Two of my poems written in our sweet sweet shibboleth, and one about my final year of education at “The terrace” which was an annex of Northcliffe in the seventies,,,, ( which I dedicate to Neil Fitzgerald; my very own “Owbiwan Kanobi”)
“- Mi fatha -“
Mi fatha wer a miner,
a big owd man wer ee,
wi an eart so bold it wer solid gold
en that wer plain te see,
al si thee yung un he wud sey
as off te pit eed trot,
mi mam ed never know if eed be
cumin bak or not.
darn denaby pit e wud gu
a dank en dusky hole,
twer not much gud fer a man like im
ee wer´nt a bloody mole!,
bak brekin werk wer hewin coyel
en freekinin dark en all,
en colliers werst neetmare
wer wen th roof ed fall,
trapt darn pits n´ha way tu dee
en that ah´m tellin thee,
tis gud advice tu stop up top
ah´l tell thee that fer free,
ah´l allus remember copper
e cem a knocking
mi mam she fear´d werst
wen ah´la sudden
a flooda tears did berst,
n´ha th pit ed got mi fatha
ee we´nt cumin om at all
twer th coliers werst neetmare
th roof.. ed ad.. a fall.
Alan nettleton.
“- Arr lass -“
Arr lass in´t no mona lisa
she´s no venus de milo en all,
she in´t a pretty picture
en she´s th size e th albert hall,
er language is streit frum sewer
en er odour is gud n ripe,
er breaths frum th devils *ole
cos she smokes a bloody pipe,
she´s gora gret big beer gut en she sez
thers nowt like e pub crawl,
she´s got no airs n grace´s
en she luvs e scrappy brawl,
bur I luv that gret big fat cow
th lass I call mi wife,
she´s mi ert n soul mi every thing
for er ad give mi life,
she´s gid mi ten little nippers
who keep mi on mi feet,
en if she wer te leave mi
mi life wud be incomplete.
alan nettleton.
“- Yesterday -“
We bound young wolves
with a palette of grey;
shackled a snowflake
in white,
we manacled the sun
unto the day;
tethered the moon
– to a night.