Recent Rhymes & Writings

November 29, 2017

There are kids that grow up normal

and drink milk out of a bottle.

And then there are the farm kids

who have lives lived at full throttle.

To farm kids it is normal

to spend days out in the sun.

Climbing trees and getting muddy

is their idea of fun.

Helping...

November 1, 2017

Dashing all round Ryme,
cars covered in grime.
Around the lanes we go,
praying there's no snow.

Diversions all around
when we are homeward bound,
getting stuck when there's a flood
we're wallowing in mud.


Oh! Road closures,
road closures.
Aren't they...

October 26, 2017

There's a hole in my welly
and I'm feeling damp.
The mucks seeping in
and my toes have got cramp.

I smell of stale milk
and wet brewers grains,
my jeans have a rip
and there's stains on my stains.

I dropped my new phone
when I scraped up the slurry,
I...

October 21, 2017

The wind howls mournfully underneath the panes.
Rattling the putty in the ancient window frames.
Prying through the lock like a thief in the night,
scattering brown leaves like birds in upward flight.

Rumbling down the chimney and swirling in the grat...

October 16, 2017

All may be safely gathered in
and tucked up in the drier.
Thanks have been sung in every church
by every local choir.

For those who work in arable
it really has just started,
the time to get in next years crop
is not for the faint hearted.

They plough...

October 9, 2017

Oh give me someone with a backbone,
who knows their wrong from their right.
Not one who listens to gossips,
but will listen long into the night.

Steer me away from hyenas,
who circle when life treats me wrong.
Keep me close to the ones who respect me,
...

October 8, 2017

If my old Dad could see us now,
he'd have a look at every cow.
He'd lean across the old field gate
just like he did each day at eight.

He'd see the stock through wise old eyes,
he knew the weather from the skies.
 Old wisdom stored inside his head.
A...

September 25, 2017


The Shire is where my life begun,
the county where the sauce is from.
 Meanders of the river Severn,
 The Malvern hills so close to heaven.

The Vale of Evesham drips with plums,
where bees on wing make noisy hums.
Worcester's buildings, black and whi...

September 22, 2017

Today I helped her wash and dress,
sort out her clothes, clear up the mess.
I cleaned her back so frail and bent
and used her talc, her favourite scent.

I talked about her family.
She said she wished that she was free,
from her old bones she spoke of...

September 13, 2017


I  love the thrill of market,
the noises and the smell.
The people and the cattle,
the sound of the calling bell.

Old George would always be there,
in greasy ancient cap.
With trousers and crossed braces
and legs set at a gap.

Taking in the glory
of...

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©Jan Millward, 2018

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