Good morrow merry citizens
Here’s another Brexit gain
We may have our country back
But we can’t go live in Spain.
Record numbers now
Are all giving thanks
For the almost empty
Essential food banks.
The poor are getting poorer
The rich getting richer
In our Free New Britain
A sad disgraceful picture.
The papers are full daily
Of the unedifying sight
Of the squabbling royals
And their family fight.
The PM’s a Billionaire
Thanks to his wealthy wife
With little understanding of
The poverty of modern life.
The National Health Service
Is shrinking with each day
Just a rundown of our country
Sinking into moral decay.
As you dip your stale crust
Into your tepid weak tea
Just cast a thought to
How things used to be,
We British are at our best
With our backs to the wall
Tugging respectful forelocks as
Our betters openly nick it all.
But, be upstanding good people,
Celebrate the joyous thing
We can still find the millions
To crown our latest king.
Categories:
forelocks, anger, irony, political, poverty,
Form: Rhyme
Beneath the forelocks shady shroud
and chestnut lashes low,
A gaze to halt the human heart
This creature can bestow.
Apple breathed indifference and
Wistful, fearful grace
Can catapult the senses beyond
This earthly place.
Mankind made him subservient
And service he knows well,
Historically, such willingness has
Grazed the gates of hell.
Natures' magnum opus,
Of evolutions course.
Majestic in his countenance,
Noble, hypnotic Horse.
Categories:
forelocks, horse,
Form: Rhyme
Beneath his coal-black forelocks, flirty eyes
kept meeting mine when I allowed my gaze
to fall on him. As if I were a prize,
he grinned at me. He'd put me in a daze!
When he approached, my heart began to pound.
He spoke so fluently, and his accent
was French! I'd never heard a sweeter sound.
He asked me on a date. Of course I went!
We chatted in a cafe as we ate.
Inside the core of me, a longing grew.
then as he drove me home, I could not wait
for what I knew would very soon ensue!
Once parked, he turned to me, eyes deep and tender,
and all that I could do was to surrender.
Dedicated to my indelible memory: Guy Loranger, wherever he may be.
Written Aug, 9, 2016 for
Becca Teagan's All I could do was surrender - Shakespearean Sonnet
Categories:
forelocks, first love,
Form: Sonnet
Early mornings crisp cool sun illuminates the enemies Armour
His stallions breaths jars the air with snorts of deep anticipation
Thoughts race between victory, defeat, life and finality of death
Survive,
Thrive
The moment is nigh
Heart beat strong
Mind race fast
Remember everything
Forget nothing
Flags pushed by a forceful wind whip his nerves of excitement
Silence
The warrior scream
The surge is as waves eroding the shore of bounteous green
Thunderous thighs pound beneath quivering forelocks
Cool air exhaled rushes past and is left
Past tense
Breath
Eyes to the left
Raging eyes pierce from pale blue paint as scarlet screams
The thunder rolls, swords glisten as enticing Sirens
Contact, a force filled clash of wills and minds plus strength
Clashing swords, ideas beliefs blood plus guts and gore
Dust is kicked and raises past falling victims
Thuds as spuds in sacks
(Land)
Is what it all is for
Face down awkward or upon the broken backs
No time to realise that one who falls is he
Who thought and fought with all his will for all his life
And now just leave him be...
Categories:
forelocks, war, race,
Form: I do not know?