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Poetry for the weekend #culture

I met Jen Coley at a soirée of music, poetry and spoken word at Wednesbury library recently and she offered to contribute some poetry to my blog. So here are a few poems, the first is inspired by autumn. It is poetry for the weekend.

poetry for the weekend



The blaze of summer days is now just embers,

The woodland, gold and bronze, though vibrant still,

Foreshadows memories of past Septembers,

The country lanes succumb to autumn’s will,

Rustling leaves whirl up in dizzy flurries,

As tractors rudely swoosh past Queen Anne lace,

The farmer feels unburdened of his worries,

The harvest’s in! He’s done it, by God’s grace,

Half-severed, browning flower-heads droop and wither,

And mourn their fate, fair blossoming adieu!

The hawthorn hedgerows stripped of berries, shiver,

Slung with silken webs of glistening dew,

But in the distance, fields of rich, red earth,

An endless cycle: glory, death, rebirth.

Jen Coley



For months now, but to ME, it seems like years,

The US polls have bored us Brits to tears,

God help us all if Donald Trump gets in,

Please tell me – PLEASE! – there’s no chance he can win,

Here stands the bouffant candidate who gave yer,

Tax evasion, sexual misbehaviour,

His attitude to women’s most unhealthy,

He favours tax incentives for the wealthy,

In trumpeting his views on immigration,

His policy on ethnic integration,

Is ‘Keep ’em out – yay, that’s the way to go!

And start by building walls around Mexico,

Imagine Trump that powerful nation’s head,

In disbelief, I’ll take me to my bed,

But out of prejudice or just plain fear,

Don’t kid yourself – a lot would have him here.

Jen Coley


and finally, one inspired by Halloween…


I hear a new trend’s coming from the States

Not ghosts nor ghouls, a really scary prankster

A clown with screaming features hides and waits

To ambush innocent victims – like a gangster

I’ve heard they brandish truncheons and machetes

Ear piercing screams yell out to wake the dead

I think I’ll have to go and hide at Betty’s

We might take refuge underneath her bed

At my age, it’s a matter of concern

To find yourself being charged at by a freak

A shock like that could give me quite a turn

To put it mildly: what a bloomin’ cheek!

Skeletons and witches I can handle

I’ve got it! I can seek help from a bobby

If I can find one(!), but not PC Randall

‘Cos I’ve heard he haunts houses for a hobby


I won’t have this, of hope I sense a glimmer

I’ll up an’at ’em, smash ’em with my Zimmer.

Jen Coley

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