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Blue Jeans to a Ball by Megan Bradbury

Megan Bradbury was the Young Poet Laureate for Birmingham 2008-2009

Megan performed this poem at a conference for teachers about creative writing.
Find out more in her blog.

Blue Jeans to a Ball

Once upon a December night,
When all extinguished but one light,
The sun, the day has taken flight,
And the moon shall take its turn
As brighter lights began to glow,
Those dressed in jewels from head to toe,
Like streams behind their dresses flow
Expensive running water
They float about like coloured stars
They come from near, they come from far,
Horse and carriage replaces car,
As they come to the Christmas Ball

Enter those with reputation,
Given through the invitation,
So no cost spared through decoration,
In what the people wear
Jewel-encrusted sparkling broaches,
Solid golden carriage coaches,
Suddenly, a girl approaches,
Rich women gasp in horror
She wears no make-up on her face,
Around her neck, no frills of lace,
But no doubt the biggest disgrace,
Are the blue jeans that she wears

She strides in through the ballroom door,
She struts onto the dancing floor,
She doesn't comment, just ignores,
The whispering of the guests
The band strikes up a recent song,
She takes the floor, she sings along,
But there is no dancing throng,
They all just stand and watch
Her confidence is leaping out,
She whirls and twists and spins about,
In her joy, she laughs, she shouts,
"Come party with me friends!"

This seems to break her entering charm,
For one man shouts out in alarm,
"It does disrespect, it does great harm,
To wear jeans to a ball!"
She looks at him in mild surprise,
But still she twinkles in her eyes,
She smiles at him, and then she cries,
"Can't you see what you're missing?
I'm wild, I'm free, I'm wearing jeans,
But you're in posh gowns, stiff and clean,
You think it's how you must be seen,
But you could be just like me!"

And so at this year's Christmas Ball,
No itchy suits, no jewels at all,
The dress shop earnings take a fall,
But spirits rise like the moon
Made-up faces now are bare,
Blue jeans are what they all will wear,
And yet nobody seems to care,
Image not an issue
And the leader of the crowd,
Straight-backed, her head held high and proud,
Has managed to make it allowed,
To wear blue jeans to a ball

Birmingham Young Poet Laureate 2008-2009
Birmingham Young Poet Laureate Blog 2008-2009
Poems by Megan Bradbury
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My Dream Poem by Megan Bradbury
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