Something Special About Slough

A Poem for Slough

Nestled midst a conqueror’s throne,
Near a charter of great magnitude sown, 
Beyond an ancient public school,
Lies a rugged little jewel.

The Bard he penned: A slough, a morass,
And the Laureate lambasted, bold as brass,
Dave continued with Office dire,
Ridiculing the engine of Berkshire.

It’s not their fault they do not know,
The historical account, blow by blow,
It’s not their fault they ignore,
The ingenuity and all that’s more.

As Herschel gazed towards red Mars,
No doubt dreaming of melting chocolate bars,
For sure Brunel didn’t frown,
Powering his stream train through the town.

Great works of literature off the press,
Dickens, Ainsworth, Collins, bound to impress,
Neville snookered in the dark,
All conceived in our Upton Park.

Racing, snorting horses southerly bound,
Olympians row majestically crowned,
And who can forget when Deller met Lowe?
Nine dart finish, earning sacks of dough.

Crossing zebras with wheelie bins,
Shops bursting with fresh fruit (and tins),
Factories, industries, trades abound,
Air cond’ HQs sprouting, all around.

Many neighbouring parents seem to know,
Where to school fresh minds and off they go,
Tussle and jostle over 11 plus,
They don’t mind the commute or big red bus.

Roads neatly lined with Bitumen,
Fit for every electric car and human,
I think Brunel would be happy if knew,
Elizabeth and Crossrail bursting through.

Communities together in adversity,
Dynamic, swirling, pot of diversity,
A safer port to those who seek,
Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Sikh.

Parks Hershel, Upton, Baylis grow,
Life, greenery, to enjoy birdsong and radio,
Worth more than a wood, cow and pig,
Doomsday had it wrong and the dear poetic prig!

Once Slo, Sloo, Slowe but never Slow,
Keep on moving, in the flow,
Slough, a little helpful book of psalm,
And protection from falling, friendly napalm!