Deary meary oh so dreary

Shit on pram wheels

Smeary smeary.


Junked block

Cracked slab

Bleak look

Look drab


No heart

Man made

Hard edge

Get paid.


Litter litter in the gutter

Rain and wind

Watch it flutter.


Dead beat

Too rough

Ground down

Feel rough.


Bunk school

Carry knife

No hope

Sold life.


Feely feely oh so dreamy

Hold me, love me.

Steamy steamy.


Caught out

Child mum

Cut short

No fun


No work

No hope

Small neck

Thick rope.


Beery beery feeling leary

Beat the system

No not nearly


Shaved head

Ferret eyes

Avoid gaze

Very wise


Junked slab

Cracked block

Bleak look



(An edited version of this poem was published in ‘Textyle Issue 1’. This version was written to be performed so there is a change of meter.  What do you think?)

2 Responses to “Eccles”

  1. I think that for rhymed poetry, this is amazingly wonderful.

    I could picture everything, and was ‘hearing’ it in my head. Well done.

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