Local Poetry

The Allotments - those little - Plotments ,

Along the Helpston road.

A tidy field - where crops do yield,

What, villagers have growed!

Just an acre - give or taker,

Along the Helpston road.

There's busy bees and flasks of teas,

Observers, of our country code!

Fruit and veg - behind that hedge,

Along the Helpston road.

The rows so straight - folk work till late,

Till all the weeds are hoed!

Those early tates - placed in their bates,

Along the Helpston road.

There's peas and beans - and dirty jeans,

Grass paths all neatly mowed!

Aphids and slugs - all kinds of bugs,

Along the Helpston road,

Cause swearing words - but pretty birds,

Eat pests - so does that friendly toad!

Green houses and huts - and water buts,

Along the Helpston road,

Compost and muck, brought in by truck,

A smelly - steamy, stinking load!

Watering cans - and hose pipe bans,

Along the Helpston road.

Flowers are tended, nets suspended,

Trays of seedlings, freshly sowed!

Raspberry canes - cleaned out drains,

Along the Helpston road.

Onion sets - owners of pets,

The alotment walk - to and fro'ed!

Those chickens lay - an egg each day,

Along the Helpston road.

They scratch around - their compound,

At break of day - a cockerel crowed!

Spades, barrows, rakes and harrows,

Along the Helpston road.

Pigeons be warned, and rabbits scorned,

Or tempers and guns, will explode!

Chilly rigours - of winter diggers,

Along the Helpston road.

Seed beds great - plants germinate,

When Spring at last is showed!

In Summer time - plots in their prime,

Along the Helpston road.

Colours ablaze - produce amaze,

Reward for gardeners is bestowed!

Folk like showing what they've been growing,

Along the Helpston road.

So open their gate, it's Wiki - till late,

All visitors say - "Well I'm blowed!

Praise the tenants - hard working peasants,

Along the Helpston road.

Credit to you - is certainly due,

God bless, good luck with a harvest you're owed!

DONG -

What was that? It's St. Mary's clock.

It sounds so loud, it was a shock.

DONG - DONG -

I toss and turn, and cannot sleep,

The duvet now is in a heap.

DONG - DONG - DONG -

I wish Brian Yates would forget,

To wind it up, so dreams I'd get.

DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG -

Was that three, or was it four,

I did not count, and I'm not sure.

DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG -

Now my brain will not stop thinking,

Eyes shut tight, but they start blinking.

DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG -

Shall I get up, and feed the dog?

Or will she be sleeping like a log.

DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG - DONG -

Oh my goodness - I counted eight,

I've overslept and now I'm late !

Hell's - Bells!

‘Slow Down Please’ - It’s 30 through the village.

Cars rush to work - and risk a nasty spillage.

It’s a busy road - to Peterborough - and back,

Trucks, Tractors, Trailers - it’s time - they seem to lack.

Why is the pace of life - so much rush - and tear?

Pressure - stressful - no time - to stop - and stare.

Mortgage - kids to school - all those bills to pay,

Monday’s here again - or is it - just another day?

Bainton used to be - a quiet - peaceful place,

Children walked to school - with smiles upon their face,

Folk would trade their wares - around the butter-cross.

Picnics, skipping ropes - toffee apples and candy floss.

People had no money - but time was on their side,

Gardens grew fruit and veg - it’s here you lived - and died.

Church every Sunday - and don’t you dare to be late,

Roasts cooked at the bakers - local food on each plate.

But the ‘good’ old days in Bainton - were not always so,

There was poverty - cold and wet - no electric light you know,

Water came from wells - or through pipes made of lead,

Sometimes the children- even had to share a bed.

Now we take for granted - the comfort of our homes,

TV and the internet - busses - cars and mobile phones.

But we still have friends and neighbours - a true community,

I wouldn’t live in the city - it’s the countryside fo me.