Get Your Premium Membership

Best England Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best England poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of england poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for England poems, articles about England poems, poetry blogs, or anything else England poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See Also:

Poems are below...

View all new England Poems

The Best England Poems

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Here, Again: The Autumn Equinox

Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016  
I wish you well...

I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed

I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass 
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk

I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue

I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones

I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight

For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…

@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016

Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Maid of Orleans

Reflecting in her garden sits a winsome little maid;
She holds a purple flower like the circlet that she made
And wrapped about her braids to grace her forehead like a crown;
Her thick and shining braids that are the shade of chestnut brown.
A soft and dreamy smile lifts her lips of cherry rose
As she so elegantly lifts the flower to her nose
To smell the rich and heady fragrance rising from its soul-
Upon this day in early May, her heart with joy is full.
But look! The heavens open wide, and joy is changed to fear,
For Michael the Archangel in the garden does appear,
And with him stand Saint Margaret and Saint Catharine, sent to seek
This girl of twelve, and in her frightened youthful ears to speak
Words form the Lord, of how someday, somehow, she'll have to save
Her native land, her land of France, from lying in the grave.
When in their bright angelic garb these saints to heav'n returned,
She knew they had been sent from God, her heart within her burned
With strong desire, with heaven's fire, to do her Father's will;
Her heart beats hard, while all around is silent, calm and still.

The years pass by, now seventeen, her hour is fully come,
And what is now but distant fancy, dull and throbbing hum
Will be her life, her joy, her pain; her darkness or her light:
For God and country, king and freedom, must, she must needs fight.
The chains of England must be broken, young prince Charles crowned:
A source of hope, of inspiration must for France be found;
For civil war rakes raging claws through weary, hopeless men,
Who fight and die, and sacrifice, and lose their homes again;
Their gardens, flocks and herds, and treasures, all are swept away:
With nothing left but life itself, and naught to do but pray.

God heard their prayer and sent her there for their deliverance,
To lead them on to victory through every circumstance
Of treachery or deviltry that loomed on every side.
Urged on by all the saints above and martyrs who had died,
She bound her armor to her body, helmet to her head;
A troop of eager soldiers to the Orleans siege she led.
Without a fear she faced the battle, banner held up high;
It filled each fainting heart with spirit, waving in the sky:
Unfailing, never falling, always standing at the fore,
And filling every weary soul with courage to the core.
Though wounded by an arrow striking close beside her heart,
She still pressed on to victory, she played her vital part.
The Maid of Orleans did her best, she held back not at all,
But risked her life at every turn to heed her heav'nly call;
She fought and bled and braved the beast until her king was crowned,
And even then she carried on, she traveled all around:
Each city gained broke off the chains of power-hungry kings,
Who killed to gain another's land, his citizens and things.

Alas! She met her fate at hands that should have helped her cause;
The countrymen she battled sold her to be judged by laws
And men that all disfavored her, yet still she firmly stood,
Proud head held high, two gleaming eyes; she answered best she could
Each twisted question meant to trap her clear but simple mind:
With wit and art she answered each; they really could not find
A cause for death, but death must be for such an enemy
The fate; who sees such visions full of vile heresy,
Of saints and angels revelating mortals with God's plan.
They also charged her with the sin of dressing like a man,
But it was of necessity she donned a soldier's guise;
For all throughout the war-torn realm roamed pairs of hateful eyes
Who did not heed a woman's cries, but did what pleased them best:
They killed or maimed or stained for life from eastern France to west.

So thus it is, not twenty years, they chain her to a stake-
The final chain that no amount of bravery can break.
Within her dress, hugged to her chest, she tucks a wooden cross;
The symbol of the Son of God, who faced such early loss
Of life, and like her was betrayed and mocked and led to die
Without a cause, without a crime, without a reason why.
Ten thousand people press around; she feels the burning heat,
As flames grow hotter, ever hotter- licking at her feet:
But on one thing and one thing only both her eyes are fixed;
Upon the figure held before her- on the crucifix.
And she is thinking of a time that seems so long ago,
When as a girl she used to sit and watch her garden grow;
She'd pick the purple petaled flowers, braid them in her hair;
Her life was simple, pure, and sweet, she hadn't any care
Until Saint Michael gave her calling to her way back then.
But if she had another life, she'd do it all again,
For God and country, king and freedom she could die this death;
And so it was that thus she died, and with her final breath
Her soul and body parted ways, and while her body burned,
Her soul went on to realms unknown, her soul to heav'n returned
Into the hands of He who made her, to the arms of Christ the Lord;
Who made for her a better body, more than just restored.
Here ends the troubles of this maiden, gone are jail cells dark:
Forever live the Maid of Orleans, known as Joan of Arc.

{Written by Isaiah Zerbst. For the first time published on October the 13th, 2014.}

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Waiting For You, the Return of the Light

Written for the Winter Solstice sunrise at Avebury, Wiltshire, England

I have waited for you
Where no shadow seeps
Deep in the earth
Where the slow damp creeps
Under the stones
Where the sunlight sleeps
I have waited for you

I have listened for you
In the eaglet’s cry
In the echoes of rooks
In the empty sky
In a new born’s breath
And a dead man’s sigh 
I have listened for you

I have looked for you
Where the elders grow
Followed your steps
Through the virgin snow
Through groves of yew
And mistletoe
Looking for you

I have watched for you
By the door and the gate
Risen up early
And lain down late
Doubted your love
And cursed my fate
Watching for you

You said you would come
You said that you will
Appear as the dawn
On the curve of the hill
I have waited for you
Through the dark, and the still 
You said you would come

I lit you a fire
I kindled a flame
In the fear of the darkness
I called out your name
I thought I was dying
And then you came
You said you would come

And here you are
The promise of light
Sweetening silence
And softening night
And all shall be well
And be blesséd delight
You said you would come

© Gail Foster 21st December 2016

Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2016

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Turned On

In the deepest of emotions
A desire to please
Be loved
Caressing tears like the wind
Kissing dreams in creamy lace
Carnal is the heart of seduction
Insane and sublime
Holding both body and soul
To my beating heart
No one shall see my weeping face
Our love was eternal
As you died in my arms

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.


Prince William was so sick of being told He’s receding and is now going bald So he called in the royal hairdresser To see if he could ease the heir pressure He gave him a brand new hairstyle This ‘buzzcut’ would be so worthwhile His hairdresser is very highbrow But his fees have raised an eyebrow William’s head looks like its been shaved Oh how the press stories have raved £180 pounds is what we’ve been told It’s so costly to look like you’re bald! The cost Prince William has now denied It wouldn’t be the first time the press have lied! One day William will be ‘heir apparent’ And cutting costs will be more transparent When William’s crowned then we could sing With altered words to God shave the king! Based on a story in the press over the cost of Prince William’s news haircut 01/20/18

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

What Would Wallis Say

What Would Wallis Say?

What would Wallis say if she were there that day,
a divorcee too, American through and through?
Did she offensively blink when Diana winked?
She and Adolf were friends. Let’s not pretend.

Her man was the King, who discarded all things
to take her as wife, this love of his life.
In that space of time, divorce was a crime
so, he put down The Crown when Wallis was found.

Life was no fairytale but great love did prevail.
Ugly words were said and ugly words they read.
Socialites all the style in unspoken exile.
What would Wallis say if she were there that day?

Would she turn up her chin in a bigoted grin
or grow greatly dazed by the change of ways?
Do you think she’d be glad that this woman had
been loved and accepted where she was rejected?


Copyright © Janis Thompson | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A British Soldier in Zululand

A British Soldier in Zululand            
copyright 2018 by jon gutmacher

So, he woke up in the morning
had a cup of steaming joe
put his rifle on his shoulder
and was ready then to go
to battle if there was one
to war if need would be
to ends of earth 
or ends of time
t’was the British infantry

And he remembered all his loved ones
and the wife he hardly knew
and the times before he took up war
as soldiers sometimes do
and he didn’t really know it
and he really didn’t care
for the army was his master
and the war was
always there

Then he got into the wagon
the hundredth man in line
then he checked his pack
he checked his bags
and all that he could find
The 60th Battalion
the pride of British war
all decked in fine regalia
for whatever was
in store

Now the pipes and drums were playing
a thousand men advanced
in perfect step and union
their bayonets stood fast
with the British Jack ah flying
not a man did miss a beat
their lines were fast and ready
their uniforms kept neat

And he took up his position
and then he took a knee
he saw the tribesmen coming
as far the eye 
could see
then his sergeant screamed an order
as they hit a hundred yards
and the first of several volleys
cut them down like
so much chard

But it didn’t stop them coming
it didn’t stop their charge
they ran as fast as leopards
would they make the final yards?
he could make out each their features
the markings on their shields
the glint of spear 
their shouting
as the two lines came so near

Then he fired another volley
as he saw the Zulu drop
he heard the screams as men fell down
the constant awful pop
from the rifles all around him
and rifles from behind
the shout of tribesmen sounded
while their charge did
shake the ground

Then, far off in the distance
saw their chieftains raise their spears
and another wave began to come
although the first was near
and he stood as straight as iron
and with a bloody shout
drove a bayonet in and thru a man
and then he pulled it out

Now the first line was upon him
the melee all around
his rifle butt and bayonet 
drove men dead to the ground
and the slaughter all about him
the blood upon the ground
his uniform now tattered
as he loaded another round

Now the battle finally over
amazed was still alive
they pursued the remaining Zulus
watched them struggle
as they died
and he saw a glint of sabers 
in the early morning sun
as the officers held a parlay
it seemed that all was done

Now he marched to drums and bagpipes 
back to where there was a fort
and he joked with lads beside him
bout war and all it brought

And the stars shone 
bright above him
across the Zulu plain
as he lay back down
upon his cot
the war now
just a name

So, I review my notes of battles
with my grandson on my knee
the medals there upon the wall
for anyone to see
and the regimental colors
the tunic that I wore
now memories
just memories
of a long gone
Zulu War

Copyright © jon gutmacher | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Admiral Lord Nelson

Blessed with ingenuity, he fought advancing tyranny
That stormed the sea in twenty-three  great warships sailing furiously.

That day, October twenty-first, saw Admiral Nelson at his worst,
As cannons roared, while gunners cursed. The times were changed, the tides reversed.

Lord Nelson, as an admiral brave with all his fleet defied the grave,
His native land and king to save:-- his life for freedom's cause he gave.

In but a half a dozen hours he humbled Europe's finest pow'rs,
And toppled Tyranny's highest tow'rs; yet Vict'ry found him crowned with flow'rs,

And not a place the crown to lay, on him, nor all who died that day
In sending Britain's foes away, across the stormy seas of grey.

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2014

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Concerning Math and How To Say It

The British call it maths,
but the Americans ditch the s
causing much international scorn.
But for our sake, p'raps it'd be best
to keep subjects
only halfway grasped
in the singular form.

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION - collab with JA Fraser

A CASTLE OF TEMPTATION Proudly standing amidst three lochs, verdant hills a Castle enciente breathing beauty but sadly chants passed feuds sparking battles having harried their foe and it's demise caused by Frigates cannonball screams. Colonel MacRae-Gilstrap rebuilds now redeemed: stoned arch bridge supersede the sea highway flow, circular stairs and ceilings with coat of arms grants changes made but its history today remains still Tourists not deterred by ghost tales scary extreme But await they exercise for imaginations to show the setting, a romantic reincarnation that enchants attracted lovers to celebrate their matrimonial thrill Eilean Donan Castle in its stunning reachable location pose the Western Highlands of Scotland a temptation. Written by: Olive Eloisa Guillermo and James Andrew Fraser 8:46 pm; August 18, 2015

Copyright © Olive Eloisa Guillermo - Fraser | Year Posted 2015

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Elizabeth II

See there! She flies about the moor
Upon her favoured mount.
The waving, flowing grassy shore
bears hoofprints all about.
The waves her steed surmounts.
Her hair is flying here and there;
She hasn't thought of care.

Her little sister, Margaret Rose
Thro' panelled glass observes
As Lilibet, the rider, goes
At breakneck turns and curves.
The joy of youth deserves
A few such wild or reckless ways
Some pleasures in its days.

Her pony soon is waxing faint
(To him we lay no blame!)
She leads him to the arbour gate,
Now finished with her game.
Her sister calls her name.
A liv'ried lad bears horse away;
She runs to hear her sister say:

"Since Uncle had to abdicate,
Now Father rules the land.
Does that not mean it is your fate
As next in line to stand
As queen o'er British sand?"
"Yes, someday that may happen too."
Then Rose said this: "Poor you."

But Lilibet thought not that way,
She strengthened for the task;
Made ready for the coming day
And all that it would ask.
(It sure would be a tax
Becoming an authority,
Yet bound by law's decree.)

From duty's call she would not shrink;
The challenge she'd embrace.
Her high morale she'd not let sink,
But obstacles would face;
And God would give the grace
To yet be brave when dangers be,
And reign with equity.

{Lilibet was Elizabeth's nickname as a child among the Royal Family}

Copyright © Isaiah Zerbst | Year Posted 2015

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

I'm not nosey but

I've never been one to nosey but
Looking through my net curtains
I just happened to have a pair of binoculars in my hand
I'm a curious kinda man
Ooh you wouldn't believe the things I've seen
Not being a gossip of course
It's so posh around here the mail is personally
Delivered by the Queen
And across my vast sprawling country estate
Someone's skinny dipping in my lake
I think I'll choose a masserati today
And wave at the peasants on my way.

There goes Dietrich on her penny farthing
Listening to some Hank Marvin
Toqyen is drunk again
Casarah is walking her lama
Tim has just worked out at the gym
And Jan is looking nice and Trim
Peter and Vera 
are in the garden
Singing Shakira
Poet destroyer is cutting the grass
Ooh she has a lovely fast
Mower that lass.

There goes Mary Jo on her pogo stick
She doesn't look too well hope she's not sick
Over there prince Harry is having a party again
A fancy dress
And he's dressed as hen
Well folks Think I'll get in my hot tub full of champagne
And wait until tomorrow
When I can spy again.

Peter Dome. copyright. 2014. Sept.

Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2014

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

A Room Full of Butterflies

Inspired by a Art gallery and a poem by Shelly.

A room full of  mottled multicolored butterflies
captured within a creative space
of artful design
to inspire and aspire
Flirt and flutter a delicate ballet
among the pot plants
A splash of color
an oasis
among a drab row of urban gray
The door is opened
and the butterflies are released to freedom
flying high above
lush green trees
in clear unblemished skies
floating like autumn fallen leaves
in a gentle breeze
painted Ladies
that rested on my heart for a while
and made it smile
bringing pleasure to my eye
A symbol of freedom and eternity
filling my dreams
with all the treasures of summer.

Peter Dome.copyright.2013. Sept.

Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2013

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Broken England

Broken England
By Steven Cooke

My Brave ancestors of England,
Look away, for I offend thee.

For your England is no more.
Decay eats away at this fallen empire.
Your people divided,
Its laws weakened by Europe’s power.
Its leadership, protecting the few.
The fresh air of your Country gone,
Only the stench of anarchy remains
Heroes of The Somme look away for I offend thee.

Stock Market Parasites, take without producing
Corporations overwhelm, the weak,
Without paying their due.
Their off shore havens digest the life blood of this once great nation,
Leaving the scraps of minimum wage for the masses to beg. 
The dead of Pashendale look away for I offend thee.

Government legislate to keep us in bondage to 66
Over the hill at 50, to wonder the dole queues
Youth denied education, 
Universities at a price,
Qualifications for the chosen few,
Unemployment, for the poor.
Our brothers of Gallipoli look away for I offend thee.

Our Cities are in pain.
Hopeless lives, with hopeless dreams,
Hopeless choices, drugs, crime,
Or silence behind closed doors.
Babies born to fail,
Children, exposed to depression and chips.
The ghosts of Arnhem look away for I offend thee.

A voice in the darkness, shouts its rage
The iron curtain of youth descends on England
This is no Lennon revolution,
This is youth with no future, abandoned by government
No rules here to obey, No Civic pride,
 No sense of History, no Country to protect
The Saviours of Goose green look away for I offend thee

But fat cats beware, for there is a dream,
That cannot be bought.
A warning from history.
A country cannot go forward,
Without learning from the past.

Your greed will self destruct
Your Paradise a lie
For a Dangerous wind now blows,
And common sense, will fail.
For England is Broken,
And life will never be the same,
In England’s green and pleasant land.
Now It is my turn to look away, 
for you see this offends me too.

Copyright © steven cooke | Year Posted 2011

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Earl of Pence

'Twas a dark and stormy night! (OK - so I'm being a tad histrionic!)
The Earl of Pence was lounging by the fire sipping his gin and tonic.
Lightning flashed and thunder roared sending shivers down his spine.
Even his hound, Lord Percival, was so upset that he began to whine!

'Twas well-known thereabouts that phantoms haunted the earl's castle,
And on such frightful nights they were bound to cause a spooky hassle.
Nefarious deeds had occurred within Penceshire Castle walls in the past,
And were replayed in 'spirited' form leaving generations of earls aghast!

A shriek from the bowels of the castle sent the dog into howling fits,
And brought the earl bounding to his feet, scaring him out of his wits!
The blood-curdling screams were from a former Earl of Pence who in 1642,
Was hung by his thumbs in the dungeon for a fair maiden that he slew!

Suddenly, the ancient organ in the hall began playing eerie chords.
Heard on the floor above was rowdy dancing by ladies, knights and lords.
Ghastly emanations from the past paraded through the terrified earl's room,
Antecedents all, leering and grinning and predicting the anxious earl's doom!

Lord Percival sensing trouble long before, across the moat had bolted!
The storm subsided and the apparitions faded leaving the earl quite jolted!
He felt a bony hand upon his shoulder that took away his final breath.
'Twas his valet who offered a gin and tonic to the earl who now lay in death!

Copyright © Robert L. Hinshaw | Year Posted 2014

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Bubbletown Blews

Bubbletown  Blews

Whilst sitting and lying by a babbling brook
for once through the water I took a deeper look
then I saw into Bubbletown, bubbles popping with glee
for that is what they are meant to be
Down there, theres no time for heirs and graces
and no disrespect to creeds and races

no single bubble is better no matter how big or small
for history,religion and status there is no need at all
A bubbles life is simple you see to try not to pop for as long as can be
yet when it pops it sets others free

Then with a whip and a splash stuck to a sticklebacks fin
a bubble escapes from deep within 
no record will be remembered of this noble fleet
and  the bubble will join another bubbletown meet
no questions asked just join in the throng
for all bubble's are equal no matter how big and strong

and remember this as long as they thrive
the round little folk keep the whole stream alive
So take from this no matter how small and meek
the powers inside us to be strong and unique

just be like a bubble and raise to attest
then my son or daughter you can be like the rest 
no better no worse and you can fly
your sky is your limit if you put no one down, and greet others from outside of town
with a smile and a welcome instead of a frown !!!

MB 2013

Copyright © marc barritt | Year Posted 2013

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.



Oh, Manchester, you are such a majestic city 
bathed in your bright blazing lights in the night. 
Everyone has been to your cityscape, 
if they work there or go to see such honoured shops 
like Vinyl Exchange to get their favourite record. 
Such calamities in the past have struck so suddenly 
like German bombers of the blitz to the IRA only recently, 
you survive all this like a Phoenix rising out of the ashes. 
So many different people are there on a Saturday afternoon 
all coming and going, it amazes you 
just to see them all become one with the city.

Copyright © nick armbrister jimmy boom semtex | Year Posted 2014

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.


I am England til I die because England is I.
I am England in my heart, I am England in my eyes,
I am England in my sleep, I am England when I rise,
I am England on the land, in the sea and in the skies.

I will fly high the flag of red and white,
I will do it everyday, I will do it every night,
I will fly it in the peace, I will fly it in the fight.
I will fly it when we're good, I will fly it when we're sh**e.

When England needs, we all fight, we all bleed.
We are together in defeat and together in victory.

I am England with an English heartbeat,
I am England from my head to my feet.
I am England and the feeling is sweet.
We are England and we are complete.

I am England til I die.
I am England with pride.
I am England for life.

and England is I.

Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The British Weather

It's the only land that you can
get all seasons in one day
you name it UK displays it
all the colors from blue to grey
It certainly has loads of great variety
from sun clouds snow and  pouring rain
to hail winds storms and freezing ice
has such a staining effect on the brain
The north is such damp climate
having wet damp miserable outlook
fills one with negative thoughts
when sun shines it seems a fluke
In the south where it's bright
as it's mostly warmer with sunshine
for it's labelled the English riviera
where it matures like a good wine
The east has real mighty gale force
as America's conditions effect the west
when they come across from States
on the atlantic waves full crest
So that's Britain's wayward weather
like it or lump it that's your lot
remember you guys across the pond
don't send everything that you've got!

(Just some thoughts on the UK weather and how it varies so much, also a little quip at you guys in US where we seem to get the effects of your east coast storms but rarely your sunshine. but no matter we love you all!!!)

Copyright © Gordon McConnell | Year Posted 2016

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Choosing Choice

A lighter view of the Devizes Neighbourhood Plan 
referendum on Thursday 17th September

My alarm clock shouts at me with noisy voice
“Wake up!  It’s Thursday and you have a choice!”
Of what to have for breakfast, eggs or bran
And of voting or not voting on the Plan
I’m not that sure quite what it's all about
Perhaps I’ll go online and check it out
The library know their stuff, they’re pretty fair
Could ask at the Town Hall, there’s people there
That funny poet woman says “Vote Yes”
Or otherwise the town will be a mess
Without a Plan we just won’t have a clue
Of what outside developers will do
But other folk are saying “No! Vote No!”
I’m so confused about which way to go
If I don’t vote I haven’t had a say
It’s only a few moments from my day
I’m going to go to town now and the Market
Could take the car but it’s a job to park it
Might take my bike or simply take a walk
And wander round and meet some friends and talk
I wonder what they think, I’ll ask their views
They might, like me, be wondering what to choose
Meat from the butchers, or some humble spam
Or whether to have a quick one in The Lamb
I’ve chosen breakfast eggs, I’m on a roll
I’m going to town, I’m going to simply stroll
I’m going to look at options and take note
I’m choosing choice and I am going to vote

If stuff goes wrong I’ve got till ten o’clock
The day is long, I’m on it (where’s that sock?)

by Gail


Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2015

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Penny for the Guy

On a cold autumn eve, playful fingers tangled, soft and shy. The smell of hot chestnuts wafted through the milling crowd, a promise of comfort and warmth. We watched, you and I, the skies explode as rockets declared their secret desires. Catherine wheels danced a dizzying response while the bang of crackerjacks echoed, spilling smoke quick into the night. "Penny for the guy?", they cried. Sparklers lit, searching lips, the most tender touch. We kissed, my heart reflected in your eyes.
Date: 25.11.2016 *There is no category for a double etheree that I could see.

Copyright © Leileah Kasperyan | Year Posted 2016

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

late night

Into the kingdom. 

From the kingdom was I bourne ancestral sailed into the fall of the hemispheres equator. Other earth side I became alive.  The table on the fringe.
From the kingdom all my culture my speech unadultured, my faith absolute. 

Into the kingdom was I taken lifted airborne did I rise and fall and gently sail above the Thames in cloud.
oh mighty I land, thence a war that had began.
two children to become lovers we played distanced by nowt but the days. And a haze of hedges, fences, walls. Lonely hence thus I alone until. 
 I pray together I held hands with the love of her and my our kingdom Albion. 
kissed we kissed. Love we love. Listen we listened. 

fettered by oath to because of the poverty. 

Amongst knights and their princes did I train, against the kaffir whom we blamed. Attack now they preached I said laugh instead, this fool feels meek, love, they should not war in the name of the all and that that is above.  Wise words from her. 

return to

oh into the kingdom did I go, into the kingdom there I roamed. Into the kingdom with all that was kind and brute and love and speech. 

This child did roam through into the love of her kingdom, there I did go, into the kingdom I am. In time I am. Oh that I am.  Man I am In the kingdom. Hear me times men of man, electricity I speak. Until I go. Now im away and waiting. Holding silenced im praying for her. 

split speech wreaking for heavens sakes, im in the kingdom. 

I fell for her, she fell for me. In the anarchy.  

that was life and of death I say when that arrives,
until then spring, new loves and life for more we both memory our time we hope we dream we think we speak we remember our promises in youth. 

friends forever more, no matter how we fall, if we fall. Uplift us again in love my friends. 

She knows when the word, I there within, filled love with her our word as words and words the maker makes and doth we wrote, between the love life. 

when the holy finds her, there I am stoic im her man, in virgin, Shield, for I am, im hers.  From the shelter of her kingdom I return to the dark of the deep, the continent of the beasts. A lion roars. 

Copyright © john night | Year Posted 2015

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Daft From Bath

You look stupid in videos on phones at the start,
you don't look like "Badmans" calling women a tart,
when I see those skits I think what a retard,
and don't you know we all skip over that part.

I don't rap with accents like tings and blud innit,
recycling scrap lyrics while some chipmunk sings it,
we're from the same place but our accents don't match,
when you talk fake like that there's psychology attached.

You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
you aint from the hood and you aint got wrath,
it makes me laugh when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath.

You strut around in clothes like it's product placement,
amusing when your music sits unused in your basement,
you put more into having sick clothes and fat cars,
while your rhymes sit thin anorexic and starved,
you idolise the stories of legends and icons,
and then write your boring life into your songs,
'cus 2Pac did Brenda and Slim did Stan,
questions of their life came from the demand,
no one cares until they ask who you are,
so don't start off writing that bore into bars,
you all write the same just rewording the verse,
it gets you all no where, as far as it deserves,
you're just another MC living life unlawful,
talking about it in rhymes that are awful,
it's not a story that anyone called for,
we don't care, you're no one, shut up and act normal!

You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
you aint from the ghetto and you aint got wrath,
it makes me laugh when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath.

You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath,
you aint from the hood and you aint got wrath,
it makes me laugh when you come from Bath,
You think you're gangsta, now that's just daft,
making out you're BAD when you come from Bath.

Hear the song, copy and paste link below

Copyright © Nick Trim | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

Trim Shady Come Out And Playyyy

Challenge To Trim Shady Lets Flow
I'll murk you Trim Shady in slowmo 
for talking crazy in my dojo
shouldn't have come solo
to try to best this italiano
your words are shallow
like trumps at mar largo
so bravo those who you they use to follow 
now I lead as you wallow 
helped me to the moon like apollo

My words are heaven sent 
i always represent 
your rhymes ain't worth a cent
you need to repent 
but don't get bent 
to any extent just be content 
your rhymes are an accident 
I can become benevolent 
as your mind I disorient 

Aha now looks like you wanna dream 
as I spit my extreme supreme theme
my regime will cream your esteem 
make you scream I'm ole school like kareem 
your **** I'll ream check out the grand scheme 
and tomorrow maybe yourself you can redeem

Now you have seen
I don't do in-between 
you still young and green
behind your ears still clean 
I'll eat you up like cuisine from the canteen 
I'm up like caffeine 
you get your vaccine 
none can intervene 
as I now leave you on scene 
you got served a rhyme that's obscene 
I told it was foreseen 
the US blows you out the water like a submarine
giving your spleen 
damage that's unseen

This battle was heavy weight 
I sting like Ali the great 
dealt you straight 
at any rate 
I predate 
you mate 
your big ego you did overrate 
as it I did deflate 
your late pick a date 
I'll wait for your debate 
so don't hate let me again relate
I told you of your fate you was the bait 
the big fish I already ate from my plate 
even the Duchess of Cambridge Kate 
will state and the Queen will equate 
as I dictate she'll translate 
but don't be irate I did sedate 
you before your **** I straight did incinerate

Now take your time try to come hard 
I know your body I scarred your mind i jarred 
then charred with no regard 
to the blows making you act like a retard 
call me captain Piccard because in this show I starred 
you should have kept up your guard 
if you was a lawyer I'd have you disbarred 
I stand unmarred even in your yard your rhymes I discard

So just keep typing 
trying to be big hyping I will take you sniping
as you steadily griping and swiping 
and your nose I'll be wiping 
with this last off rhyme I'll be striking

Copyright © Brenda Chiri | Year Posted 2018

Details | England Poem | Create an image from this poem.

The Blossom On The Bough

Two sonnets for May, and my muse

The fires are lit, my lover, and the hills
are flickering with little points of light
The sun is set, and deep within the rills
the seeds of stars are littering the night 
The smoke is rising, lover, rising high
in winding spires of ribbons in the air
and in the rivers where the willows cry
and on the leys the ancient druids dare 
to walk, the chalk is glowing. I know you
will never leap the Beltane fires with me
or rise on one May morning in the dew
beside me, spellbound by my poetry  
Or so it seems. But oh, my lover, how  
the blossom burns, so brightly on the bough

The maypole’s up, my lover, on the green
its willow ribbons flutter in the breeze
I would you be my king, and I your queen
for one night only, here beneath the trees 
The hawthorn froths, my lover, in the hedge
the buds are bursting, birds are nesting high
yet still you fly, my hawk, above the edge
of some cold mountain way up in the sky
Come down, or are you wary that a flame
might fall within your feathers, or a spark 
ignite your heart, or god forbid, you came
to want to stay beside me in the dark
It’s so, it seems. But see, my lover, now
the blossom burning brighter on the bough

© Gail Foster 1st May 2018

Copyright © Gail Foster | Year Posted 2018