Best Brooke Poems

He lives upon a printed page,
marching golden in a dream.
His words described a brighter age --
which quaffed the milk and lapped the cream.
Fate brought him forth to love and live --
scion of a proud and noble race.
All he sacrificed and all he'd give
was deeply marked...

Continue reading...

I know I don't have millions
To leave you in my will
But what I have for each of you
Is something greater still

I have a few possessions
For each of you to keep
Photographs and memories
I know will make you weep

All my sad sad poems
Written through my tears
All the...

Continue reading...

Brooke shield,s dawter is a shef named cook!
Detective glass has a son named book! 

Quinn Cummings dawter is a girl named zinn ! 
Mike Nelson,s grandson wants 2 dive in Hudson,s bay ,
Wair no one else has ever bin !

No one else can say wut...

Continue reading...

Standing in the rain he looked at her, as she looked away
Drops of black tears down her face, but not from any pain
“Do you feel; do you even know what it is to love?”
It’s an indescribable feeling she thought, but the words delayed
Nothing felt right...

Continue reading...

The clouds were pink at morning light
I'd thought about you all last night
Alone outside at 3am
Stars! The sky was filled with them
Your name exhaled in frozen breath
'Til no air in my lungs was left 
Then there you were, and not too soon
Appearing on the crescent...

Continue reading...

Rupert Brooke's poetry you well meet
for this'darling of the aesthete'
Sonnets were is form of song
WW1 group he now does rightly belong...

Continue reading...

Brooke rocks the stage and hits the white rook
No joke, no blunder. She screams thunder
Brooke hits the eye with her gleaming look
No wonder other blokes watch and choke.

Brooke rocks the stage and hits the white rook
Closing the gate as she does a checkmate
Brooke hits every...

Continue reading...

The roadside IED was a major insult.
Third degree covers 93 percent. 
He’s not the same as before.
Skin leathery, dry, waxy, 
Pearly gray and charred. 
Underlying fat and muscle exposed.  
Ears gone. 
Fingers gone. 
Manhood gone.
If he still had lips, 
He might pronounce the words,...

Continue reading...

English ppoet Rupert Brooke
hs abab style is worth a look
'The Soldier' ,England of a bygone time
but 'Chilterns' for me nostalgia in rime...

Continue reading...