Well, I wake up in the mornin’
feel so sick down to my shoes,
the box-office is jumpin’,
I got the Stage 4 Beverley Blues.

I got the blues
I got those February Festival blues,
I better pay my dues
I got those Stage 4 Beverley Blues.

So, all the venues will be buzzin’
and rockin’ to tunes old and new,
I’ll be shakin’ my booty
at the New York Brass Band too.

And after all the events have finished
don’t go down the pub,
when you can kick back with a beer or two,
at the Late-Night Festival Club

I got the blues
I got those syncopation blues,
don’t step on my blue suede shoes
(is the King here?) I got those Stage 4 Beverley Blues.

Now, I’ve been to Glastonbury,
Download and Tribfest too,
but I tell ya Stage 4 Beverley,
I keep a coming back to you…

and it’s not just about the line-ups
the fantastic acts you choose,
no, it’s also because you continue to have…
spotless festival loos!

I got the blues
those sweet jelly-roll blues,
have you heard the news?
I got those Stage 4 Beverley Blues.

Everybody’s clamoring
For Beverley Community Choir
plus Dankworth, Cambo and Bilston,
this festival’s on fire!

And I’m inspired by all this eclectic stuff
I’ll be attending the Harmony Singing Class,
I’m told I can hold a pretty good note…
more like a cat clawing broken glass.

I got those blues
I got those convoluted, rhyming blues,
I hope I’ve lit your fuse?
Now you can get the Stage 4 Beverley Blues.

So, finally,
as you navigate the upcoming festival,
just you remember this sad old blues boy
who’s got those…

Amazing headliners
and talented songwriters,
spoken word
that’s what I’ve heard.

Tickets I’ll be jugglin’
to see the Saltburn Smugglin’,
Nagasaka and Killen
will get us all chillin’.

The Horizon Stage,
that’s gonna engage,
from poetry to page
it’s all the rage.

Danny Bradley guitar pluckin’
Charlotte Carrivick bluegrass truckin’,
Gary Stewarts Graceland singin’,
Sea Shanty swingin’…

Yes, I think you know by now,
I got those blues,
I got those,
Stage 4 Beverley Blues.

On that rainy festival finale
we expected the gritty Bronx,
The Big Bad Apple,
transplanted into the East Riding.
But got North Yorkshire’s finest, a mix of Basin Street
thrown in, and a red-bereted lead guitarist
leading us on, ramping it up –
bringing the noise, the moves, the chaos.

And all thoughts of East Coast, USA were soon roared aside
as we were deluged by trombones and saxes
that roamed the stage in tartan shorts,
that gave us eclectic standards and offbeat originals –
Ellington & Monk, Ross & Whitney –
gave us a blast, funked us to our seats and to our feet:
a riot of horns, percussion, and pure party energy.

Then, the climax,
and we became the show.
A brass-cheeked audience snake,
pied-pipered out of the theatre,
marching with trombones through the foyer,
conga-ing down the corridor,
bursting through the café doors
to blasts of Walking on Sunshine.

The whole band scattered amongst the tables,
commanded us onto our haunches
then down onto our creaking knees.
Finally, a lone sousaphone
lead a looping, growling, call and response,
until our parched lips puckered and breath gave out,
and then calm descended,
and ‘last orders’ were called.

Taking our syncopation into the rain,
we were left with New Orleans’ soul
burning through our veins,
our feet weary and ears gently buzzing.
Enough to serenade us home, pull us into the pillow
and a cadenced sleep. Where we bottled the
night and conjured up dreams of future
festivals, with flamboyant big brass vibes.

Chris Sewart
Festival Poet – Stage 4 Beverley Festival 2026
@chriswriting.bsky.social

I observe that one minute
they are alone at the bar,
the next, two women are
buttering them like toast,
fluttering their egos
with the force of a typhoon.

And the pair
– being malleable men –
accept this unexpected attention,
along with the shared pints
and the shotgun
of innuendo, and easy chatter.

Then, a sudden leftfield
exchange about modern poetry.
Embracing incomplete
couplets, lavishing praise
on controlled assonance
and cool half-rhyme.

Eavesdropping this jumble of
surprising banter, I notice a couple
– snug in the corner –
amused at the flirting,
vicariously relishing
a slice of this fun,

whilst beating meticulous time
with their metronome feet.

Chris Sewart
Festival Poet – Stage 4 Beverley Festival 2026
@chriswriting.bsky.social