Laila Liqourish

Well, the black robed friars grew the sweet root

At St Richards and St Johns in Pontefract

And the local folk called the black gold Spanish

After travelling monks who brought it back

It was used as a medicine to cure a wide range

Of ailments of the gut and of the lungs

And the only side effect of treating the diseased

Was the colour of their lips and t...

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Rhubarb, Rhubarb, Rhubarb

When I was very young it wasn’t very hard

You could find rhubarb in every back yard

A ruby red treasure growing from the ground

Worth its weight in gold and so easily found

Your mother would cook it and put it in a pie

But its very best use – and I tell no lie –

Was to dig it up and treat it like grapes upon the vine

By turning it by magic int...

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How Did It Get So Late So Soon?

The man who scared the ghosts away,

The woman who healed wounds with a kiss,

I think of them more nowadays

In sad and troubled times like this.

No longer there to hug the pain

From tired bones and broken hearts,

To shield you from the winter rain

That permeates where old age starts.

Another day of fleeting tasks

From rising su...

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Down In The Hole

My father said it was this life or the dole –

so sacrifice ambition, heart and soul

if our family was to earn a crust

then I would have to work until I was bust

Years of hardship finally took its toll

I had danced to the tune of Old King Coal

and I was laid off, let into the light

a blessing to escape eternal night

I was sixteen, they thre...

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Spinning Jenny

When times were hard old Reg Malone

Sent his daughters out to work

And they all went out diligently

Not being ones to shirk

Maria went to Hagenbach’s

And helped to bake the bread

While Jenny went to Albion Mills

To weave the worsted thread

She worked the uncombed worsted yarn

As swift and skilled as any

And those who knew her said of her

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The Blue Lady

This is the tale of Mary Bolles who lived at Heath Old Hall

And died there in 1662 and was buried ‘neath the soil.

But still her spirit walked Heath Grove the story has been writ

Until conjured down into a hole that’s still called Bolles Pit.

The spell was not so powerful to keep her there for long

And soon the tales were told of the sound of her plaintive song

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The Weeping Angel

She passed this way and tended to our pain,

administered our wounds and eased our fears

telling us that we would be home again.

stayed by our beds and whispered in our ears,

She was gentle, but never weak or frail,

Remember Nellie Spindler from Wakefield

the only woman killed at Passchendaele

An angel weeps for her in Flanders Field

Once...

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Dreadnought

We crossed the Chantry Bridge

As the Calder boiled beneath

And a drifting, chilling mist

Hung heavy on the heath

We came from far and wide

Marching all together

To gather at Belle Vue

Despite the dank, inclement weather

There were grandfathers and fathers

There were mothers, daughters, sons

Hand in hand in heavy coats

As bitter cold caresse...

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Cuttings

Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,

The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush.

Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,

On a cold and frosty morning morning.

They took a sprig from Hatfeild Hall

And planted it in Wakefield Gaol

A Mulberry bush grew on the spot

Its humble origins forgot

And there female prisoners exercised at night

Beneath the pale Yorkshire...

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Marketplace

This space is like a ghost town

Trestle tables row on row

Echoing with the hustle bustle

Vendors cries of long ago

I hold my mother’s hand

And listen to them shout

‘apples sixpence a pound

Come on get your money out!’

I went back there when I was home

All that was left were wooden frames

And rotting boards of each seller’s plot

The faint le...

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Wachefeld

Let’s start at the beginning

In a land of ice and snow

Where a brave band of armoured warriors

Set sail with sword and bow

To forge a new life far way

And settle in a land

Where the gods had promised riches

For each and every man

We sailed the mighty North Sea

And  by the grace of Odin’s beard

Landed safe in England

Where our kinsmen were ri...

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The Merrie City Serenade

Behind the market hall, riding the Ark

Hand in hand lovers strolling through the park

Carving their initials deep in the bark

on this Merrie City Serenade

Old men and teenagers sitting in The Chance

Ian and Peter refusing to dance

Across the mighty Rafters dance floor expanse

to the Merry City Serenade

On Cannonball hill beneath a ...

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I have been posting poems during lockdown based on the concept taken from a much earlier poem called 'Cycle Of The Scarecrow' a fantasy piece which tells the tale of a scarecrow who is brought back to life by a witch and walks the fields of Albion. It is a reflection on the changing seasons and of growing old - and the premise of 'what if I had my time again?
It was released today as a digital do...

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Prophecy

The crows tell of the walking man

Who travels fields by day and night

The walking man who’s not a man

Who strides between the dark and light

Soulless, cursed to stumble through

The endless hedgerows of the land

He wished for life but walks in death

He is the sweet prince of the damned

The hares and rabbits run from him

The fox and wolf walk by ...

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Apothecary

Beneath the ancient gallows tree

There sits an old apothecary

Where deep within its ancient rooms

Resides an old man selling ‘shrooms

That he has harvested from soil

Of graveyards where the serpents coil

And if the ache screams in your joints

Just follow where the way-marker points.

The place smells of dust and moist mildew

And the foul dark liqui...

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White Witch Of Winter

Corvus the white witch

Once flew the sky on crow’s wings

And fed on battlefield dead

She ate the hearts of serfs and kings

But soon she lost the taste for flesh

And transformed into what winter brings

Her skin is cold to human touch

She feasts on other-worldly things

She turns snowflakes into blizzards

Freezes your blood and tears

Sh...

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Messiah Of The Fields

They left me hanging on a cross

The saviour of the summer crops

Just rag and straw so no great loss

My blood is in the wheat and hops

I faced the black and vicious hoard

Their coal cruel eyes and sharpened beaks

I am the ragged overlord

Who scares the crow yet never speaks

They pray to me to save their soils

From dark boned devils ...

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I'm reposting this poem with the audio I recorded of it (as a song) to commemorate my father and the other soldiers who fought during WW2 in Asia - The Forgotten Army of Burma - for the 75th Anniversary of VJ Day

The Bayonet In The Shed

He put it there in forty nine,

in a woodworm riddled drawer,

wrapped it in a greasy rag.

A remnant from the war.

On top of it he laid h...

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Raising The Standards (With Banners Held High) [MUSIC VERSION]

You said that you wanted a land fit for heroes,

a place to call home that they’d show off with pride

but somewhere along the way you forgot

the reasons they fought and the reasons they died.

They thought they were fighting for honour and justice,

suppressing the tyrants and saving our land -

but returned ...

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something for Halloween and Autumn
 

That Which Autumn Leaves

The clowns were funny in the ring,

as they joked and tumbled and fell -

but in the camp, after the show,

they made our young lives hell.

Still in their masks of garish paint

and drunk on Vodka shots,

they cut and bruised and beat us,

hatching cruel, twisted plots.

I never saw the demons

lurkin...

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I have released a new poetry/music album titled 'Screaming Blue Murder' under my recording project THE CROWS OF ALBION. The title track is provided above.

There are 16 tracks (1 cover) all of which were originally posted as poems on Write Out Loud.

Over the past 5 months I've been working them into 'songs' with a great producer - John Kettle from Merry Hell at Music Projects in Wigan.

The...

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My music project THE CROWS OF ALBION have released their new CD and DOWNLOAD on 1st October 2014.

21 tracks across 80 minutes featuring 14 poems I first posted to Write Out Loud (see link to tags below) set to musical backings. The remaining songs are covers versions (Motorhead & Bob Dylan) and traditional wartime favourites 'Pack Up Your Troubles...' and 'It's A Long Way To Tipperary'.

Ther...

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Death Of A Poet (Anthem For Doomed Youth)

The grey November sky has lost its light,
 just one more boy has fallen to his death,
 another lad who won’t survive the fight
 or pass beyond this final exhaled breath.
 Though many soldiers leave this war unheard,
 their stories lost forever, never told,
 this one will paint us pictures with his words
 that will not lose their power or grow old...

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some of you kind Write Out Louders offered me some great encouragement when I posted this poem earlier this year (tribute to Pete Seeger) and suggested it might work well with a musical backing -so - I've been in the studios and produced this version - I hope you like it:

The Walkin’ Man

Serendipity Spangle was a walkin’ man -
of that, there is no doubt,
he walked across great continents
...

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Cycle Of The Scarecrow

before she came
I stood here
for what seemed like eons
with a blood red sun
setting behind me
my head full
of nothing more
than sawdust
straw and dreams
a hole in my chest
where beetles scuttled
happy come rain or shine
my only fear
that crows might see
through me
be brave and bold
and strut towards me
then peck out
my button eyes

now as the shadows g...

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Re-post from earlier last year - now with audio and music backing

Thirty Plus Years In An Open Necked Shirt.

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke
a walking bag of bones
staggers out onto the stage
like Woody from the Stones
rapid fire delivery
sprays all with Salford tones
jitters, jives, ducks and dives
wrestling with the microphone

Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke
in much need of a comb
sh...

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Overdose (Of Love)

I’ve taken an overdose,

pumped into my veins

the fever of love,

now I’m going insane.

It’s deadening sense

and destroying my brain –

what the hell do I care?

but I can’t stand the pain.

You…..

take my breath away

Love…..

is there no other way?

The dragon of darkness

tells you to stay,

as morning bre...

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Alien Feelings

Shattered, splinters of midnight

caressing and glancing off skin.

White, frozen beams of moonlight

that spotlight two strangers dancing.

Electric blue, cutting through mist

as a small, fair hand is held near –

then a blinding flash as two lovers kiss

and a slow, gentle, ebbing of fear.

Eyes drawing near, then cutting like lasers

...

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Northern Lights (54th)

The Northern Lights are ablaze tonight

And, oh, I’m feeling down.

You never could just treat me right,

You always played around.

This fallen angel’s lost his wings

And come, at last, to ground –

While all the while my world turns

And those Northern Lights go round.

The heavens glow with neon arcs

The skyline blazes brigh...

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The Sparkle

The Sparkle,

silver starlight in your eyes,

a soft touch

before we say goodbye.

It’s over too fast,

I hope this feeling will last

until the morning

The Sparkle

of teardrops on your cheek.

All my tears,

the happiness I seek

was over so fast,

I hope this pain won’t last

until the morning

The Sparkle,

our...

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Drunk (Spinning Wheel Blues)

Two o’clock

and feeling so high.

Walking on walls

and touching the floor.

Spinning wheel blues

in the back of your mind.

Knowing you can’t take

anymore.

Churning stomach

in time with each spin

as the room turns over

and throws you aside.

You clutch to the bed

as though you would fall

and – somew...

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The Clown

This make-up’s dried upon my face,

gone cracked with age and wear.

I can’t remove this absurd mask.

You’ll never know how much I care.

The girl with pretty eyes will smile,

the clown, so sad, will sigh.

Another chance has passed away.

Another star lights the sky.

You see the clown and laugh at him,

I turn away and cry,

‘cos...

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BLACK WIDOW

The air is chilled,

the night has eyes

that watch the lovers

in the shadows.

Uncertainty

in sinful eyes,

that hold the fear

where no-one goes.

A prowling man-trap,

scented breath,

arrogance

to hold her own

in crowded rooms

that smell of death,

when you're singled out

and on your own.

Black Widow comes

...

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keen to make use of all the wonderful features on this site. so am attempting to load an audio recording i did a few years ago as part of a performance piece of poems put to music. if it works ok i may post a few more further down the line. influenced by john cooper clark, roger mcgough and patrik fitzgerald - maybe leans a little too much towards the music to be a 'real' poem (?)

Ian

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