Best Englishmen Poems
I come to you with humble thanks for all that you’ve delivered,
For Englishmen to walk the planks and for timbers left unshivered.
I thank you for a glassy sea and the steady blowing breeze,
For giving all these things to me without making me say please.
And I thank you for the horizon where sea and sky do meet,
For every new sun that I watch risin’ is a day of fate I’ll cheat.
It is my hope dear loving Lord that I can bring you pleasure,
By throwing someone overboard and stealing all their treasure.
And when I navigate at night you send the northern star,
I feel then that I’m alright and it’s to you that I’ll say ARRR.
There’s a lesson that some people teach about the carrying that you do,
But I knew that the footprints on the beach must have belonged to you.
‘Cause I got a peg and there’s no doubt it would’ve got stuck into the sand.
I couldn’t have pulled myself back out because I got this hook for one hand.
I’d like to see you but by some quirk my good eye got covered by my patch,
I know that I’m just salvage work and it’s you who’ll batten down my hatch.
So Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of rum and raise the Jolly Roger to the sky,
And praise Him from whom blessings come the one who reigns on high.
For I am grateful for the gifts that you have granted me,
A pirate ship that is so swift and the blue green open sea.
Stood on the roof of the Empire State
Two American men and their new English mate
It’s true that a bourbon or two had been had
Perhaps that’s what made them all act a bit mad
The Englishman, clearly, had drunk a bit more
His friends shared a secret which made them guffaw
One asked their English friend if he had heard
That bourbon allows you to fly like a bird
The Englishman grinned. ‘I’m not falling for that,
If I tried to fly I would fall and go splat!’
So one of his mates jumped right down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
‘My, that’s amazing,’ the Englishman said,
‘If I had done that I would be a bit dead.’
‘Nonsense,’ the other American said,
‘If you won’t do it, I’ll do it instead.’
True to his word he jumped down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
The Englishmen gasped. ‘I can’t believe that
You jumped off the roof but you didn’t go splat.’
So both the Americans said he was scared
And after a while the Englishman dared
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I think I could do that.’
He jumped and smashed into the ground with a splat
They gazed at the gory result of their plan
And Spiderman said, ‘That was mean, Superman.’
***
Secretly watching from behind a tree
He thought to himself ‘They could never kill me.’
For they hadn’t known his identity.
Or that the ‘splat’ was ground beef for his tea
He hadn’t harboured malicious intent
When he had adopted an English accent
But in their ‘day wear’ he still knew what it meant
When young Peter Parker said, ‘Meet Mr Kent.’
It was nice to see that the graveyard was stuffed
He grinned to see Spidey and Superman cuffed
Soon he'd step out for his mourners to see
For now, Batman giggled hysterically
6 September 2022
For contest: superheroes or Supervillains
Sponsor: Robert James Liguory
Deceiving and inviting
suns glare hides it's true
All the stars in the night
or the colors of day
Can't blend together
to make something so beautiful
and as only human
struck down in fear
and in horror
perfection lasts only
here in the angels eyes
black as the new moon sky
nothing can compare to
how the darkness lies
in the angels heart
and the only flash of light
shows the true form of
reality and scorn
Red devils and white saints
witches and warlocks
cowboys and Englishmen
Martians and elves
none of which can bare to see
the beautify of the Black Angel
Neither mad dogs nor Englishmen
rejoice as sunlight growing thin
allows the tidal sands to shift
through moonlight’s vapor growing dim
Yet still the beasts of lolling tongue
huddle with their shaded young
beneath a cloak of crimson red
abandoned nests now left unsung
Whilst I enjoyed this mingled tryst
as lovers passing gently kissed
and danced beneath a smiling sun
embracing moments others missed
Soft rustling limply humid leaves
deny the creep of autumn’s thieves
grey squirrels stalking acorn fields
from high upon a church apse eaves
School children race through tanning grass
rejoicing in their sunset dash
pursuing dusk into the dark
as dog day’s breath goes panting past
©9/3/2018
for The Dog Days Endure Poetry Contest
What’s in my name? It’s Candler,
A name as old as English tax.
If you’re of English descent, yours may be too.
Let us take a short trip back.
The Magna Carta united Englishmen,
But created a need for government.
Now, that government required some funding,
So, across the land, tax collectors were sent.
Too many Williams, Simons and Johns.
The tax collectors’ records were a mess.
Ideas were tossed around by the King’s advisors.
“Give them surnames. That would be best.”
So, if John was a carpenter,
Carpenter was assigned as his surname.
John Carpenter of Holbrook would identify
From whence his taxes came.
And so it was for all taxpaying men:
Fishers, Farmers, Smiths, and Wrights,
Thatchers, Tailors, Wellers too.
No man escaped a name and taxes…not even Knights.
So, “What’s a Candler?” you might ask.
Well, there’s more there than meets the eye;
A maker of candles seems an answer quite plain;
But the tax collectors had other Candlers to identify.
There were also those who ‘candled’ eggs;
Held them to a candle: are they fertile or ready to eat?
You see, a fertile egg would one day be a chicken,
To lay more eggs or provide tasty dark and white meat.
Now, if a Candler came from Holbrook,
He later may have taken Holbrook as his name;
But if he chose to stay a Candler,
We’ll likely never know which was his game.
But whether my forefathers candled eggs
Or made candles to light the eerie nights;
They survived and made their meager mark,
And I just love two over easy with toast….. by candle light.
The Irish Republican Army
Through clenched teeth will fight,
So all with Irish accents
Will hear "Ireland's call" and unite.
The cowboys sings of the country
Mountains and farms and all that,
Though he is from the city
he'll wear his ten gallon hat.
The American is so proud
He was born on the Fourth of July,
He sings the "star spangled banner"
With hand on heart as he cries.
The Australian larrikin is proud
Of their beaches, forests and sun,
That he is "young and free"
With BBQ and beer soaked fun.
The Scotsman wears His kilt
And recites what Burns may have said,
About the braveheart spirit
That against the Englishmen bled.
Then there's the twelve year old boy
Thinks "in what can I now be proud" ?,
He'll wear his football jersey
With the thousands in the stand with the crowd.
These all have something in common
It's the same thing that drives them all,
It's all about their identity
By this we all stand or fall.
The identity is the powerful force
That drives all of life's decisions,
To understand motivation
The identity is the heart's incision.
For this we'll defend to the death
For that is our fighting territory,
Because it's who we are
Where belief comes from, our identity.
Note: "Ireland's call" is the anthem sung by the Irish rugby team which is made up of both the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland.
"Young and free" is in Australia's national anthem
"Larrikin" is Australian slang for a person who is a bit cheeky
Stereotypes
Black people all have rhythm and are good at basketball
Not a single blond in the world has any brains at all
Englishmen have bad teeth and Mexicans are lazy
And if you think the Dutch aren’t cheap, certainly you’re crazy
All Chinese are bad drivers, and hairdressers are gay
Consensus is that Irishmen get plastered every day
Construction workers are all fat from eating too much dinner
Korean people eat doggy meat trying to get thinner
All athletes have large muscles in between their ears
Italians run the Mafia; at least it so appears
Jews don’t pay retail and they all have giant noses
All teenagers are rebels, everyone supposes
All the French are rude, and Poles aren’t very bright
And Hawaiians hit their surfboards long into the night
Asians all have high IQ’s, and Germans are efficient
Nowhere is there a doctor whose judgment is deficient
All Arabs support terror, and Latins make great lovers
All Navahos snort firewater underneath their covers
Every single homeless person’s on welfare ‘cause he’s needy
And try to find a politician who isn’t mean and greedy
All people who are fat have a tendency to be jolly
And women are bad drivers; you can count on it by golly
Lawyers are out to cheat you, as a rule of thumb
But most of all, don’t you think that stereotypes are dumb
Fidgety Cats And Feline Pets
(A Parody)
Fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run,
Siamese are to rare to ever dare to
And in Bali and Mali cats retire from dawn till one.
Persian Blues prefer to choose to snooze in the noon day sun
And there’s a rumour the Puma will sleep when the day is done.
Fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run.
The Ocelot, cares not a jot for the heat of the noon-day sun
And the Bengal rarely sleeps at all.
At mid-day in Mandalay the Tiger will hunt for fun,
But fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run.
The Lion’s roar is no more when the clock strikes one
And you will never meet a Cheetah after the setting sun.
The Maine Coone will bathe at noon and the
Burmese is quite at ease in the rays of the Asian sun,
But fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run.
Adapted from ‘Mad Dogs and Englishmen’ by Sir Noel Coward.
Barry Stebbings
07/03/18
"Turkey Fowl"
1776: The Eagle, The Dove, or the Turkey?
Great Seal of the United States
What should we choose for a symbol of our new life?
American birth of a nation
Declaration Committee chosen
Midwife of an egg Eagle, Dove, or Turkey
Dr. Benjamin Franklin
Plea a turkey
Truly a noble bird that’s free
Native American sees
A source of sustenance
Incredibly brave fellow
Single-handedly
Who wouldn't flinch in an attacking regiment of Englishmen
Foraging in clearings, field, forest, with nut bearing trees
Listen to the exuberant gobbling males carry
On the ground,
But at the night flying high
Roosting on treetops at the end of the day
Therefore, the national bird of America should be the Turkey
11/5/2015
1776: The Eagle, The Dove, or the Turkey?Choosing between the eagle, the dove, or the turkey for America's national bird. This is one of the final scenes in the musical 1776. Thomas Jefferson (dove), Ben Franklin (turkey) and John Adams (eagle) are waiting for Congress to ratify the Declaration of Independence. They start to discuss which bird would be the best national bird. Now I want to hear YOUR two cents. Which of the three would you choose and why? I'm leaving this wide open---be funny, be serious, be of two minds---whatever occurs to you, it just has to be one of those three.............
In England men just live to work
grab pleasure when they can,
it’s working that controls the life
of every Englishman.
The English should take lessons
on the reason for their life,
surely there is so much more
than constant toil and strife.
Too busy for their children,
too busy for their wife
by the time they take a second glance
they’ve not much left of life.
Work’s robbing them of families
and robbing them of friends,
stealing every ounce of time
it never, never ends.
All Englishmen just live to work
have nothing left to give,
when will they start to realize
that they should work to live…..
Ivor G Davies
In Liverpool, England, there is one street containing
all the Chinese restaurants, side to side, back to back
and stinking drain to sea.
where once a year, twirling dragons pierce the afternoon air,
passing old men with suits and moneyed-hands, their
young thugs standing close with tatooed skin.
the crowd, mostly mums and dads and tots in prams, heaves
like weed on a Kowloon sea...hungry for the firecracker
bangs and dim-sum smells and potted green tea.
this riot of shifting colour drags and pushes at the cobbled
road underfoot, as the dragon takes another bag of pak choy
greens placed ten foot high, while the lithe boys dressed in
kung fu black and draped with skill, reach up to pluck the
fiscal bunch and pass it down, hand to hand, out of sight,
to the flashing, bouncing jaws beneath
and soon the fire cracker thunder and emptied shops
call the street to book: and a carnage of paper to-go boxes
and spilt terror join with the bars' beery breath
saying...go home now Englishmen, you are not our brothers,
this is our place not yours..go home til next year
Wood Storks rock! They skewer
the word purer with a white-
on-white the envy of any housewife's
Monday wash, or laundry delivered home
by women with baskets on their heads
after drying in the noonday sun
in which only mad dogs and Englishmen go out,
(or those with no Sears Roebuck
connections).
Take heed, Ye hawkers of detergent
wares, lascivious for new insignia.
Send old trademarks to old obliv-ia,
Take a winged design to fly away grime.
And, while you're at it, add the color
red for bloodshed in the marketplace,
perfect hue for Madison Avenue.
In tropic times, our storks,
shelve safe haven from the branches
on which no one lays laundry-- only their
flawless selves. They know a storm
with a woman's name can put to shame
all others, and when Beryl's done
and on the run, they return to bond in
motherland, the moment seized:
a genetic lust for oedipal trees.
Let Englishmen Awake
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
St George’s day is coming
let Englishmen awake
the denigration of our name
is more than we will take
but we will rise above it
the Red Cross on the white
and once again we’ll show the world
the English still can fight
Though part of the United Kingdom
we are a people of our own
and through the march of time
our history has grown
With Scotland, Wales and Ireland
we’ve stood throughout the years
through war and through disaster
the heartache and the tears
Saints George, Andrew and David
Saints Patrick and Piran too
have been with us throughout the years
and we’ve helped each other through
But now there are some people,
try to stop our flag flying high
but they are wasting their own time
they may as well not try
So, the 23rd of April, on this Saint Georges Day
let flags fly high, and to God and St. George we’ll pray
raise your voices one and all, and give a mighty cheer,
and we will let the whole world know,
the English are still here
The issue's not yet signed and sealed.
Three cogent answers hold the field,
and no-one knows which is the best.
I'll set them out before you, lest
the question go a-begging.
First
(and this one's frequently rehearsed,
but holds least clout - at least with me),
the Mason-Dixon Line must be
the great divide: South, slavery,
North, freedom. Dixon, Dixie - see?
The trouble is that way back when
those two unstinting Englishmen
surveyed the Line, none under heaven
(we're talking seventeen sixty-seven)
could care a cuss if blacks were pressed
to toil unpaid at whites' behest.
And Delaware, by no means least
of slaving states, lies north and east
of said divide.
Manhattan, now:
though it may try to disavow
a past that wasn't quite PC,
New York had sloughs of slavery.
A Mister Dixie held some lands
(right where the Guggenheim now stands):
the human property he owned
led folks to talk of "Dixie's Zone"
whenever slaves were being mentioned,
and gradually, by extension,
this came to mean the South. Could be.
Pursuing perspicuity
is noble in itself, and so
I offer as my final throw
the one which really should have won
(who measures merit, though, by fun?)
Louisiana, sovereign state,
sought (sensibly) to circulate
its very own banknotes. Problem was,
the Cajun cash collapsed, because
nobody trusted it. Each bill
was written in (for good or ill)
official French, so - quelle caprice! -
each sawbuck said, not ten, but "dix".
Thus, Dixie's fixed in every brain
as something quaint, quixotic, vain.
Alba and Albion are just the same, but the White Isle is all inflamed
going barmy with boredom hoping or fearing the ballot of 9/18 that
could make or break the Kingdom by the Sea, if independence or
separation it be: Gordon and Ray had their day as comrades in the
Royal Artillery as NCOs. Gordon worked the big gun positions -
twenty-one milers - in his clever head as Ray sketched the target,
one a Scotsman, one an Englishmen, both Britons fighting the only
'good war' against the evil Nazi regime, but whichever side they would
have taken brothers in arms in war - and peace -would surely have
been their order of the day that others should emulate I should say.