Best Essex Poems
Rode around Essex with murder in mind
With evil followers from town to town
Matthew Hopkins was the worst of his kind
Hunting for witches that he could take down.
Towns people would say that woman's a witch
She'd then be tortured until she confessed
Then hanged until death and thrown in a ditch
Hopkins got paid saying she was possessed .
People believed his work was of the good
Earned a large fortune from superstition
By ridding' evil 'from the neighbourhood
Claimed witch finding was his holy mission.
Three hundred murdered in his killing spree
Were all tortured and charged with sorcery.
Written 1st August 2019.
Sent from my Windows 10 device
I am a high school graduate and a former college student
I have no children
No drug or alcohol addiction
nor do I have a home
I am one of Brick City's homeless
Many of the faces I've seen downtown are the same faces I see at the soup kitchen or the shelter
The same quirky, ragged, foul-smelling, quiet homeless people
But these aren't the only homeless people
Many of the faces I've seen at the soup kitchen or at the shelter,
I've also seen downtown
The same outgoing, inconspicuous and "average" yet homeless people
I used to assume I'd pass up to 10 of the same homeless people downtown
Now that I'm one of them
and pretty much every homeless person knows every homeless person
You'd probably feel blessed and highly favored when I tell you that the majority of adult pedestrian traffic downtown are homeless United State citizens
The majority are homeless
We're at the library, McDonald's, Penn Station, 18 Rector, 50 South Clinton, all Essex County Parks, 990, Red Doors, St. Johns
or the sidewalk with our book bags, purses, suitcases and our will, however weak or strong, to live for right now
We get in where we fit in
The most thrilling part of my day is knowing what time the next soup kitchen serves and when I'm unconscious and dreaming
Most are not bums
Most are caught in a cyclical cycle of destitution because they have a record and can't qualify for anything other than a 9-5
Or don't have a job because there are no jobs and don't have anyone to take care of them without taking advantage of their situation, be it sexually or by an unfair criminal or immoral request
Most of us just can WAIT until!
. . . and there's no one here to help me right now
I understand though:
It's likewise
This homeless lifestyle encourages me to keep dreaming, faintly hope and never expect anything
My high hopes and expectations left me ____ out in the streets of Newark
It's 4 o'clock
. . . On to the next soup kitchen
Stow Maries.
Wings of war like paper butterflies
once floated down upon this grassy plain
war machines of moments gone
honeysuckle and wild rose
now cling to silent buildings
empty shells of ghostly past
listen and hear within the broken walls
voices of those who came
to serve..to fly..to die.
a gentle breeze sings songs of
soldiers who sleep nearby
in churchyard graves
time passes and the horses hooves
race along the fields
primroses, snowdrops and bluebells
rejoice in a better time
but soon the dark days of another war
return and bring the iron machines
from out the skies
as drone of planes
fills the springtime air
black gases and polluted wrath
bring death to flowers
while buildings come alive
with sounds of fowl to feed a hungry nation.
the winds of war retreat and
memories are brought to life
revived, restored,
and the airfield of Stow Maries
like a phoenix lives again,
a different time and light
its past to never be forgotten.
In memory of those who died in WW I and II and used this aerodrome in Essex, England.
Can Hardly Wait
Remember when I did have a delightful dream
About such a smooth running soothing stream;
Drifted down and into river soon started to feed;
Sorted through seeming to fulfill my each need.
God created and designed a miracle only for me
Which was to release my soul and set heart free,
So that in Him could continue to steadily believe
Everything about God always and gently receive.
Enjoyed and loved God's stream in many ways
While I would offer and give Him all my praise;
Am amazed at what God with my poems can do
I had written about dreams He made come true.
Even my famous friend who by many is refuted,
Much more into great poems God has included;
What a privilege it us for us to communicate;
Read next philosophical poem can hardly wait.
Jill and I will be leaving Raleigh-Durham airport
on May 17th heading for London. We will be staying
at Park Place Victoria Hotel. We then will be leaving
going through Stonehenge to South Hampton, England
where our ship the Crown Princess will be moored at.
It will be leaving on May 21st for Guernsey Island,
Ireland, Scotland, Normandy and back to South
Hampton. Hope to be seeing my world renown
poet friend Terry Cooper and his gorgeous wife June
on May 20th at his glorious home that is in Basildon,
Essex, England. Wanted to make sure his wife June
is doing okay.
James Thomas Horn, Retired American Veteran
Common arena, not necessarily geographic
Ordained by a group of individuals confined in a territory
Meeting and interacting be it coincidental or intentional
Making contacts and creating lots of webs
Understanding and communication between different people
Not necessarily having same interests or ideologies
It could be a place like Essex or the internet, like facebook
The most important is interlinked communication
Yes, just like a garden with herbs, shrubs and exotic plants
A swinging sixties chick was I dressed head to toe in Biba
Miniskirts my mother loathed and free love too, so I was told
Music of choice was Motown and Soul that played upon my radio
At weekends tuned to Saturday Club a programme never missed
Radio Luxembourg each night, though signal crackled and hissed
Reception was weak as twilight approached, with my radio under my sheet
At the foot of the stairs Mum’s voice could be heard
“Turn that radio off, and go to sleep”
In ‘62 a pirate ship launched off the Essex coast
Radio Caroline was her name, with young DJ’s as programme hosts
Innovators of their time, played songs we loved the most
Enjoying the challenge, but taking a risk each time they went ashore
Deemed illegal ~ no license had they, so were technically breaking the law
Trailblazing times enhancing our lives, playing songs never heard of before
these songs were the soundtracks of my youth
these songs I love and adore...
Tony Blackburn their first DJ; a handsome young fella back in the day
The first DJ to spin his discs whilst bobbing around on the pirate ships
At 77 still playing his songs and boring the nation with corny quips
on ‘Sounds of the Sixties’ every Saturday morn
he plays the tunes
I singalong...
I sent a request for his 'Magic Moments' spot
feeling sure it would end up in his 'magic melting pot'
Our 'Magic Moment' in '63, as we danced the night away
at the Regent Ballroom, Brighton, on a floor made of wooden parquet
was it love at first sight on a midsummer’s night
by the light of the silvery moon...
As we danced to the Chiffons 'He’s so Fine' it became our special tune
When Tony played our 'Magic Moment' on his radio show
I could hardly believe my ears
then my eyes filled up with tears
for my darling he has gone ~ for he died ten years ago
Written on 1st December 2018
after hearing my request played upon the Radio...
Contest :NOSTALGIA any form,any number of lines
Sponsor: Brian Strand
HONOURABLE MENTION
What does it mean to me
New Jersey
It means smell and warmth
iI……. oops wrong sort of Jersey
Here we go start again …….
Was the home of the Lenape Indians
Till the Dutch and Swedes came their way
Followed by the British who named
It after a channel island off the UK
Was the home of many a battle
Including the American revolutionary war
Who tried to oust the British rabble
Not such an easy chore
New Jersey has many counties
21 was the latest score
Morris County was indeed a pleasant one
Rich in tradition and folk lore
THEN
Theirs Atlantic and Bergen, Burlington too
Camden, Cape May, Cumberland to name but a few
Essex, Gloucester and Hudson come next in line
Hunterdon, Mercer and Middlesex are doing just fine
Monmouth, Morris and Ocean is that enough
Pacific, Salem and Somerset I am now out of puff
Sussex, Union and Warren …….That is New Jersey
Beloved Great Britain
In background even if shade has become dim
The one who I pray to will always be Him
And asked God for a errorless, perfect plan;
He said start your computer and then scan.
Go over all of the things you should be doing
Name from list poets had been withdrawing
While politicians were placed in a big pile
After going through a period of denial.
That period of life is always approaching
So why with energy are you encroaching
Another's territory and side they were taking
And out of yourself complete fool was making.
Welcome to cruise and start to climb aboard;
May be absolutely last one you can afford
Make sure home they care for your kitten
When you have left for beloved Great Britain.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
Jill and I are going on a Crown Princess cruise leaving out of Southampton, England going to Guernsey Island, Ireland, Scotland, Normandy and return. We will be spending three days in London and plan on visiting my poetry guru friend Terry Cooper who lives in Basildon, Essex if he doesn't mind and can stand me. We will also be visiting Stonehenge.
Read more at: http://www.poetrysoup.com/poem/beloved_great_britain_658492#comments
One calm summer night
I visited the city aquarium and
I noticed the sharks and the barracudas
Playing a lovely game of tennis
Yeah, the sharks and
The Barracudas are just
Sitting around eating
Strawberries and drinking tea
How could this be?
The great white shark called out, "the surf is up!" and
The speedy barracuda replied, "fifteen Luv!"
How could this be?
Suddenly, the sharks and the barracudas
Noticed me standing there, and
Standing on the other side
Well, they all agreed,
If you want to learn how to swim with
The sharks and the barracudas,
First, you must learn how to play the game!
Oh, what a lovely sport it is!
Are you from Essex?
Well Its so lovely there, this time of year.
There is a wind on South-East Essex
Blowing today and also tomorrow
Cuddling seagulls white like Tipex
Beating the ears of the old-age sparrow
Alzheimer is like yellow leaves
Detached from their own trees
Spinning the mind in the air like bees
Forgetful of you forgetful of me
Alzheimer's body bents like the dwarf pine trees
On the East cost of the South Essex rim
Old age ward. They can no longer knee
To pick up the shells from the oceanic dim
Seagulls calling their chicks at home
Alzheimer checking for a toy that's gone
For a hand to hold not to feel alone
A memory of a youth no longer borne
An when the wind blows into the town
Alzheimer dances with the invisible match
Seeking a light and a reason to know
What is this place that confuses so much
The old sparrow flies with no wings to flap
In the celestial depth mirrored on this long tide
Recent memories no longer accessible to dad
Fleeting love for his wife to share what is left of life
This sun that bends through the contrite flower
Dementia mind living in the sparrow’s tower
To swim into remote glories of power
Now lead by the help of a nurse to have a shower
Moon mirrors itself on South Essex sea
Cuddling the Alzheimer's glimpse
Chasing the light of a silent nil
Aiming to a watch that’s in a reverse tic
Brittle glimpse looking at the juniper scene
Aiming to that flight that nobody can see
Alzheimer's life where else can he dream
Of returning at home no longer there for him?
Will be arriving in London on morning of May 18th
and Princess leaves South Hampton on May 20th.
Much wisdom of my poems may be found
And pretty soon we both will be bound
On a vibrant vacation in several British Isles
Where smiles are seen for miles and miles.
Love it there and many friends are made
Much longer wish we would have stayed
Now are back again after we did return
But back to British Isles we still so yearn.
Suppose another great poem should write
Hoping someone in luscious Isles will invite
Back to see smiling people who always care
Who we found to be friendly everywhere.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
For my great friend Terry Cooper from
Basildon, Essex, England
Let's wax poetic - wax on..
We’re in for it
When we enter
the insubstantial country of love
That secret theater, in an invisible mansion of moods
it’s a resort that houses its share of speechless monologues and sore disappointments, all lovers know that, but there are infinite discoveries too—secret, intimate delights and sensual confidences.
Ok, wax off.
My horoscope this morning said, “any tension you’re experiencing now is just part of the process.”
Peter (my bf), flew in last night. When we’re separated too long, remembering him, remembering us, can at times, seem like a memory exercise and I find myself wondering if I’m wasting my bikini years on a handshake deal. Then we’re reunited and bam, I’m reminded why it’s a ‘dub-u, dub’ again.
He’s a delectation—in a Christmas bauble kind of way—shiny and dangerous because I want to touch him—but not be loud or showy about it. Leeza (Lisa’s 14-year-old sister) whispered to me, when I was getting some ice, “You watch him with the too-still poise of a cat about to strike.” I smiled at the complement because I love cats.
Every once in a while I’ll pinch him, to make sure he’s real. “Oww! Stop that!
“What?!” I ask, pulling back as if innocently confused.
I got him a room at the Marriott Essex House. It’s 400 feet down W59th from Lisa’s building entrance to the front door of his hotel. I measured it off, with urgent steps—then I helped him unpack. We unpacked a lot.
Later, we joined Dave and Lisa for a Christmas light tour—Manhattan’s flexing its wow-factor for us.
I didn’t get to sit on Santas lap this year, I’m a little old for that,
but I did get what I wanted most—I’m sure I’m grinning like an idiot.
It’s not quite Christmas yet, but thanks, Santa.
Merry Christmas - Happy Hanukkah - Merry Kwanzaa - Happy Festivas!
.
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Songs for this:
Heat Wave by Linda Ronstadt
Same Songs by Kelly Jones
.
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Two days until Christmas.. how ‘bout some Christmas playlists?
www.daweb.us/xmas/
.
dub-u, dub = a big win
On the naming of a child
Certain protocols should be followed by the registrar
Protocol one
If the chosen name is Rainbow or Honey dew
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And given a book containing sensible names
This process should be repeated until a sensible choice is made
Protocol Two
If the chosen name is Chardonnay or Champagne
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And a large group of people should be assembled to laugh at them
The parents should then be given a dictionary
To look up the definitions of the names that they chose
This process should also be repeated until a sensible choice is made
Protocol Three
If the chosen name is Moonflower or Gallifrey
Then firstly the parents should be slapped
And the child should be immediately taken into care
Then the parents should be put in the stocks
So sensible people can throw rotten fruit at them
Before finally being committed to an institution
PS – Should it ever be deemed that they have been cured
They should be sterilised before release
And their names entered on the pretentious parents register
PPS - Anyone from Cardiff, The Wirral, Norfolk, Suffolk or Essex will inevitably
Name the child after a piece of fruit, a place they have visited
The name of their favourite car or a product from a supermarket
As a result these people should not be trusted to name their children.
Registrars must name the children for them
In the same way that Hurricanes and tropical storms are named
If they complain go straight to Protocol three
From one film to the other, your creative styles,
Rebels joined, save a world, then you, sacrificed a girl,
Online programmers that you had caused their riles,
Mr. Santino wanted New York as part of his world,
New bodies agents inhabit, mafia's list, you've been added,
Earned right to learn 'new school', while brother played you for a fool,
Oracle knew that you're the one, as bodies piled while on the run,
Trinity loved you, that you knew, with a price on your head, all wanted you,
Only machines rule off humans' body heat, get Santino, so to be complete,
Just when things weren't cooling down, Cassian searched all over town,
Of the agents, leader wanted to get ahead, on the train, he wanted John dead,
His team want to rescue their own, Cassian he warned, or he wont be around,
Neo wanted to go alone, instead, but Winston told John, "Not here", he said,
World saw the light, Neo did the trick, John didn't have it, he must split quick,
In rousing dance, chants, people are one, eyes o'er shoulders, he's on the run,
Can Neo have a new machines flick, more dinner reservations, 3rd John Wick,
Keanu's versatile--better to none, persona and lifestyle, simply being #1.
~~Born 09/02/1964, Beirut, Lebanon, mother English, from Essex, UK, dad American, from Hawaii, mixed race with Native Hawaiian lineage~~
Legend of Fosse Way
Riding hard under a moonlight high
not a leaf rustling and it troubles my mind
In the distance there's music of the lyre and flute
rippling over the moors
Serenading the stars
The voice of a maiden
bleeds it's way through the thick darkness
Singing an ole Bawdy Pub Song.
My steed swift at a gallop
hooves sound their click clack
As we cross Halford Bridge
No time to be wasted
seeking comfort at the Inn
History demands I deliver this message
The dispatch I carry holds the future of England
I must make Exeter Castle by dawn.
No matter the risk or danger I encounter
It is crucial that I press on
Two Queens vying for the throne of England
Not even God can decide which be the righteous one
Protestant or Catholic not the reason for choice
A Queen must have love for Mother England
coursing through her blood
Forrest fairies ring the bells on the Fox Glove
The Oaks without expression and still
A rare breeze slaps the sleeping grasses in the glades
In the marsh toads croak complaint to night’s chill
This road is dominion of Highwaymen and thieves
Robbing those that choose this way to travel.
By the will of God and the Bishop's blessing
I will pass undetected by scoundrels and rabble
Nourished only on bread and Brambleberries
Traveling in the cover of night taking sleep by day
All that I've seen are ghosts of Roman soldiers
On this thoroughfare known as Fosse Way
If by the hand of God or the Devil
I meet with an untimely death
And I am unable to tell tale of this ride
Let not my story meet the same fate
Say my name Nigel Foster be mentioned in yarns
told in pubs and taverns .
History will decide if I am a Patriot or Traitor
As a result of my actions
When the years pass into the future
Don't let me be a lost memory of yesterday
If by chance may I live on
as one of the many legends
The many legends of Fosse Way.
Inspired by Alfred Noyes poem “The Highwayman"
And in memory of my distant relative,
Robert Devereux 2nd Earl of Essex.
Judge Santiago Burdon
©2019