Ecky Thump

Eigh up.  There's nowt quite like a theme to set yer sailin' on them waves o' knowin'.  Fer as yer may 'ave spotted, we're harpin' on abaht t'past reet neaw.  Task'd wi cunjurin' up pomes fer t'gala at Poulton in June, us Lanky bards 'ave bin gawpin' inter t'lugs o' hist'ry 'n' wundrin' wot it's all abaht. 
Wi fettlin' in mind, here's sum new-fangled links ter portals o' knowin:
elks
clogs
pomes
words
It's wi grand expectashuns that ah'll be waitin' a't'lib'ry on Saturday, ter mek sum verses wi sum bardish folks.  Theer's nowt as gud as pomes.
The Skippool Lass
"Thas bin t'untherside o'th'ward 'n' cram'd yer brig wi' booze fer brass Yer jiggered, spittin' feathers,Cup o' tae 'n' parkin's all yer ask
Sum pepper'd leaves o' scurvy grass'll ease yer warch 'n'calm yer chopsAh tek 'em ev'ry day mi'selAh've nowt thas ailin', swear ti God.
Don't mind th'alarm from yonder marsh'Tis just yer godwit's chunner heawrThum pirate teal's 'ave shook 'em oopGone traipsin' all abaht thur heause
Wi' Sun descendin' mighty quickLed's mizzle fer yon ale heause Yer kindred's took ter purring leawdSo's best yer not traipsin' abaht."