British-born Kenyan
adventureress globe-trotter
one of the first bush pilots
aviatrix authoress game-spotter
a woman before her time
through and through
who had simultaneous affairs
with Prince Henry, Duke of Gloucester
(son of George V)
his older brother Edward, Prince of Wales
(later Edward VIII)
and Denys Finch Hatton too
the Kenya Derby a six-time winner
as an unrivaled thoroughbred racehorse trainer
whom my Dad at EAR&H well knew
as whenever she was able
it was he she would speak to
regarding rail transport of her stable
in 1936 she was the first female
to fly against the wind
let's set the record straight
to get it right
the Atlantic Ocean non-stop solo
from east to west with the night
He was a charming gentleman and a much liked Prime Minister,
But suddenly insults hurled by the score, some hurtful, some sinister,
Wow, public's choice looks like mickey mouse,
Should be polished, talk well, not slouch,
Burnham watch out, politicians can read you well within global perimeters.
You talk a lot Andy, say things people want to hear,
It upsets me when I hear slogans that merely smear,
Starmer’s ego, hurt with each jeer,
And Mrs Starmer who shed a tear,
Don’t be too smug, many in 10 downing, want your cheer.
Britishness was fairness
Not bothered about race
Jokes that didn’t careless
taken with good grace
We didn’t take it serious
religion got a drilling
there were no inferiors
when there was derision
everything was personal
no grouping in together
words were never worst of all
a bantering endeavour
people got all sensitive
they were not integrated
it would have prevented it
now all we hear is hatred
accusations and censorship
from humour and free will
well I say you should get a grip
we don’t care how you feel
Imported with these people
a way that is not ours
deport yourself it’s simple
if words are giving scars
we don’t need to make the great
let’s make Great Britain British
it takes care to discriminate
you’re the victim of your image
I am here to confide it's countrywide
as whenever the British gather together
the first topic of their conversation
is almost always the inclement weather
whatever precipitates such predominant
drizzle discussion drenching debate
or downpour discourse
I do not know and cannot relate
soggy foggy or boggy it's one and the same
altho' it's plain we know where stays the rain in Spain
it has also been seen to land on England's pleasant green
yet after such falls mostly all goes down the drain
yet without its descent on the Emerald Isle
there'd be no rainbows to make me smile
but fleeting I do remember it well and can recall
out of three hundred and sixty-five it was the one day
when nothing liquid dripped down from the sky
and as a result last year summer was on a Monday
Oh I do love the British Royals
And how they got all their spoils
Their use of dark knavery
And involvement in slavery
It’s no wonder some peoples blood boils.
True British scrumptiousness
Between two pieces of bread is pure lusciousness
Whether brown or white
Eaten in the day or at night
As a snack or main meal
This British icon is the real deal
An incredible cheese pull
Other fillings to make it full
Onions tuna or crispy bacon
Will leave your taste buds shaken
Melted butter dripping with delight
Mouth salivating to take a big bite
The humble cheese toastie
A delicious specimen that’s uncostly
Truly deserves to be a national star
Rich or poor we can all devoir
A proper British jacket potato
Butter melting like a volcano
Super crisp on the outside
Fluffy and salty on the inside
Topped with melting cheese
Scrumptious and made with expertise
A simple meal but a satisfying staple
Cheap enough so all can sit at the table
Every British child has had these
Always happiness guarantees
The memories of the buttery goodness
The simple nature and pureness
Evoking happier memories
Of simpler times with less disparities
For everyone can enjoy a simple jacket spud
The British Rail saying,
'See it, say it, sorted,'
is so annoying
it should be aborted.
Travelers, from abroad,
are befuddled then bemused,
when first by this phrase
their ears are abused.
But the worst is yet to come...
it sounds like, 'Sort it,'
over the tannoy
and must be fixed by he who caught it.
There’s a lot to be said for us in the red
when we cling to the white of our blues.
Do we know the taste of starting to waste?
The pain of a bruise, that we didn’t choose?
We take to the street, world at our feet and claim to be hurt and wounded.
It’s like we forget that before supposed threat, it was us leaving lands marooned.
Blood on our hands, we still hold their scars
from their own skies, we stole all the stars.
So why close the gate, decide it’s too late?
To stand at the shore, above any law.
A fraction of pain we could take away,
their endless night would bleed into day.
We’re so quick to place blame on the ones who’ve just came,
who’ve crossed oceans and worlds so bleak.
All it would take, a swim in their lake
and in their shoes, we’d see our own feet.
I'm so incredibly proud and privileged ,
to be recognised by the #GBEA '25 team,
The fact that I've been shortlisted,
Is far beyond my wildest dream.
Single mum to three wild boys,
They're the apple of my eyes,
I'm the founder of Lotus Poetry,
A new and upcoming social enterprise.
I'm running on purpose and passion,
Lots of caffeine, kindness and care,
But I'm really struggling to find,
The funds to get me there.
Real life isn't like a fairytale,
This Cinderella is doing her best,
Working hard to find a way,
To attend with all the rest.
Where I get time for me,
It's not often that I do,
I hope I make it work,
So my dream can come true.
A night off from the boys,
So I can drink and dance,
An opportunity to meet you all,
Thanking you for this incredible chance.
A burned up system of control
A revolt spoken with flames
Silence was no longer an option
Peace had been exhausted
The only language they communicate
Violence
The police man specialises in brutality when it comes to the black man
'Stop and search'
An excuse they use
To abuse
The 'blacks"
Used as a slur
By the oppressor
As if it's poison, as if it's something to beware
Of
The Brixton riots of 1981
An explosion ready to happen
All that was needed was a lighter to spark the fuse
13 bodies
13 humans
13 black men,
Lost to hate
Tensions rose like the smoke in the buildings
A quite smile left on the faces of those reeling
Their own kind of justice, it was oh so freeing
Retaliation they didn't expect
In their own words they believed they had 'controlled the blackies'
But we have a weapon
One that whispered through generations
Nothing loud
Just something strategic
Something quiet
A lingering secret
Black rage
A communal experience
Of built up fatigue
Of the uk's involvement
In the mistreatment Of black people
When they say not everything is about race
I say yes it is
You may not have experienced it
But I did
Your privilege is showing
Your ego suffocating
Your ignorance provoking
Your stupidity frustrating
Don't insult my intelligence
Racism is still prevalent
It's foundation American
I don't care if my voice makes me a villain
I will always speak up for victims
Of the unjust system
This is a black lived experience
And I will not let that be forgotten
My voice my biggest weapon
It's power could start a rebellion
And you would be very wrong if you think you can silence it
So yes everything is about race
And no we can't be erased
In the summer heat of '47's cry,
A line was drawn beneath the sky.
Not ink, but blood, not words, but flame—
Two nations born, but none the same.
Fields once golden, shared with grace,
Now whispered names in a stranger’s place.
Neighbors turned to fleeing feet,
Homes abandoned, hearts incomplete.
The Ganga wept, the Indus roared,
As trains of silence onward soared.
One carried dreams, the other pain,
Each bound by history's heavy chain.
Mothers clutched their children tight,
As dusk replaced the promise of light.
The earth was split, but souls entwined,
By love, by loss, by ties maligned.
Yet even as the borders grew,
In every heart, an ember flew—
Of songs once sung in shared embrace,
Of temples, mosques, a common space.
Now time walks slow through wounds unhealed,
Through stories still too deep to yield.
But in the hush of evening's breath,
Hope blooms quietly out of death.
May memory teach what lines erase,
That peace begins with face to face.
Not walls, but bridges must we chart—
For no one owns a human heart.
Irish Equines and Scottish Rubbish
Admiration's and Despondent
days
as sail will say of sewing's
days
antonym was taught with
pleasant pirch
Birch as drawn or Castled wrong
heavenly curvatures
rarely daunt
Playful men aboard, a sea
Days end nights
Arabic keys
Bought, brought at boughe
nestled beside, curries
left favorite
only and when boats as steam
are played fifth
dedicated to orders and the vice of an Admiral's Home
I wonder.
I wonder what will happen when
all the English dictionaries are burnt
and Shakespeare is abolished
as FAR RIGHT and Racist,
and when the Beatles are
vilified for 'She Loves You'
when it should have
been 'they them love you'.
When the battle of Britain
Begs an unreserved apology.
When the British inventions
Are cast aside as imperial luck
When Europe forgets as the Russians
Have, who saved them in WW2
When people are imprisoned for
Love of these islands and free
Speech is abolished and punished
But this horror won’t happen tomorrow
No, not tomorrow, or the day after
But don’t feel reassured or complacent
Because they arrived months ago
And we all must be ready to pay.
David Cox 02/02/25
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