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Our new friend Shedman has written this special poem for Shed Week.

Encomium* for Shed Week

In Shedbury they’re celebrating the winners of Shedweek,

flags and bunting deck the streets and houses of Shedwick;

Sheddingham resounds to the cheers of sheddie folk

and Bedfordshire has change its name to extend the joke.

In allotments, along the tracks, the sheds of Britain amass

to join the chorus of salute to the winners of each class.

‘All hail!’ they cry, as thunderclouds deliver another load,

leaving the sheds slightly damp but not at all subdued.

And to you, Tim from Sudbury, the highest accolade:

The Rugby Pub of Suffolk, the finest ever made;

octagonal with roof lights, complete with double doors,

three fridges and a hammock, Shed of the Year is yours.

Upsteps a larch-lapped champion to raise the cry again

across United Sheddom, from every shed and man:

‘To Tim the victor’s laurels, to Tim the winner’s band!

The Rugby Pub of Suffolk is the best shed in the land!’

*High praise in honour of a victor – from the Latin!

©Shedman 2008 All rights reserved

You can meet the Shedman at:
Ledbury Poetry Festival July 5-13, 2008 and the Havant Poetry Festival Sept 25-28, 2008

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This is a question the Shedman asks on his great new blog Shedworld he also celebrating National Shed Week and during the Ledbury Poetry Festival

Shedman has been travelling the world for over five years now on a unique journey of discovery, a kind of spiritual quest with roof felt. It’s been a costly, beautiful, wry and amazing all at the same time, often with splinters. But the one thing he’s learned is just how creative people are, how inventive and how generous in sharing what they do in their sheds. Shedman feels it’s time he shared his experiences and ask everyone who does things in sheds to share theirs.

Thanks to Alex for the reminder

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To follow on from the recent shed poetry.

Sheddie Simon who owns The Plot thickens

Has written this about his great shed

On the topping-out of a pallet shed on the Wash Common allotment

Shed: May your hearth be ever stacked with sticks
for your pot bellied stove, with a hot kettle
for tea, and may the mice not find the PG Tips,
nor rats discover Hob Nobs in their metal
tin. Even when the sleet is beating hard
inside you’ll be bone dry, and though you’re built
from pallets that the wasteful just discard
your cladding will not split, nor will you tilt.
But what if I’d have gone to B&Q?
A golden pine pavilion would adorn
my plot. No hearth, no chimney pot, no flue,
no soul. You’re great, by oak, pine, thorn and yew:
this wood has found a home. So let’s adjourn
for cake, and toast this shed with a fresh brew.

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We now have an official poet for Shed week 2008, sheddie Rogan Whitenails has agreed to take on the mantle of Shed poet, I hope his wonderful musings can add some wossname to the world of sheds.

You can read his shed poem here, or take a look at his blog which showcases his work including his prose about a shedlike structure the Bird hide.

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Sheddie Rogan Whitenails emailed me this wonderful poem about his shed.

The Rhyme-Botherer’s Garden Shed

Shedspla! my shed:
Just once, let me find shortbread
In the shortbread tin, not screws;
Let the bolts in the jam jars bruise
Easily!
Is white spirit as mild as the moisty
Mizzle of morn, when supped
From the gowpen of two hands cupped;
As scant in the mouth, as faint,
Ill-equipped to thin paint,
Though it thins the thirst well enough?

You can read more of his stuff on his blog or buy his books over on amazon.

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