Mullins Yard
Where are they now
Them
Old Parrett Flatner’s
Those workhorse
Those wetlands
Those one-time
Wooden wonders
Where are they now
Those
Flat bottomed old
Scull oared
Those withy them
Turf boats each tied
Tell me
Where are they now
Damn these
Tired eyes of mine
Have no fear
They be
Ever so near sir
Both the toll and the
Ferry men cried
Look right there
Next the fallow
By the stony heaped
Long barrow
Down in the meadow
By Old Mullins Yard
Tis there over yonder
In the shallows
Sleeping soundly
Tween the milk thistle
And sedge n fine
Somerset willow
Tis there lies the last
Of them old
Parrett Flatner’s
Moored n dry docked
In Old Mullins Yard
- Author: Neville ( Offline)
- Published: July 15th, 2020 07:40
- Comment from author about the poem: Old Parrett Flatners = an old flat bottomed vessel used mainly on the river Parrett that runs by the bottom of my garden Scull oars = steering oars, one at each end Mullins Yard = a ships chandlery & boat graveyard Wetlands = the Somerset Levels an area of Somerset historically liable to flooding Fallow = a meadow left unfarmed for a year to rest Barrow = an ancient oft prehistoric burial mound Withy = a long flexible willow stem
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 31
- Users favorite of this poem: Fay Slimm.
Comments8
I had to read this flowing ballad out loud and twice to get the wonderful way of short-line tale-telling that your pen seems to find so easy my friend. First class poem and thanks too for the interpretive comments
- - Old Mullins Yard has the Cornish equivalent but this one a fave has to be for me..............
Bless you and truly my dear lady Fay... I had you in the back of me head when I was scribbling away, knowing full well our local dialect might contain similar wording and to the uninitiated & emmit‘s, might sound similar x
Good write Neville.
Cheers Orchidee............ Neville
It were all we could do when i were a lad see, that there turf surfin. Course we had to do some prep so we'd spend all mornin drinkin Tizer then when we wuz fit to bust we'd all pee on the turfs, make em slippery like. So you could get a good old glide going, corse you didnt wanna be fallin over or youd stink of Tizer pee which didnt go down to well with me mam.
I aint got a clue what yer post is about today but it brought back those days of Tizer with Rosie to me.
As always though yours was a pleasure to read.
I do so appreciate your honesty DA , that means such a lot in this game and particularly when it is all too easy to just be nice and say what ya think the writer/author often wants to hear... Twaz good to learn about your Tizer days too sir.. To be honest, I shall probably tinker with this post for a while yet.......... 🙂
Neville
Simple premise so elegantly expressed. As Fay says, you have a great way of saying so much in such short lined prose. And the comments are a great bonus.
Good day to you Michael and thank you both kindly and true sir..
Neville
I read this as aging out or becoming obsolete. Or maybe you just like women with "flat bottoms." Yeah, I suppose it's just about boats. They don't build 'em like they used to. I was down by the river's mouth today, watching the plastic, sail by. Then read this and wondered "Where did they all go?" - Phil A
Am glad you took that double take Phil and despite me being almost obsolete, yep.. its just about boats, or more specifically about one particular species and sadly almost extinct... My Father was a boatbuilder by the way, almost all of them wooden and clinker built.. Cheers for stopping by here my friend... Stay safe,
Neville
I could see those boats of yore floating down the river with the old ferry men using their own power to move them.
Wonderful words Neville.
Andy
thank you kindly Andy.. that's just what i was aiming for....
Neville
Anything I say would only dilute the true appreciation expressed by others, but I must add that I thoroughly enjoyed reading these words again and again to absorb the scene so poetically laid out.
How very kind of you Suresh and much appreciated too my friend ... Stay both safe and well.
Best Regards,
Neville
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