The Dudley Bucket Basher Poem by ANDREW BLAKEMORE
The Dudley Bucket Basher
'Thirty years both mon and boy
'Bin bashing buckets into shape,
I sin me friends grow old wi' me
Within these whitewashed walls.
Me little 'ommer in me 'and
Was new when I fust started 'ere,
And now it's worn as bad as I
Through all those years of toil.
That day I do remember well
I turned up at the factory gates,
Still wet behind the ears I was
But I grew up s' quick.
They took me on and placed me 'ere
Then showed me what I 'ad to do,
Since then each working day I've come
And done this same ol' job.
I never see the light of day
Nor feel the sunlight on my face,
An inmate trapped within these walls
Until the day I die.
Now when I rest me achin' yed
I 'ear the clatter as I sleep,
There's no escape it follows me
Wherever I do go.
Yet if I 'ad me time again
I wouldn't change a single jot,
So many loffs I've ad in 'ere
With all me bestest mates'.
What a very down to earth story/description. Your Dudley bucket basher is a memorable old fellow Andrew and you have captured his voice with great skill and humor. I particularly like your 'mutton Jeff' line. It's been a long time since I've heard that one - a favorite of my late father's. Good to see you venturing away from your usual poetic path. It certainly works a treat! Love, Allie ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥
This Black Country Dialect is cleverly woven into your poem and I really admire you for crafting it the way you have. It certainly brings out the characterization of Dudley and I find it fascinating to read. Thank you for a wonderful poem. 10 love Karin
Brilliant Andy, and you have captured the essence of the Black Country people so well here, 10 for yo! Lynda xx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/11/2024 2:48:29 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Portrait of a great human being. He would be right at home in Appalachia. Though the dialect is different. i love this, Andrew.10/10. Always your friend at poemhunter, Sandra