Giles Poems - Poems about Giles

I spend most time within this grave Unmarked and deathly silent I met my end remaining brave Which made it no less violent Pressed to death for 3 long days Only asking for more weight Not this lie but other woeful ways I wonder if I'd sealed my own fate A young man from my living time Caught stealing just some apples I beat him...

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I am no martyr, no ghost, nor wizard great They laid rocks all upon me, and again I say I will not plead, more weight, more weight I was a farmer, in the spring of Salem late My wife is to be hanged the following day I am no martyr, no ghost, nor wizard great Oh Martha I’ve sinned, though not...

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Giles is a goaly, spotted by Tony Rich, A goalkeeping coach for a ladies team, He balances training with his college: Gym, swimming, home exercises mean. He was part of the CP Worlds in 2015, Where team England finished in fifth, And in Rio he played hard and clean: Says his mum’s influenced him much....

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Poor old farmer Giles started hobbling As his painful piles were a wobbling When he sat down on ice The relief was so nice His tush is in need of remodelling Farmer Giles is Cockney rhyming slang for Piles or haemorrhoids. 31st May 2015...

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The people lift their umbrellas as they pass each other along Saint Giles. I am not at ease in my own body as I move toward Mass, my limbs gingerly shaking out, my jeans wet to above the knee. I can't help thinking how much better it is to be alone in sadness than to be with someone else....

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