My Home Town Poem by DM W
My Home Town
My home town is filled with grubby little tribes,
That feed on gossip and perpetuate lies.
Like Plato's cave dwellers, afraid of the light,
They shun anything that would open their minds.
Even if it smacked them right between the eyes,
They wouldn't understand Culture's higher prize.
These inbred morons have no sense of Beauty.
They spend their time on all that is crass, ugly
And vile, They have no style. They are philistines.
They eat and drink in their sties like bloated swine.
Some places in the world want revolution,
But this town is in need of evolution.
Moorlock's might be forever around Dominic but who knows they might die out with a little help from a whole flock of Welsh archers. A bitter almost sweet parody/satire on the way it is in some UK towns during daylight and when it gets dark.These towns are where the missing link dwells. A full score for telling it how it is Dominic and for pulling no social punches too.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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12/17/2025 1:09:10 AM # 1.0.0
Thanks Shaun. It sums up exactly how I feel about provincial towns here in the U.K. I visited Germany last year...far mare socially advanced in my view. People ate and drank in a cheerful, relaxed way inside and outside of bars and there was no hint of the mindless thuggery or the type of debauched behaviour that is so typical of U.K night life.