Poetry and the Community

This section of our website provides the opportunity to support, share and showcase some of the people from our community that write poetry.
 Local Poets
 Cilla King
Gavin Manton
Dave Stokes  
 Cilla King
Winter Sun

December 2015

How the winter sun doth look
And rudely highlights ev'ry nook
Exposing motes not usually seen
And making me to dust and clean.
He to the farthest corner peeps
From West to East his sunbeam creeps;
But ere 'tis four his light is dimmed,
The lamp is lit; the wick is trimmed;
The gentle lamp's forgiving glow
Doth glintings on the brass bestow
And darkened corners breathe relief
In respite from the night time thief.

Cilla has lived in the parish since 1996

 A Playground Rhyme

written in 2001 during the Foot and Mouth crisis

Spray your wheels
Dip your feet
Cows moo, lambs bleat
Hold hands, all pray
Please disease, go away.
The Great Escape
A True Story of 1976.

The 1st. of May was Saturday, when we are always late
And Snowman waits, impatient, and stamping at his gate.
He'd had a snack to keep him quiet but now he paced his pen -
Of course, he knew we were overdue and he usually goes at ten.

The source of his anxiety it is a grassy plot
Behind the local public house - a mere two minutes trot.
And Snowman knows he's taken, at 10 a.m. each day
To laze and graze and daydream, and swish the flies away.

It happened on that morning a man from down the road
Had come to fetch manure and just wheeled away a load.
He left the gates propped open as I said that was alright,
And I would keep the dog in, so's he wouldn't get a fright.

Well, Master went to see his horse and take him down some hay,
He put it in the corner, like he does every day -
He picked the fork and shovel up, though as he turned about
He didn't see the open gate, or Snowman sidle out.

Snowman didn't want his hay, that was plain to see,
And as he looked toward the road he saw the way was free,
He cantered down the garden, with thoughts of grass at last;
All Master saw was a big behind....disappearing....fast.

Oh what a commotion! Down the garden Master ran,
Cursing first the blessed horse then the manure man,
And fading in the distance there came the steady thud
Of Snowman's hooves on tarmac as he galloped to the pub.

So snatching up a head collar we panted in his wake,
With fingers crossed but not too sure just which route he would take
He might have knocked somebody flat or caused a car to crash;
He might be lamed or lying down with a dreadful bleeding gash.

But all was quiet and peaceful, nobody had seen,
And there was Snowman eating, tearing up the green,
He looked so very guilty - he knew he had been bad -
He watched his Master coming and he saw that he was mad.

Home they went (more slowly), he was shut up in disgrace
There to wait at the fastened gate with sorrow on his face,
Master soon calmed down and then he took him back to stay.
It's funny now (but wasn't, then) that time he ran away.
 Top of Page
 Gavin Manton

As we walked together, hand in hand,
We left our footsteps on the sand.
Soon the waves that wash the shore,
Will erase them all for evermore
So, in a few hours who can say?
That we ever passed this way.

For as we tread the path of life,
We leave footsteps in our wake.
There are good times and the bad
When faith can sometimes shake,
And then we reach that time
When the midnight bell does chime
And our footsteps begin to fade.
Long shadows fall upon the ground
To create an autumn shade.

I wonder then, when all said and done,
And men have ceased to pray.
Will anyone ever know?
That we once passed this way.

Gavin Manton

It was only a moment ago
We met,
You, wearing a party dress,
With your hair up high
And eyes that matched a summer sky.

It was only a moment ago,
I swear,
That I saw our children over there.
Playing together in dappled light,
And listening to their cries of delight.

It was only a moment ago
I know,
That we watched our children grow and grow.
Now they have gone, the truth be told
It’s you and I who are becoming old.
So many years have passed, I know,
But they only seem a moment ago.

Gavin Manton

 Top of Page
 Dave Stokes
 A Little Lost Part Of England

Worlington, what a peace steals over me
Born of happy memory.
Leafy quiet in the lanes, leisured wagons, flapping reins,
Ne’er a hint of hurrying trains,
Ne’er a sound of motor horn;
Sweet the chorus of the dawn,
Bright the dew drops on the lawn.
Worlington a name of happy memory,
This is England as it used to be.

Words adapted by Dave Stokes.
Unfortunately Dave lost his life to cancer in 2013. We remember him and recognise his contribution to our community through his poem.
 Top of Page



Where are East and West Worlington? Map

Disclaimer: The Worlington Community Web Co-ordinator and the Editorial Team hold no responsiblity for the accuracy of the information on this website. The information provider is responsible for its accuracy and for checking that it is correctly repesented on the website. The Worlington Community Web Co-ordinator must be informed if any items of inaccuracy are identified on this website.

Community Web Kit provided free by BT