Ecky Thump

Eigh up.  There's nowt quite like a theme to set yer sailin' on them waves o' knowin'.  Fer as yer may 'ave spotted, we're harpin' on abaht t'past reet neaw.  Task'd wi cunjurin' up pomes fer t'gala at Poulton in June, us Lanky bards 'ave bin gawpin' inter t'lugs o' hist'ry 'n' wundrin' wot it's all abaht. 

Wi fettlin' in mind, here's sum new-fangled links ter portals o' knowin:

elks
clogs

pomes
words

It's wi grand expectashuns that ah'll be waitin' a't'lib'ry on Saturday, ter mek sum verses wi sum bardish folks.  Theer's nowt as gud as pomes.

The Skippool Lass

"Thas bin t'untherside o'th'ward 

'n' cram'd yer brig wi' booze fer brass 

Yer jiggered, spittin' feathers,

Cup o' tae 'n' parkin's all yer ask

Sum pepper'd leaves o' scurvy grass

'll ease yer warch 'n'calm yer chops

Ah tek 'em ev'ry day mi'sel

Ah've nowt thas ailin', swear ti God.

Don't mind th'alarm from yonder marsh

'Tis just yer godwit's chunner heawr

Thum pirate teal's 'ave shook 'em oop

Gone traipsin' all abaht thur heause

Wi' Sun descendin' mighty quick

Led's mizzle fer yon ale heause 

Yer kindred's took ter purring leawd

So's best yer not traipsin' abaht."