#1
This is something I wrote extremely quickly. It's to be spoken in a mild Yorkshire accent. I suppose Lancashire fits as well, whatever you are comfortable with. It's lain out as a poem, but it has a prosey feel to it. I'll definitely get to any crits, so long as links are left.

Stick-Faeries in Puddles of Mud, Spinning Merrily to the Sounds of Laughter at the Jamboree (Off High Street)

Never knew who t’bequeather was,
Just some face at t’jamboree from yesteryear.
We barely spoke, didn’t know each other’s name.
We’d nod now and again when we met, just to acknowledge each other, like;
But we’d run around the rest of the mundane day
And forget about our encounters.
Betwixt sunrise and sunset we’d see each other many times,
Mostly on High Street, as we passed t’post office,
Hearin’ t’little green man beep furiously
And rushin’ children gallopin’ to t’other side
Tryin’ to keep t’little man happy;
He always was in t’end

Then suddenly one morning we never met.
I didn’t think much of it:
He’s probably slept in or has company this morning
Maybe he’s on holiday for a while.
That moment took up just a fraction of my day
And it stayed only at t’back of head until t’third day of absence
When I happened to look at t’newsboard in t’post office window:
Local man dies Tuesday in sleep.
It got me thinkin’, it did;
I wondered if it were him whom I nodded to each mornin’,
Me comin’ back with groceries, him collectin’ them,
Maybe that’s why I hadn’t seen him in a few days:
Maybe he’s dead.

And that he did, for the very next day I was told by the gossip
From twenty-four, whom informed me he was very well-known,
Yet no one had any idea of his name.
She asked me of course, but I didn’t know either.
It had me curious, it did, got me all thinkin’:
I wonder if he has any family left ‘cause he was fair old, he was,
Pushin’ on eighty, I’d reckon.


I attended the funeral on t’Monday, out of kindness of heart,
Pay me respects ‘n’ all.
The gossip lay a rose on t’coffin between sobs.
Even the butcher were there with a sorrowful expression;
He were normally so full of energy, him:
But not today, no no, this were a day of remembrance.
Nowt too happy ‘bout that day

After t’funeral were over, I were called over by a stranger from the city.
He said that I were named as sole beneficiary to this poor sod’s will:
He named me,
But I didn’t even know his name.
Bloody gossip that told him, weren’t it?
Ah well, did me no ‘arm and I still chuckle to meself now and again, like.
She never could help herself, she couldn’t

He left behind a small fortune, well, to me anyroad,
Maybe pittance to those city folk but not to the rustics such as I.
It could easily buy me a new farm to live off of,
And that it did.
Took me (well, them whom I hired) a year t’build friggin’ farm,
But when it were all done up, I couldn’t help but smile,
And I remember lookin’ up at t’sky and thankin’ those clouds
And I thanked that angel who left me t’money,
And were surely lookin’ down upon me standin’ there.

Then it came to decidin’ t’name of farm,
And I had one in mind which fit perfectly:
Blessed Farm.
#2
Quote by Dæmönika

I must admit, the title of this put me off slightly, and I only read it 'cos of the Yorkshire accent thing. Still, I'll do me best to give you a decent crit.

Stick-Faeries in Puddles of Mud, Spinning Merrily to the Sounds of Laughter at the Jamboree (Off High Street)

Never knew who t’bequeather was,
Just some face at t’jamboree from yesteryear.
We barely spoke, didn’t know each other’s name.
We’d nod now and again when we met, just to acknowledge each other, like;
But we’d run around the rest of the mundane day
And forget about our encounters. Good maybe do with an adjective added in, just to fit with style of the rest of t'piece. Maybe 'brief encounters'? Or is that a bit overdone?
Betwixt sunrise and sunset we’d see each other many times,
Mostly on High Street, as we passed t’post office,
Hearin’ t’little green man beep furiously
And rushin’ children gallopin’ to t’other side
Tryin’ to keep t’little man happy;
He always was in t’end

Those last four lines are really great, such a good description of such a simple act
Then suddenly one morning we never met.
I didn’t think much of it:
He’s probably slept in or has company this morning
Maybe he’s on holiday for a while.
That moment took up just a fraction of my day
And it stayed only at t’back of head until t’third day of absence This line is great
When I happened to look at t’newsboard in t’post office window:
Local man dies Tuesday in sleep. Maybe 'Local man dies in sleep, Tuesday' would sound better, does to me anyway
It got me thinkin’, it did;
I wondered if it were him whom I nodded to each mornin’,
Me comin’ back with groceries, him collectin’ them,
Maybe that’s why I hadn’t seen him in a few days:
Maybe he’s dead. Rather blunt, but I get the feeling that's what you were off for

I'm liking the simple style you've got going on here, you've certainly got a decent hang o' Yorkshire slang for a Scot

And that he did, for the very next day I was told by the gossip Surely should be 'that he was', after the last line? Unless you're reffering back to the newspaper headline, but that seems a bit odd to me
From twenty-four House number?, whom informed me he was very well-known,
Yet no one had any idea of his name.
She asked me of course, but I didn’t know either.
It had me curious, it did, got me all thinkin’: I'd lose the 'all' personally
I wonder if he has any family left ‘cause he was fair old, he was,
Pushin’ on eighty, I’d reckon.

Another good stanza, sorry for not having much to say, but I like this!

I attended the funeral on t’Monday, out of kindness of heart, I'd make it 'my heart'
Pay me respects ‘n’ all.
The gossip lay a rose on t’coffin between sobs.
Even the butcher were there with a sorrowful expression;
He were normally so full of energy, him:
But not today, no no, this were a day of remembrance.
Nowt too happy ‘bout that day

Possible the best part yet, nowt much to say 'bout this.

After t’funeral were over, I were called over by a stranger from the city. Maybe some mention of how he knew the guy was from the city would be good, maybe mention a suit or something?
He said that I were named as sole beneficiary to this poor sod’s will: 'poor sod' is great, proper Yorkshire style.
He named me,
But I didn’t even know his name. These two lines are great
Bloody gossip that told him, weren’t it?
Ah well, did me no ‘arm and I still chuckle to meself now and again, like.
She never could help herself, she couldn’t

He left behind a small fortune, well, to me anyroad,
Maybe pittance to those city folk but not to the rustics such as I.
It could easily buy me a new farm to live off of,
And that it did.
Took me (well, them whom I hired) a year t’build friggin’ farm,
But when it were all done up, I couldn’t help but smile,
And I remember lookin’ up at t’sky and thankin’ those clouds
And I thanked that angel who left me t’money,
And were surely lookin’ down upon me standin’ there.

Then it came to decidin’ t’name of farm,
And I had one in mind which fit perfectly:
Blessed Farm.


This piece is awesome, sorry for not havin' much to say, weren't much I didn't like about it. Crit back would be very appreciated, ta.
Super Leeds and Classy Cas!