Monthly Archives: January 2019

Nineteen (count them, nineteen!) short poems about Shire horses.

1. An uneasy sleep.

Up until recently I’d been
Immune to the sublimity
Of shire horses.
But last night I woke,
In a hot sweat,
Feverish,
Palpitations,
Images of these stately beasts
Imprinted on my brain.

2. Just calm down.

Heavy shouldered
Hoof tuft
Olde worlde hurly burly
Heft load luggers
Proud in tandem harness
Across deep ploughed furrows,
Somber yet somehow humble,
Nothing stirs the heart more
Than the sight of a shire horse
In full flow.

I bent over and I whispered
To Agnes,
Look at their rippling flanks!
Their mesmerising rumps!
And she said,
If you don’t mind I shall
Go and eat my luncheon
Elsewhere.

3. Make a living, the shire horse way.

They work, shire horses.
They work for a living.
They work work work work work.
Trudging and pulling heavy loads
And tugging and pulling and trudging
And pulling and tugging and trudging
And doing paperwork and things
Only with more trudging.
Jeff trained one to make
Sandwiches, rolls, cobs,
Baps, wraps, paninis
Only with more trudging involved
Than the average person whose job it is
To make sandwiches, rolls, cobs,
Baps, wraps, paninis.

4. But what are they really thinking, daddy?

Flared nostrils
As if permanently disgusted,
But they get on with it anyway,
Stoic beasts, the shire horse.

5. Memories of a suburban upbringing.

When I was a kid
Every year the school trip
Used to be to the bloody bleeding
God-arse awful boring
Shire Horse Heritage Centre.
And then I joined the scouts
And we had a trip to the
Shire Horse Heritage Centre.
And then my aunt came over from
Canada
And we went on a day out to the
Shire Horse Heritage Centre
And then a friend had a birthday
And as a treat we went to the
Shire Horse Heritage Centre
And yet when I informed my parents
That if should be called the
Shite Horse Heritage Centre,
Bizarrely,
It was me who was reprimanded.

6. The competition.

Every year the Shire Horse Heritage Centre
Took on the
Cart Horse Heritage Centre
In an impromptu game of curling.
And as the stone granite boulders
Slid along the ice,
They’d say, shire horses are better,
And the opposition would say,
Cart horses are better,
Shire horses
Cart horses
Shire horses
Cart horses
And it was all good natured and fun until
Aaron from accounts
Let off a fire extinguisher yelling
Cart horse Fart Horse!
And Debs from advertising would
Smash a window and yell,
Shire Horse Shite Horse!
And it all descended
Into ugly violence.

7. I’m not immune to failure.

I went to a poetry slam and the poets were brilliant and did poems about family, relations, drug addition, sexual abuse, the history of black culture from slavery to the present day, social issues, homelessness, countering the rise of the political right, immigration, and the trials and tribulations of being a youth in the twenty first century, and then I went up and did a poem about shire horses and I didn’t even get out of the first round.

8. Looming in the office.

My chiropodist had a shire Horse.
At the bottom of each left it had a tuft.
Now it’s dead but you can see it in her office
Because she’s had it stuffed.

9. General dimensions.

They’re taller
Than regular horse.
Shire horses,
Higher horses.

10. A Parisian misadventure.

The French avant gard,
Jean Jacques Coat,
Trained a shire Horse
In the art of mime.

It used to stand still
And not move a muscle
And not say a word.

And Jean Jacques would explain,
Now it’s impersonating a donkey,
Now it’s impersonating a zebra,
Now it’s impersonating a mule,
Now it’s impersonating a regular horse.

11. A general appreciation of shire horses.

You’re not a car
So you don’t get a flat tire,
Horse.
You don’t speak,
So you’d never be called a liar,
Horse.
You’re not in a circus
Performing on a tight wire,
Horse.
You’re not an actor,
So you’ve never worked with
Danny Dyer, horse.
You don’t do laundry,
So you’re not a tumble dryer
Horse.
You’re not near a naked flame
So you’re not on fire,
Horse.
You’re a shire horse.

12. Breeds of heavy working horse.

Shire.
Percheron.
Belgian.
Diligent.
Clydesdale.
Oldenburg.
Cleveland Bay.
Hackney.
Vintage.
Flopper.
Clippity hopper.
Honker.
Clippity honker.
Progressive honker.
Belgian honker.
Devonian crisp.
Beard poker.
Fat stick.
Unspoked clapper.
Subliminal pencil.
Polly.

And where might I purchase any of the above?
Any reputable dealer of cart, shire and working horse.

13. Height.

According to the website
The average shire horse
Is seventeen hands high.
Now I need to find out
The size of the average hand.
The lady in Morrisons said
They mostly sell Large size marigold
Washing up gloves.
But I didn’t have my tape measure.

14. Meanwhile.

Backpack Sam’s the flapjack man
He likes to eat them where he can
He eats them on the bus and gloats,
‘This is how I get my oats’,
Which is also what shire horses eat.

15. Icelandic interlude.

Shape shifting shire horse
Tireless worker beserker.
Norse legend.
Horse legend.

16. Advertisement poem with a very funny last line which will appeal deeply to those in the shire Horse community.

Have you seen those shire horses?
Those shy shire horses?
Those sly shy shire horses?
Those sly shy give it a try
Come and see them before you die
Why oh why not drop on by
And try a shire horse?
Come down to the
Shire Horse Heritage Centre
And you’ll see loads!

17. Repetition of the word ‘shire horses’
(To be performed while pouring custard over ones head)

Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses
Shire horses

18. The time of the shire horse is gone.

And in the time of the shire horse there
Would be shire horses aplenty,
And they would work and trudge
And trudge and work
And all that was holy
Could be found in the shire horse
And all that was sacred
Could be found in the shire horse
And all that was good for the garden
Could be found in the shire horse.

And the rustic sun would set
Over rustic rainbows rustic barns and
Rustic hedgerows
And the rustic shire horse
Would keep on working
And wheelbarrows left out in the rain
Would go rustic
And there wasn’t a
Youtuber in sight.

And the annual final of Strictly Come Dancing
Would invariably we won by a shire horse
Because they were so fucking talented
And farmers would lean on gates
And suck on straw and opine
That shire horses were totes amazeballs.

And people just got on with things
Even when their arms dropped off
Or their cowsheds fell down
And the ploughman was king
And nobody ever wondered what
Barn owls were called
Before there were barns.

And there would be
Shire horses in the barns
And shire horses in the cottages
And shire horses in the dairies
And shire horses in the kitchen
And shire horses in the municipal swimming baths
And shire horses
In the shire horse Heritage Centre.

And then some bastard
Invented the tractor
And people said how wonderful tractors were
Because they didn’t
Poo everywhere like shire horses did
And you could see the really sad look
In the shire horses eyes
Because he knew that it was the end.
Such a long face.

And the sun began to set
And everything went pear shaped
And they built the M25
And shire horses weren’t even allowed
In the slow lane
And I took the hand of the man I loved
And I whispered,
Be a shire horse
Just for me
And he went downstairs and just
Stood in the back garden
Looking really sad.

19. Finis.

And I slept
Really well.

Poem

You’ve got a cuckoo in the kitchen
Got a cuckoo at the cooker
You’ve got a cuckoo cooking cookies
Kindly keep some cookies for me
You’ve got a cuckoo cooking cookies
Out of coco going cuckoo
You’ve got a cockney cuckoo cooking
With a cock eyed cookie cutter
You’ve got a cuckoo cookie cooking cuckoo
My god it’s such a coup
That the cockney cuckoo cookie cooker
Is not a cockatoo

The contents of my 2018 memory jar revealed at last!

So today, being the first day of the year, contained what might be the start of an annual tradition. And no, I don’t mean changing the duvet cover. I do that often, and in fact I have got it down to a fine art. No, this was something much more momentous.

You see, twelve months ago I bought a large glass jar from Poundstretcher, and I decided that every month I would write some positive and uplifting that had happened over the last few weeks, and put it in the jar so that I could empty the contents and read it on the first day of the new year, just to remind me what an amazing year it had been.

So here, for you dear reader, are the contents of my memory jar.

January
Bought a jar and some bits of paper.

February
Remembered that I’d bought a jar and some paper and wrote this on one and put it in the jar.

March
Dusted the jar.

April
Remembered that I had the jar after reading somewhere about buying a jar and filling it with memories, and thinking, gosh, perhaps I’ll go out and buy a jar and do just that, and remembered that I’d already done it.

May
Had some nice soup. Mulligatawny.

June
Thought I’d lost the jar but it turned up more or less where I’d left it.

July
Made some marmalade and almost used the jar to put it in and I stood there for ages in the kitchen thinking, hmm, a jar, I need a jar, and then I looked at the jar and I thought, should I? Should I? But then I remembered that I don’t like marmalade.

August
Got drunk and decided to give the jar a name, and the name I decided to give the jar was Jar Jar Binks.

September
Gary said, the door is ajar! And quick as a flash, using my Lightning Wit, I said, and so is the jar! And he said, what? And I said, what? And then we both just kind of stood there and looked at each other.

October
Still got the jar.

November
Went to a lovely party at Celia’s house and afterwards I thanked Celia for such a nice time no she said, it’s my pleasure, you must come round again some time and we do this all over again, so two hours later I went round and knocked on the door and she was in her dressing gown with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth and she looked at me and I said, well, you did say, and she just glared at me, looking right mardy. Anyway, it was a nice party.

December
A shaft of early morning low sunshine detracted through the jar and set fire to my Argos catalogue, but luckily I was on hand with a Dr Pepper and managed to quell the conflagration. Decided to throw it away, these things are a death trap, so took the bits of paper out and read them and out them online on my blog.

So there you have it. It’s totally worth doing and you will have at least twenty minutes of fun on New Years Day and then you’ll forget all about it, or else feel really miserable.

Have a great new year!