The Beatles And The Rolling Stones
By Nikki Wordsmith
hello@nikkiwordsmith.com
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In some cases, poems share the qualities of fine wines.
If the poem is lucky enough to be kept and reread, they change and mature as the years roll on.
If luckier still, the lines gain wisdom as they roll along.
If unlucky, they bend away from the guiding light of the verse.
Ann Smith Reads An Anniversary Poem — Married 58 Years Today!
And so it was for this poem The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.
I’d originally wrote this poem 4 years ago for their 54th wedding anniversary.
Then, t’other day, Mum found the poem again and meandered into the lounge mumbling about it.
I encouraged her to read it out — always a good test for a 77 year young.
Me, Dad, S (indifferent on her iPad) and Doughnut the Dog (even more indifferent by being asleep) half sat up and looked at Mum.
To my hypersensitive ear, Mum’s near perfect reading showed up the cracks in the lines.
Grudgingly I acquiesced that this is a very sweet poem. It is more rhythmic and hold the story better because it was written as a song.
Dad was going to sing this poem at a local open mic night, hence the first person POV.
Like a true writer, obsessed by details, I was unable to just let the cracked lines rest.
I’ve polished it up a bit for their 58th wedding anniversary today.
Long may they continue to twist and shout and share their sympathy for the devil for many more years to come ❤️❤️
The Beatles And The Rolling Stones 2026
He was The Beatles, she was The Rolling Stones.
They watched their bands on a black and white telly,
no blink of a mobile phone.
He rode his bike round her house at night,
her looks from the bedroom window fell.
He took the hint alright,
ran around the clock all night.
rock and rolling underneath a northern sky.
They were fifteen, it was sixty-four.
Julia taught John how to tune guitar,
and The Quarrymen were formed.
They watched their bands holding hands
on a black and white in her father’s home.
When Mick came on, Father said turn it off,
I can’t stand that man, I can’t stand his ruddy songs.
He was The Beatles, she was The Rolling Stones.
He asked her Father for her hand, reluctantly he said yes.
Funny how things turn out,
as they got married the Beatles divorced.
Hurt souls cried Yoko split the band.
Harrison wrote top songs.
Flares came into fashion,
lamb chop sideburns were the rage.
He was The Beatles, she was The Rolling Stones.
A couple of kids came along,
which added wonder to their load.
Now their kids are all grown up,
and they have kids at home.
Listening to that ruddy racket,
on their mobile phones.
The days go round and round
Make the most when you are young.
And when you’re old,
and have made it through,
start of the record once again.
Because he was always The Beatles & she was always The Rolling Stones.
Made in Lancashire
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