Personal Poetry
Personal       Poetry

Wedding Anniversaries

"Silver Wedding"

Let’s head back in time now to ’73,

The era of Slade, T- Rex and Bowie,

When Jane Hutchison’s ill-fated trip to the Med,

Led her and a mate off to Blackpool instead.

Adorned in their trench coats they thought themselves pukka.

They danced round their handbags and round Dave and Tucker.

Jane fell for Dave with the gorgeous brown eyes,

With her 5 inch thick platforms, that was no surprise!


Their “kiss me quick” days were soon at an end,

Dave stayed on a week as Jane left with her friend.

They wrote and they visited rather a lot,

But it took them 5 years to tie the old knot.

The seventies saw an increase in their passion,

Though goodness knows why when you look at the fashion!

Kipper ties, Oxford Bags and shoulder length hair,

And open necked shirts, that chest-hair to bare!

Then on Mothers day, way back in March ’81,

To David and Jane was born a young son.

Contractions which felt rather more than a stitch,

Were occurring whilst Dave kicked a ball round a pitch.


The years have been filled with the things both adored,

Dave’s love of live music and jetting abroad.

Jane’s taste for the theatre, books and fine wine,

She’s made this Yorkshireman rather refined!

Jane’s not Nicole Kidman; Dave’s no Richard Gere,

She drinks good Chardonnay, but he likes his beer.

He loves vindaloo, where she’ll choose egg and chips,

She loves garden centres, but they give Dave the pip!

“True!” they agree to agree on a matter or two,

Their love of the Baggies, the cricket , The Who.

There’s no substitute for this Father and Mother,

They’d neglect the whole world before one another.

It’s been 25 years since he gave Jane that ring,

And he says so himself, he’d not change a thing,

But the cost of a pint’s brought some nasty surprises,

And inflation’s effect on their hip and thigh sizes!

Forty Fabulous Years

This poem was written for a couple from Glasgow for their ruby wedding. Just think "Billy Connolly" to get the desired effect!


There she wiz at Tiffany's,

In Nineteen Seventy,

Dancin' roon her handbag,

Bein' eyed by Andy V.

There wiz he, all flares an' sideburns,

Oozin' Old Spice, feelin' slick,

Wi' only wan thing oan his mind.

Aye... how tae get in "Quick!"

He swaggered up tae Agnes,

After giein' her the eye.

An' tried oot his best chat-up lines,

He wiznae aw' that shy!

But she wiz no push-over,

An' made the poor wee bugger work,

She gied him the right runaroon...

...So in Sauchiehall Street he wid lurk!

But he's really her "Prince Charming",

An' he charmed her wi' his ring.

That's wan thing aboot Aggie,

She's a sucker fur the bling!

He cerried her over the threshhold,

Those forty years ago.

How many mair they've done since then?

I doubt we'll ever know.

Those parties in the bungalow!

Wi Jack an' Molly...Irene, Dave...

Well noo we've seen the cine films,

We know the meanin' o' a rave!

She's always been dead houseproud,

An' lived in showhomes - never shacks.

She fills her shelves and wardrobes,

From onny TK Maxx!

Andy's worked his socks off,

Tae keep that girl in jewels,

For his numbers never came up 

On the lottery or pools.

He's been a Pappa Gallo,

Sold books and toys galore,

Delivered Glasgow's take-aways,

I'm sure there's been loads more.


Now please all raise yer glasses,

To forty fabulous years

Of our good old friends "the Vinnies".

Hip-hip-hooray! Three cheers!

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© Susie Verity 2017