Best Hastings Poems
1066 and all that by
Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015
King Harold and his army, marched all through the night
William the Bastard, was looking for a fight
He had landed close to Hastings, with at least 10000 men
He thought he was, King of England, so let him prove it then
The Battle fought at Stamford Bridge, had left Harolds army drained
but they had to march to Hastings, William had to be contained
The English formed up on a hill, and the arrows began their flight
One hit Harold in the eye, I think it was the right.
There’s been a few invaders, who have tried us on since then
but none have been successful, since that dark day when
William won the battle, but he didn’t win the war
The English still speak English, and will for ever more
Figures of immense reputation and popularity they were
Attracting public attention and admiration in the pursuit of their great works
Leaving behind them a legacy of some kind
But going with them their unique characters.
Wasn’t the explosion of Christianity the work of Jesus of Nazareth?
And the burst of Islam not the work of Muhammed of Mecca?
Neither will the admirable leadership of Julius Caesar;
Nor the conquests of the unlearned Charlemane,
And the military successes of Alexander the great,
Be forgotten in History.
If the British can forget Napoleon’s continental system
Jews then, would forget Hitler’s concentration camps
And history would entirely cease recalling his mentor Mussolini.
What if Carl Marx did not propound radical socialism?
Lenin then, would not have smashed the bourgeoisie and ruled Russia
Neither would the principles of Marxism-Leninism be sustained by Stalin
Nor would Churchill seal the border between the East and the West with an iron curtain.
A grave mistake it would be to forget Martin Luther King Jr.
For if he be forgotten, Mahatma Ghandi then would also be
And the entire movement of nonviolence
Will stop covering many pages of modern history books.
Had it not for Kwame Nkruma and Hastings Banda to cut the rope of colonialism
The ambitious Cecil Rhodes then,
Would have drained the whole continent of all its economic wealth.
The ascendancy of Nelson Mandela from the horizon of apartheid
Was not the beginning of Maximillien Robespierre’s reign of terror;
Characterized by avenges and reprisals
But the emergence of Abraham Lincoln’s true democracy.
What if Caesar were not butchered?
William Shakespeare then, would not have been the greatest playwright
Causing Charles Dickens and Chinua Achebe not to appear.
For the existence of a Jewish state, David Ben Gulion fought
But for the reemergence of a Palestinian state, Yasser Arafat strives.
Since the bloody Battle of Hastings
When 'Arold got killed by French Bill
We've seen an endless invasion of French
And I've just about had my fill
Don't we have enough words of our own
In this wonderful language of ours?
- To seek and find le mot juste
Dunt take much linguistic power
It seems using French has been with us forever
Passed down as a fait accompli
Have we ever really tried to change that?
Or have we always said "C'est la vie"?
But, to think that some long-dead bon vivant
With a certain je ne sais quoi
Used his chic tour de force to put words in our mouths
To me, it's a shameful faux-pas
So, I think we need a tête-à-tête
To form a clique, to mount a coup
Working together, en masse, as a team
We'll swap "Bonsoir" for "How Do"
Then (haute couture) won't be setting the trend
We'll watch racing, not the Grand Prix
No more art nouveau, or cordon bleu
And say "Enjoy your meal", not "Bon appétit"
I never have the soup du jour
Prefer prawn cocktail to poncy pâté
And I'll sit in a coffee house or caff
But never go in a café
Some say I should let it go and relax
Say choice of words is all laissez-faire
But can I stay calm on this bête noire of mine?
No, mes amis ~ au-contraire!
At British Wimbledon let's use "40-all"
Instead of being at deuce
And what's wrong with nil instead of love
Or am I being obtuse?
I know that we'll get nowhere
I sense there's no going back
That it's like being stuck behind burning sheep
Trapped in a cul-de-sac
But I suppose that it is nice to share
Good ideas and a word or two
Like Liberté and Égalité
And that feeling of déjà vu
And with le weekend, le booking, le check-in, le spam
And countless more, I say with a grin
That when we look at our counter-invasion
Even the French agree that we win!
The cold wind north, fate took its course
As fate is fain to do
For kings fall down, that bloody crown!
And still the eagle flew.
The time had come, to cross the chasm
To stop the king untrue.
From France to Wales, through storms and gales,
And still the eagle flew.
They manned the sails ere sun grew pale
For twas a hardy crew
With thousand score of men aboard
And still the eagle flew.
Men grew weary, sea was dreary
Til land was within view
They were ready, swords a - steady
And still the eagle flew.
In days of yore, upon the shore,
Both silent and subdued
For who says aught afore they fought
And still the eagle flew.
The marched o’er peaks til days were weeks
The Normans, they all knew
It would be soon, before next moon
And still the eagle flew.
In foreign land they must withstand,
With death to pay their due.
From the forest, the battle crest!
And still the eagle flew.
To conquer all, Harold will fall!
The Normans marched on through,
Ready to kill on Senlac Hill
And still the eagle flew.
While juggling swords, he sang the words
Of Roland brave and true.
Twas Taillefer, the jester fair
And still the eagle flew.
Dead soldier there by Taillefer
Then Harold’s soldiers slew
The jester’s head, first Norman dead
And still the eagle flew.
Then time seemed froze, no swords nor blows
But blood would fall anew,
As fights broke out, with gore throughout
And still the eagle flew.
Then time resumed, all men were doomed
For such is war I knew.
Swords were flashing, knights were clashing
And still the eagle flew.
The Normans won, the battle done,
The mighty King they slew,
That great Harold, that king so bold.
And still the eagle flew.
The conqueror, the saviour
Twas William, king anew,
Upon the throne, Britain his own
For now his eagle flew.
The eagle flew with doves unto
That field of gore wasting
For thus ended that “noble” deed,
The Battle of Hastings.
Of European descent, from whence they came
Across the borders to settle, re-establishment
Angles, Saxons and Jutes – Anglo-Saxon be known
Conquered lands, such roads have served, that of the Roman Empire
Yet under attack, strong order we lack
Helpless – o’ kingdom cry
As legions left, nations wept
Our production has ceased
O’ Saxons – mercenaries be hired
Will you defend us now?
Picts trouble thee
From ‘worthlessness’, ‘choice nature’ reflect
Anglo warriors now stand abreast
Ruddy remains, Arthur’s battle in vain
Battle of Hastings, charge and maim
A legend’s defeat, as armies retreat to lands afore
O treasured finds, beneath the silt
Fragmented helmet, of skilled design
Corrosion abhor, yet to restore
Tarnished silverware, o’ iron rusts
For much gold lay, retained –unchanged
Grave goods of Sutton Hoo, barrow over thy ship
O’ King be laid?
With objects frayed
Unaware of whetstone wear – we honour thee!
Of features present, of features past
Churches of stone, post-hole home
Tis farming year, with ploughs we break
Prepare thy soil, crops shall thrive
Fatten thy cattle, raise thy calf
Barter thee, present ye half
Commence thy craft, thy potter’s clay
Of antler work and carpentry
Thee be skilled, our peoples free
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
If I touched the lid on the candy dish in the living room My Grandmother could hear the clink of glass on glass in the kitchen " Michael !" she would exclaim softly There was a rummer in the family that she was physic That she had seen two of her children after they had died Before anyone had told her they where gone I don't know about that but I can tell you No one touched the lid on the candy dish without my grandmother knowing
To Brexit or not to Brexit
by Bob Moore
One thousand years, it’s almost been
since William came to this island green
defeated Harold on Hastings Hill
to the English it was a bitter pill
He was the last the world would see
to invade this land successfully
and started Britain on its way
to being the country it is today
His descendants ruled throughout the land
the Barons made John sign the Charter Grand
and started Britain on a path you’d see
where all the people could be free
That freedom grew across the years
through war, and strife, through joy and tears
then politicians had their dreams
a Common Market, their future schemes
Many countries share their toil
to grow the food, and till the soil
to work together, as partners should
as equals, for the common good
But then it started to go wrong
it was not equal, and so the strong
began to wield the power now
unelected bureaucrats to tell us how
Our borders now are not our own
others decide who calls Britain home
those other people make the rules
and treat us like an Isle of Fools
The French, the Germans , the Spanish too
have tried to tell Britain what to do
but a Thousand Years we’ve kept them at bay
that is , we have, until today
From Agincourt, and Flanders Field
we’ve paid our dues not ones to yield
Trafalgar, Dunkirk, Normandy
Our Fathers fought so we’d be free
now we may vote it all away
and this is our last chance to say
to the faceless ones across the sea
we are still Britain, we are still free
With all the world waiting, we turned our eyes skyward.
Remember that day when we all looked through
Our electric windows on the universe,
Seeing old spheres from a new point of view?
Three times again, and again, and again,
Descending on dancing flames,
They scurried, slow-motion, through ancient dust
Who still now remembers their names?
They did the unthinkable, achieved the impossible,
Went where none had preceded, and more.
"Ho-hum! ...another launch, you say?
Is football on Channel Four?"
Mechanical colonists left behind
When we blasted back home in our ships
Drew life in their bellies from shattering atoms,
Energizing electronic chips.
They sensed the heat of ancient fires,
Moon-embers, banked deep inside.
They felt the star-bits streaming,
And the rumbling silent tide.
ALSEP voices, talking to Earth
In chattering bits and bytes
Sent their colonial treasures back
Through the lunar days and nights.
They measured the limb-shocked solar winds,
Changing the charges in sputtered lands,
And vibrating signals crossed the void,
Twitching inked fingers on metal hands.
The footprints and tire-tracks, unchanging, remain.
Like paths to the future, they glisten.
Solipsistic sentinals converse with themselves,
But there's nobody left who can listen.
George Hastings October 1, 1977
I dress the way I do on stage
To transport you to another age
Where wild women of the west
Proved they stood among the best
They rode boot to boot along side the men
Riding broncs to hell & back again
They wore skirts, jodhpurs, flowers & frills
Had more than their share of thrills & spills
When you see me here, I hope you recall
Those women who rode proud & tall
Tad Lucas on Midnight, crow hopping & smiling
Fox Hastings, in feathers & flowers, beguiling
Mitzi Lucas Riley, her death defying grace
On galloping horse, a suicide drag, & mesmerizing face
Marge Greenough on Boxer, that gal could really fly
Nancy Sheppard with her spinning ropes, gravity defied
On the day to day, I wear a different look
Still different from those Cowboys you see in picture books
Dusty boots, faded jeans & a cowboy hat, of course
If I dressed the way I do on stage it would amuse my horse
I grew up in the Wild West, or what there is of it now
I learned to ride at an early age & know my way around a cow
I don’t have a need for wooly chaps, my shotguns work just dandy
If I wore woolies, the cactus would soon look like cotton candy
My childhood heroes included those dazzling rodeo gals
I spent many a Saturday morning as Roy & Dale’s Saddle Pal
But the role models that I still look up to today
Have quietly gone about their lives, living the Cowboy way
There’s Georgie Sicking, still going strong in Kaycee
As tough as they come, she always demands the best from me
Sister Bourne, her laughing eyes & ready wit
For forty years taught in one room schools, in her there was no quit
There are many others who have helped me along the way
Their stories are for another time, another place & day
Today I’ll weave for you a tapestry of Western Rhyme
Of rodeo’n, romanc’n & remember’n & a simpler time
There is magic in the West, I find it every where
It is that magic & my memories, that with you I will share
So settle in & enjoy the ride, for I know I have brought my best
As I stand here on this stage, a Wild Woman of the West
Gather ‘round younguns, there is a story to be told
About some renegade cowgirls & their ride for the gold
They made it look so easy, feathers, flowers & a smile.
Guts & grace, they had plenty, quitting wasn't their style
They snugged up their riggin' & grabbed for air
Winning Champion titles with style & flair
If Lucas, Krieg & Greenough hadn't led the way
Would any of us be here in the arena today?
Henderson, Riley, Hastings & Creed
To the "Men Only" rule they all paid no heed
They broke records & bones, faced derision & fear
Riding Broncs, Raising families, they juggled home & career
Nasty wrecks were a given but they seemed to bounce back
In one unforgettable event, Tad's girl picked up the slack
From Calgary & Cheyenne to OKC & San Antone
Though there are many others, these ladies stand alone
Hat's off to the Rodeo's Renegade Roses
At tradition they turned up their noses
Bronc busting, trick riding, a rough riding ballet
They showed us how to win & made it look like play
They were never reckless, just a bit wild & bold
Now its up to you & me to see their stories told
They left mighty big boots to fill, bless them one & all
We know that they ride with us, as we heed the siren's call
Lift a glass high in honor for those who paved the way
Three cheers for the Renegade Roses still bucking out today
Uncle Mike's news from the past - - - Sometimes the News Bugs Me
July “57, in Hasting Minnesota
Fish flies flew in way over their quota
They covered the roadways
They covered the bridges
They covered the lowlands
They covered the ridges
They clogged carburetors
They caused cars to stall
The townsfolk were stymied
Just who could they call
They called out the cops
And the youth auto club
To clean out the town
To give it a scrub
The bug drifts were deep
About two point five feet
Slippery and slimy
They covered the street
And wouldn’t you know it
In mouth, ear and eyes
The youth of dear Hastings
Were soon filled with flies
But nobody backed out
And nobody gave in
They just hosed themselves off
And got at it again
So the youth and the cops
Finally cleared all the bridges
Let Mother Nature take care of
The lowlands and ridges
The fish flies that year
Was the town’s cause célèbre
And that’s what I learned today
Out on the web
Assembly.
Disassembly.
Reassembly.
When the bell tolls
it tolls for me.
Alone I walk in crowded
concrete corridors;
feet, doom-laden,
slapping thermoplastic
floors.
Years we will do this.
Years we will be taught.
Years we all will walk in
concrete corridors.
Walking unto the light,
freedom's light;
walking unto the world of
women and men.
Armed with bestowed knowledge
that two and two makes four,
the Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066,
energy can neither be created nor destroyed...
wandering lonely as clouds...
Freedom fighters,
guerrilla's armed with this
potency
and so much more.
The echo of the concrete,
of slapdash feet on thermoplastic,
may well reverberate,
reaffirming their message of
doom.
Yet that is further away than
the eye can see.
Now is sweet honeydew Summer,
the best years of a life
yet to come.
Assembly.
Disassembly.
Reassembly.
Man,
are we up the
Swanee.
And though we know it
now is not
the time
to
care...
The Other Battle of 1066
by Bob Moore © 2019
In 1066 Harald Hardrada, wanted the English throne
he sailed to York with many ships, to make this land his own
Harold Godwinson was King, with his army far away
waiting for the Frenchmen, who were expected any day
William the Bastard, also wanted the English Throne
and would soon sail from Normandy, to call this land his home
Harold marched his army north, to meet the Viking foe
and at a place called Stamford Bridge, the armies stood, toe to toe
Harold’s brother Tostig, had been banished from this land
and with a thousand Scotsmen, vowed he would make his stand
against his own blood, Harold, and with the Vikings side
to redeem his honour, and restore, once more, his pride
at Stamford Bridge the battle joined, when six thousand of the foe
were surprised by Harold and his men, and there dealt a deadly blow
the English charged the Shield Wall, and then they charged again
the clash of steel the battle cries, the screams of dying men
Tostig, and King Hardrada, died on the field that day
and when the battle sound had cleared, Harold’s army marched away
now William Duke of Normandy, with at least ten thousand men
was heading for the southern coast, Harold must fight again.
And so they marched, by day and night, the enemy to meet
To fight another battle, and another army beat
believing they can win again, and for the sake England will
as they marched to meet there destiny, at a place called Hastings Hill
February 5 Scripture Meditations Based on Numbers 33-36
Key Verse – Numbers 33:1 These are the journeys of the children of Israel, which went forth out of the land of Egypt with their armies under the hand of Moses and Aaron.
MY GOD, THANK YOU FOR BEING WITH ME IN MY JOURNEY
Thank You for being with me in my journey’s beginnings
Surely accompanying me with Your supreme reignings
Never leaving me; but driving me toward faith-gainings---
Please keep on guarding me from worldly dinings.
Thank You for being with me in my journey’s strivings
Surely helping me with Your spiritual movings
Never forsaking me; but pulling me toward trust-thrivings---
Please keep on protecting me from vain cleavings.
Thank You for being with me in my journey’s restings
Surely refreshing me with Your peaceful assistings
Never dropping me; but carrying me toward strength-hastings---
Please keep on defending me from carnal feastings.
Thank You for being with me in my journey’s goings
Surely propelling me with Your gracious doings
Never refusing me; but bringing me toward goodness-bestowings---
Please keep on guiding me from humanistic blowings.
Thank You for being with me in my journey’s strugglings
Surely upholding me with Your caring cradlings
Never abandoning me; but leading me toward sincere humblings---
Please keep on hedging me from destructive meddlings.
Thank You for being with me in my journey’s languishings
Surely cheering me with Your heavenly vanquishing and pushings
Never neglecting me; but prodding me toward provision-replenishings---
Please keep on covering me from deceptive furnishings.
February 5, 2022
Here he comes
That little man
Nattily dressed
Spick and span
His funny accent
A dead giveaway
He won't get me
No, not today!
He's clever though
But not more than I
He does not know
How much I lie
I've tricked him well
For years and years
He thinks I'm thick
Wet 'tween the ears
It suits me well
To play the stooge
While on the side
My crimes are huge
Gold and jewels
My stock in trade
I'm light fingered
Fortunes I've made
So I play the game
A friend of Poirot
I am Hastings...
Poirots' my foe