo! It’s the top of the shop, blind ninety…”
“EEE-YAAAAA!” screams Mary Pie, spilling her drink.
“Buggar,” puffs Eileen, “I only needed seventeen.”
*********
TO SIR NICK
Lord of all Barlick, MBE, MBO, BO,
Bachelor of the Farts, Super Chick-in
Puck-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
Nick, ‘diddliddling,’ my bestest friend,
Do you remember our eighteenth summer,
It felt that the good times would never end
& Barry Island the only bummer.
That Ynnysddu flat, weed, laughs & wimmin,’
‘Blowin’ a reefer on Salisbury plain,’
Seven chicks in Newquay, soapbar, swimmin’
Our first Glasto – you gotta go again.
Saw… Bjork’s Debut, Newport’s Supersonics,
Peer Gynt down Stratford, Burnley rule Wembley,
Massive crowd in Brixton for the Manics
& that mad, May night near Monmouth, where we
Sat with the Roses and their album new,
“Don’t think it’s as good as the first,” said you.
*********
AMSTERDAMINNIT
We trawl the long-haul of the motorway
& pick up more pot-heads past Birmingham,
Jelly wobbles on the waves to Calais,
Mojo pukes in the lowlands near the ‘Dam.
We rush to relax in the smoky cafes;
Try Purple Haze & buy Sensemelia,
Each stella & space-cake skanks up the daze
Of a mushroom gilded psychedelia.
We tram through ‘Dam to the sleezy district,
Pluck up Dutch courage for ‘Sucky Fucky,’
Crack-ed whores slink at doors, wink’d to be pick’d-
It’s a shame when you pay to get lucky…
Skunk’d-up, smasha fuck, zombie bus, bongtubes,
Grass stash’d up Nicky’s ass, Richie’s itchy pubes.
*********
CLUBBINIT
“Reyt, where next ?” “West Bams on at the Orbit…”
“Nah man, too late…” “The Hac’…” “Nah, the beers shit…”
“Sankeys…”“…Nah man, it’s closed down…” “Wigan Pier…”
“Beer’s well dear…” Nick steps in, “Lads, listen ‘ere’
“Lets ‘it Blackpool, find a shit B & B,
& pick up some fit chicks from a Hen Party…”
“Nah, bin there, worn the crap hat, c’mon team,
Let’s unleash these libidos down at Cream!”
Razzin’ the freeway, babblin ‘bout the Dam,
With Techno Bangin – BAM-BAM-BAAM-BAAM-BLAM!
“Mint mix, Ricky Dee,” “Angels ninety-six!”
”…Ee-yar Damo” “…Ta Mojo, Oos next?” “…Nicks!”
We park by Sefton Park, “Owdo lasses!”
Beauties cruise by, “Hey cuties, nice asses…”
Mumble Words 