Accrington Poets.

[kestrelx]

I just wondered if there are any wordsmiths/poets on this site who'd like to craft some lines,on line,about and for the benefit of the folks of Accy.Here is one I wrote...

"Accrington Stinks,well it used to at least,
down by the river stink,really made me blink it did,
walking by the Hynburn stream,nothing fresh,just a smelly mess,
coz Accrington Stinks well it used to at least - down by the Hynburn made my eyes sting...
from the pen and ink of the Broad Oak waste pipe...chemical smellies poured out of pipes,filled the air with something ripe.
But above the factory the stream ran clear and one day went to fish in the clean cool pool,
there was a flash of silver,out dashed a trout and swallowed me worm,hook line and sinker,
That night,had a fish for tea and the Accrington stink was a fishy one - oh dear."
Kestrel X 2004.

[Chelle]

Hey Kestrel I write poetry too... but I dunno if I'd write something about Accrington :/ lol

[kestrelx]

Hi Chelle,poetry is just a laugh for me,a creative way of expressing something to myself and the world - playing with words etc. I was suprised to see a prog last week called "Slam Poets" on BBC 3 were people were competing on stage with poetry and prizes!Hey you should write poetry about were you live i.e. Accrington.

[Chelle]

lol My poetry tends to be lyrical... although I have written a few about other people. Entered comps etc. to have it published... had 3 replies but I never bothered to send back my permission form 'cause it was in the USA nvm! hehe I do write some poetry that I've done for a laugh... although it starts out as song lyrics (I write those too) which can be quite funny. Would like to read more of yours on Accy if you have any? xx

[kestrelx]

I just made that one up off the top of my head well i had the idea for a song called "Accrington Stinks" but that never saw the light of day - the poem was the easy option - it used to stink down at the fish market as well - but the smell of Accrington is very fresh compared to what it was and were i am.

I don't really have anymore poetry on paper(though some songs) I make poems up for the hell of it...

It's good that you got 3 replies for your poetry from USA,what was the prize?

I don't really have many poems written down but I may make some up about Accrington and post them here soon!

[Chelle]

I can't remember what the prize was now... I know that you could have been chosen for publishing out of all the entries,if you were good enough... but I think it was cash... about $500 dollars? I never sent my reply in though... and my mum lost one of the letters and found it a few months after it had to be sent in lol

[kestrelx]

Most unlucky I 'd say I made a poem up this morning about Accrington and here it is....



THE COPPICE

Look at the coppice covered in trees,a quiet place for the birds and the bees,

Hear the Magpies chatter and the squirrels natter,in amoungst the green pines,

Take a walk up the path,through the damp grass –but did you know once the coppice was bald…

Bald and bare,all was short wirey grass with bushes scattered across the way,were me and my mates used to play,us little kids played hide and seek,made us happy when things were bleak.Oh what fun it was on bits of cardboard,we used to slide down those sloping banks,that’s when the coppice was bald…

We stood on the monument looking over town,in the early morning with the fresh air in our faces,or late at night when the dark cloaked the land,when electric lights,like diamonds,spread out across the earth below,Accrington,Blackburn,Clayton Le Moors,Darwen too,to the North Whalley – and Pendle Hill,like a big fat belly rising out of the black,that’s when the coppice was bald…

Rising like a lark,fluttering like a pipit,running,bouncing like a puppy Whippet,in the sun when the summer was bright,we kids swam in the lodge at the edge of the path,like a blast of cold water over Mr Jones daughter,then the sun was going down,we walked back into town,that’s when the coppice was bald – there were no trees rustling in the breeze,then the council decided it needed green,so they sent up the workmen,digging holes down on their knees,planting the saplings … that’s when the coppice was bald!!!

:engsmil:

So Chelle have you any poems you would like to post.

[Tealeaf]

9/10....it would have been 10 except for your constant references to those of us who are follically challenged.

[kestrelx]

Thanks Tealeaf - but they say Bald men are sexy lol...wasn't Patrick Stewart voted one of the Sexiest men in the world a few years ago?

[Acrylic-bob]

I liked that, especially the last verse and the tag line. You should write more.

[WillowTheWhisp]

That really brought back memories of my childhood.

I once tried to write a dialect poem about Accrington but it wasn't very good. It was called "Muck and Mills". If I can find it I may pluck up courage to post it.

[kestrelx]

Cheers Bob,that just came off the top of my head when Chelle asked if I had anymore.Yep Willow it made me bring up some memories.Do people still swim in those lodges,also the quarry,well it doesn't exist anymore? Probably not?I would like to read your poem!

[Wynonie Harris]

OK, here's my effort. Sorry if it doesn't scan too well.

THE GHOSTS OF PEEL PARK

Standing at the bottom of Avenue Parade
stars shine and the moon is high
Was that a roar I heard in the distance
or the wind's mournful, haunting sigh?

Walking up Water Street in the cool night air
suddenly l hear a faint sound
Could it be the clamour of voices
away on the outskirts of town?

Looking up to the sky at the top of the hill
in the distance I see a strange sight
Is it the lamps on Alice Street
or a row of phantom floodlights?

So, with fast-beating heart, I rush up the street
and arrive at Peel Park at last
but darkness and silence are all around
it's only the ghosts of the past.


....ah well, back to the day job.

[WillowTheWhisp]

ooh Wynonie that sent a shiver down my spine.

When I was a child we lived in Sultan Street and I remember my mother saying she had to be sure to get back home from shopping before "Stanley loosed" on match days because there was a sea of people heading down into town and it was next to impossible to walk up the street against the tide.

[Acrylic-bob]

Will you listen to you lot....Talk about hiding lights under bushels...This Town and it's people amaze me, time and time again! And the deeper you look the more fascinating it gets.

Well done Wynonie, are there any more? Willow, if you don't post your poem I will send my assistant, the lovely Rubella, round to criticise your curtains.