Ivor Murrell offers selections of his poetry, a harvest of experiences and emotions

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    • Lines of demarcation
      All poets sift their childhood for subject matter, and some experiences surface more readily than others.   PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM       It was winter, several weeks from his fifth birthday when  his father left him at  grandmother’s farm. No memory of  a parting,  perhaps its […]
    • Fading by degree
      One of our shyest Summer visitors, the Grasshopper Warbler sings in a high range, somewhere between 5 to 8 kHz.     Old ears cannot catch your high pitched Summer love song reeling in the reeds. […]
    • Mapping
      It seems to me that memory and the structure of  complex spiders’ webs in Gorse bushes have comparisons. This poem was recently selected for posting on the excellent poetry and prose webzine Ink, Sweat & Tears by editor Helen Ivory.  Click here to visit this website. PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR […]
    • Perception
      The simple act of looking is one of the most complex processes that our body carries out.  It is also a perfect illusion, because it convinces us that reality is universally identical. PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   How convinced we are that what we see is true. We […]
    • Poetry Workshop at Shotley Peninsula
      On January 10th 2014 I took part in a poetry workshop, led by Geraldine Green, who was in fine form and enthused the small group of good poets who were taking part.  The poem below was one of the ‘spin offs’ from the day. PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW KEY ABOVE  TO HEAR THIS POEM […]
    • Lightening our hearts.
      Last year about sixty Siskins, escaping from the Scandinavian winter, stayed with us for over a week. They ate copious quantities of Sunflower seed and left us this Haiku:   When dark winds roar South hulled hearts of the Sun’s flower warm flocking Siskins.   […]
    • Mike East’s Misstep
      A lesson in early childhood about the fragility of life.   PLEASE CLICK ON THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR  THIS POEM     We learnt about friendship talking as we walked to the infants’ school, like the others I had envied in their noisy groups. Steeping over  bad luck in the pavement joints or […]
    • Lapis Lazuli
       Do you remember that time of freshness, when some words – heard for the first time – had a resonance of mystique? This poem attracted a comment from Anne Boileau, who is currently Chair of The Suffolk Poetry Society and an excellent poet.  Lapis Lazuli features in one of her recent poems, she sent me […]
    • Enough
      A moment of  re-adjustment. PLEASE PRESS THE ARROW BUTTON ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM   The bone ache mimes the North wind’s bite as Siskins mine the feeder teeth mutely lengthen in old gums in ears coarse hairs foregather hands are gloved with his parents’ skin age spots bloom the leather eyes are laced with […]
    • Jesse Gough fecit
      Four generations of my family were by chance involved with an enterprise launched in the 1880′s by another family, The Goughs.  Perhaps I own the only artefact from that history.   CLICK ON THE ARROW ON THE BAR ABOVE TO HEAR THIS POEM       The marker for a ninety-nine year dream in the […]

Tiffling acrorst

The Suffolk Poetry Society  organised an excellent event called ‘Soundings’ on  June 25th 2011,  under the leadership of Cameron Hawke Smith.  It considered the variety of ways that words can sound in different languages and in dialect.  Catalysed by this approaching event my Suffolk origins encouraged me to write this poem about weed control in farming, but setting it before the discovery of pesticides when weeds were pulled by hand and when the Suffolk dialect was commonplace.


 Rye grass in a wheat crop – HGCA image


Hoad yew hard bor!
Yew hint no one hoss race.
The end of this row
hint gowan no place,

Tiffle about bor!
There’s nawthen more
til six weeks arter
the dawg rose flower

Yar sorft in the hid bor
if you believe that squit
that the money start to coom
when the snipe begin to drum.

This fild’l bait us bor!
Thas alus fare fulla tare
att’l pay us a tidy bit,
wal – do at don’t at did.

Let your maul miss bor!
We marnt claw ‘old of all
now trod that one in -
haps att’l coom agin.

Thas wholly roight bor!
Suffen gotta gew in
for us ta git suffen out.
Bank acrorst the fild bor
roight under gaffer’s snout.

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2 Responses

  1. Ar, bor, but that thar pome dew remoind me a them good ol’days afore Oi gone furren. Oi in’t niver bin able ter make up a good loin with “dew ‘at don’t ‘at did” in’t noither – tho’ I ‘member ‘et bein’ said many a toime – so yer hev moy amiration thar.

    Oi’m very glad to discover this whole soite, tew: dew Oi vis’t et enough Oi moight git moy owd accint back agin, an’ the pomes int ‘alf bad neither.

    Dew you keep et up bor.

    John (ex-Ipswich, 30 yrs in Texas, and 20 more in a whole lot more places).

  2. I’m rite pleased to git yor little messige, thas whooly good you can read, so many of us ole boys niver learnt proper. Dew yew keep on a coming onta moi site, mostly I’m writin posh, but yew’ll git the drift bor, as loike yor old hid’l smart a bit, but there int no jiggery pokery – like in that furren talk.


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