Len Webster Poems
Farewell To Oldbury Grammar School
Piled high among the ruins of leaving,
The shattered hopes and wasted dreams,
The age-old, dated books and wicked papers
That forced the countless ones to sweat in summer;
Behind, the crumbling plaster and blistered paintwork,
The battered floor with nail projections,
The desks that once saw better days
On the raised platforms before each class.
And here the cream of generations sat,
And wrote and read and leapt again
From dream to dream and hope to hope.
Even the town has gone, so what use is the school?
Fed on Imperialism, it prospered; ...
Journey By Train
Am I reaching the pale stretch home now?
Wire-lines are confused and a complex pattern
Is weaving its changing way past scrapyards
And ghost-inhabited derelict stations.
Brushwood is sparse yet a thick undergrowth has
Busied its way skyward at the point
Where the canal intersects us, where the ghost
Of horse-beef nightly pulls the boat on.