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River Poems
 The River -
A video of poems by children from St Leonard's School Stafford. (This video is available in Windows Media streaming video format at 250kbps. Windows Media Player and a broadband internet connection is required to play this file).
Four line poems contributed by Stafford library members between January and May 2007 as part of our Poetry Stones competition with Friends of Riverway. Poems were selected to be engraved on Poetry Stones and placed by the river, supported by County Councillor Maureen Compton through Friends of Riverway.
Lovely animals by the little stream,
Deer on top of the hills. Sheep on top of the hills.
Birds on the trees. Nice to collect chicken eggs on the farm.
Lovely view of the Little Bridge and the Lake. Mr A T Clarke
Sow sweetly slips through Stafford
Singing and sighing
beside pike and watervole.
When rain sheets Wales in deluge
Fierce flows rush through
Faking high seas in flooded fields.
When sun parches hinterland
Flows fall to shallows
Trickling over river bed.
Beryl Metcalf
In Victoria Park the River Sow flows near,
Each plant so carefully grown surprises us every year
As willows frame a picture with dapple shade
And Ducks mingle in the reeds and swans quietly parade.
Beryl Thacker
In the county town of Stafford under the bridge
The River Sow winds its way. People going by stop to
Look and children hope to see a fish, plants and blossom
Enchant the scene and benches workers take a lunch.
Beryl Thacker
Cool braid of dreams
Deliver me,
Diamond dancing
Down to the Sea. Bill Waller
Chained to chartered culverts grey
You dribble through a faceless town;
My words can make no silken purse
Oh! Unremarkable Sow. “Billy Blake, London”
On Tenterbanks, children
cheer a river's arrival
that matches the railway's -
smart and straight-lined.
Cedric Pickin
This river flows, a glimmering path of moments.
Carrying our dreams and memories,
Our tears of joy and sadness.
Whispering onward through eternity. Carl Johnson
I love to walk this quiet way;
All wrapped in mist of early May;
Before the sun begins its day…
Along the quiet river path. Where softly through the mist I see,
With fragrance washing over me,
The pearly drifts of Cow parsley…
Along the quiet river path. And where ethereal willows, lean
To dip their locks of softest Green
Into the river’s opal sheen.
Along the dreaming river path. Catherine Reay
A bridge at The Green rears Time;
memories float down the Sow
here at the reach we make our own
for a thousand years, and now.
Cedric Pickin
I breathe the sundrenched bluebells, floating
Through Jackson’s Coppice, from on high, and
There at my feet: that most comfortable of streams
The sow, smiles back; gently eases by.
Chris Brookes
Turgid and slow moving the Sow wends its weary way
Hemmed by meadows where cattle chew the cud.
Then silently, surreptitiously swollen by winter’s rain she bursts from
Bondage spreading eagerly, greedily across the Doxey plain. Christine Butters
What nibbles our heels at Doxey marshes,
Makes two ducks of one in the town,
Leaves paddling pools near Shugborough’s arches?
From Trent to Copmere, our own River, Sow! E Hand
Springing from the earth
Flowing through history, cradling industry
Weaving round the lives of us all
Taking our dreams along, making our memories. Edith Holland
Stafford's life - water of life
Abundant yes, yet still.
Flowing constant if unseen -
Linking hearts, linking town-heart -
Core of our being - flood and Life-blood
Elaine Cockbill
The River Sow meanders down
Through meadows green toward the town.
When I was young I used to walk
Along its banks on my to work.
Ena Banner
The River Sow it winds its way, through our town centre,
It’s past that way since time began, and is the town’s mentor,
Calm and quietly passes through, as it has for time long gone,
Water fowl of many sorts, along with our faithful swans.
River crossed by ford alone, stepping stones midst the flow,
Settlement formed at crossing point, trading years ago,
Stafford named after the ford, then building to embark
Bridges built to carry roads, footbridge in the park,
A weir was built to form a mill pool, turn two water wheels,
Turning the millstones fed with grain, grinding into meal,
A steady beating of the water as it hits each blade,
Each wheel controlled by sluice, water power displayed.
Rain from fields and meadows, to brooks and streams it flows,
All run to the River Sow, its progress nothing can oppose,
In flood it shows its mighty power, sweeping all before,
Then settles back to steady flow, Our River Sow once more.
Fred Waterfall, (Countryman)
This sacred secret flowing heart of England
Where silvery waters flow both east and west
Reflecting sky and earth, uniting people
From Fairoak to Shugborough where I love it best.
Uniting itself and all the people
A silver ribbon reflecting the sky
Twisting and turning from Fairoak to Shugborough
The Sow belongs to you and I
Jan Arnold
From Fairoak springs the infant Sow,
By rock and field to valley floor.
By kingcup bank and bluebell wood,
To swell the Trent at Shugborough
Jean Beasley
I used to play quite near the river, played on the swings, fished in the brook, paddled in the pool. I never got tired ever. The sun came out from morn till dusk, the windmill stood tall as we looked up, Oh how I can see the change in 60 years now when I stroll along the lovely river. Jessica Johnson (Draper)
We are the wet and wild
We are the tranquil and warm
We are the channels and ways
By whom all life is borne. Joe Connolly
“Ahh” I gasp,
My eyes behold the beauty of nature,
The luscious greens on the river bank,
The coloured ducks and white swans. I felt drawn to the river
Its energy is like a magnet,
I was held spellbound,
Watching the waves rolled on. Judy Rm Smith
Flowing, rushing -
Watch me now!
Bubbling, gushing -
I'm the River Sow! June Greenhalgh
At nature’s heart it lies
Life-giving sustenance for all
Never-ending streams of
Crystal-clear, refreshing WATER….
Linda Mottram
Sparkling, flowing – understand
I am the life-force of your land.
Healing, calming, Nature’s Bride,
Nurturing town and countryside. Gill Lycett-Smith
Where the Sow River is too small for a boat
we saw John, who told us how we could ring around
the deep low down bell bow sound of St Mary’s.
We swung on ropes for an hour, rowing our way home.
Michael Chalmers
Spring Sunshine
Birds singing
Quiet walking
Coming back to life Maggie Jennings
Swans serenely glide
Or rest and nest in the banks
Of the silent Sow. (Haiku from the Bridge by the park near Peugeot garage) Mair Fairbanks
From Sowshead Spring, first ambling, to Haywood’s Trent, runs River Sow,
Through choking weeds, bur-lancing-reeds, its weave proceeds twist brick and plough
To lap at scented chamomile, sift mongst blooming worts and cress,
Reflect with birds, bees, butterflies, till sorrow enacts closure through a Willow’s soft caress. Mark Legge
My movement can be slow, sometimes fast.
My skin is swirls of liquid, like molten glass.
All the while I study perpetual motion.
. . . A pair of socks floats past. Michael Chalmers
Our bed-sit empty, just a chair.
White wood veined with coffee stains, no shine, no polish, no care.
Our bed-sit empty, just a chair.
And the scent of bay willow herb, your perfume, your hair.
Michael Chalmers
Once the hunters came this way
with fish and geese and mallard duck.
To celebrate The Rising,
The Darling, The Doxey Brook.
(The Rising, Darling, Doxey Brooks run to the River Sow) Michael Chalmers
When you walk beside me
Water is my dream
We float through Staffordshire meadows
Of yellow, gold and green Michael Chalmers
Let’s catch the wind
Here, where trees bow to bright water Lets retreat under these Willows
Stand by an angel and hear its wings Michael Chalmers
He talked shop in Stafford, became a sort of madness.
Wind off the Leek Hills, made me whisper and sigh.
A pink dawn over Cannock Chase, opened my eyes.
Now filming in Uttoxeter, a race horse by my side. Michael Chalmers
Brown surging, gurgling water, silting beyond the Sow.
Dappled ducks dredging, sifting, gargling, shrugging.
Dripping dark strips of plant cling to saplings.
Drowned supermarket trolley, wheels up, sparkles winter’s yellow light.
Michael Reilly
I fished this river as a young boy
Catching pike and perch me such joy
Now once again I feel such a joy
As I fish the river with my little boy Mick Johnson
Tell me. . . Is there a singing contest in bright skies up above.
Can you hear the brilliance of a summer skylark, the cooing of a dove.
Have mute swans met and paired together, nested near the wood.
. . . Then I will homeward hurry, to celebrate my love. Michael Chalmers
Lets walk this way together. Let water be our dream
Whose current shapes us as silky liquid, lovely smooth and cream.
Lets whirl our way through sunlit pools, where people are not seen.
Warm ourselves in rivulets of silver gold and green. Michael Chalmers
Rippling blue deep wet
Fluttering preening blue tit
Daffodils banish blues Mike Reilly
A wet day in the park, the willows wept into the river,
Their long tendrils dripping tears
Suddenly; above the bleak outline of the old mill
The clouds part, and a tiny patch of blue appears Mrs E Skelton
The river bends
The waters fflow
Where it ends
I do not know
But when my life is on the brink
Here is where I sit and think Nigel Brown
listen to the wisdom of the water
contemplate the peace within all things
let the very whispers of creation
feed your soul
Pat Marsh
She has seen better days of late:
The people’s madness of pollutants and trash metal removed.
As man woman and child and swan
Reflect in her new found calm.
Pauline Christine Knight
Down through the marshes and into the town.
Wide and narrow depending upon cloud.
Sparkling in sunlight and lovely to see flowing in front of me.
By day, by night the River Sow a beautiful sight.
A fisherman's dream a perch and chub stream.
A fisherman's friend on every bend.
A fisherman's delight by night.
A fisherman’s pal - a river called the SOW.
Pete Hall
How sad to see a swan that swims alone.
We are told they mate for life, where is your wife?
A swan with feathers gone, it’s said you’re an Angel swan,
How sad to see an Angel without wings.
Did Izaak stalk the banks of Shallowford Sow,
Stealthily seeking swims to drop a bait here and there,
Creeping through the copse of stinging nettles cured by hope,
Of catching red striped spikey finned warrior of deep We swam by sandbanks in summer sun at Shakey Bridge
Then shook through shivers till Spring was gone.
A Spring was in our step the day the cows returned
To take their river back. I gave you my time, you gave me a chubb and a roach,
I surprised you with a misty dawn start,
You surprised me with a trout, all colours of rainbow,
But your greatest gifts to me are memories, returning like the seasons. Richard Allen
Mine is a line traced in time.
Anglers pray where celts worshipped
Schoolboys splash where rebels fell on Norman swords
And, always, the heron watches over me. Richard Lakin
Mill Race
Mill Bank: what a strange sight to see,
Where the mill race used to be,
High rise and 'ANOTHER' hostelry,
Just what we needed, didn't we? Steph Spiers - Rising Brook Writers
Attracting birds from far and wide
While flowers grow at the waterside
Once a ford we can proclaim
That’s how Stafford got its name The weeping willow in all its grace
Cascading down on the river’s face
Fish are hiding in the reeds
While the blossom dances in the breeze. Cast an eye as the river runs by
Stop and stare with a thoughtful sigh
As the years roll on they seem surreal
When you’re standing by the old mill wheel. Susan Deehan
bubbling, gurgling, rippling round
reeds and boulders; living sound.
micro life diverse does curl,
aqua secrets in the swirl. Mrs Thelma Whitfield
The Old Town Mill
The power of the Sow once drove mill wheels
To grind the flour that made our meals,
To make the bread, the staff of life
To give us strength to conquer strife.
The Gas Works (True)
From the Sow behind the Gas Works
A three foot pike was landed.
It struggled quite a bit I’m told
But was brought out single handed.
Fish All the fish that were in the Sow
Were there just for the taking,
And a fair sized chub, oh lovely grub,
Was surely well worth baking.
The Green Bridge (True) A the Green Bridge boathouse was “Old Boat House Joe”
With boats to hire that you had to row,
You could row down to Milford, if you had time,
But the anglers got nasty of you broke their line.
Victoria Park There’s a bandstand still in “Vicky Park”,
Where brass bands used to play,
You could sing along with a military song
Or simply have a nice day.
Creswell (True) There was a shaky bridge at Cresswell
That crossed the River Sow
We could make it sway from side to side
But it’s not shaking now.
One day it gave a mighty crack & then began to quiver,
The hand-rail broke and suddenly, it chucked us in the river. H (Bert) Tolfree
Memories may come and go,
Through change and chance we always know
Infinitely, past and now,
Flows forever, River Sow
Pauline Shepherd
Willows droop on banks of brown and gold
Ducks and swans go gliding slowly by
Rippling on the liquid black,
Stirring mud and moving on. Mary Appleyard
Our fine historic Staffordian River Sow,
Rising on wetlands beyond this chartered town,
With all its changing moods in season flow,
Gives timeless pleasure in water gleam when others join in song. K A Pyatt
When I came to Stafford
I stood and made avow
That I would always linger
Along the River Sow June Shayler
What I like you are never the same river twice
By day swans glide over your glittering surface
At night you reflect your fellow pale rider the moon
As you gently heave your old soul along a never ending journey.
Grace Nickie
This is the River Sow
It got its name I know not how
The problem is very big
In fact it is a bit of a pig! John Hopkinson
The beauty of the River Sow
As it meanders through the town
Tranquil and so relaxing
Cheers me up when I am down.
Lorraine Geddie
As our river flows through this county town
Its waters run at a leisurely pace
Sit on its banks with your legs hanging down
And enjoy this rivers proud embrace
Eric Furze Return to Watershed
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