Long Englishmen Poems
Long Englishmen Poems. Below are the most popular long Englishmen by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Englishmen poems by poem length and keyword.
They taxed us without our consent,
we who though we were Englishmen,
said we had no say in governance,
so we simply boycotted them,
threw their tea into the harbor,
let them know that we’d had enough,
they sent troops to beat our spirits down,
didn’t think we would be all that tough.
But when they marched for Bunker Hill
two times we made the redcoats run,
they crippled themselves for ‘victory,’
come and see what the rabble have done.
And when they arrived in great force,
our militias then tasted defeat,
they forced our forces from New York,
and pressed us down though New Jersey.
Many thought the game was over,
that is was but a matter of time,
then Washington crossed that river
to declare we were still in the fight.
Surprised all the dreaded Hessians,
asleep in their beds at Trenton,
didn’t lose a single soldier,
come and see what the rabble have done.
When Burgoyne started marching south,
determined to split up this land,
citizen soldiers from all around
assembled to challenge the man.
Locked in stalemate at Saratoga,
the British went out probing,
not expecting our forces would stand up,
much less charge forwards attacking.
The great professional army
soon would find itself overrun,
the first big redcoat surrender,
come and see what the rabble have done.
When Britain took Philadelphia,
the rabble went to Valley Forge,
Britain thought they all would freeze,
dwindle away until no more.
But those cold men, no food or shoes,
persisted against winter’s chill,
learned old Europe’s fighting style,
under Von Steuben they would drill.
At Monmouth they gave just what they got,
held their own until the setting sun,
beat the British at their own game,
come and see what the rabble have done.
Again at Cowpens, Stony Point,
King Mountain out in the back woods,
when the royal army struck at us,
we gave it back just as good,
until finally at Yorktown,
a French fleet blocking the escape,
the rabble came for Cornwallis,
who could only yield to his fate.
They played ‘The World Turned Upside Down,’
believed that the peasants had won,
not understanding who they had fought,
come and see what us Free Men have done.
Let Englishmen Awake
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2016
St George’s day is coming
let Englishmen awake
the denigration of our name
is more than we will take
but we will rise above it
the Red Cross on the white
and once again we’ll show the world
the English still can fight
Though part of the United Kingdom
we are a people of our own
and through the march of time
our history has grown
With Scotland, Wales and Ireland
we’ve stood throughout the years
through war and through disaster
the heartache and the tears
Saints George, Andrew and David
Saints Patrick and Piran too
have been with us throughout the years
and we’ve helped each other through
But now there are some people,
try to stop our flag flying high
but they are wasting their own time
they may as well not try
So, the 23rd of April, on this Saint Georges Day
let flags fly high, and to God and St. George we’ll pray
raise your voices one and all, and give a mighty cheer,
and we will let the whole world know,
the English are still here
Neither mad dogs nor Englishmen
rejoice as sunlight growing thin
allows the tidal sands to shift
through moonlight’s vapor growing dim
Yet still the beasts of lolling tongue
huddle with their shaded young
beneath a cloak of crimson red
abandoned nests now left unsung
Whilst I enjoyed this mingled tryst
as lovers passing gently kissed
and danced beneath a smiling sun
embracing moments others missed
Soft rustling limply humid leaves
deny the creep of autumn’s thieves
grey squirrels stalking acorn fields
from high upon a church apse eaves
School children race through tanning grass
rejoicing in their sunset dash
pursuing dusk into the dark
as dog day’s breath goes panting past
©9/3/2018
for The Dog Days Endure Poetry Contest
I thought it was bad enough
when you took your people’s guns,
leaving them unable to defend
themselves or anyone,
making them incapable of
resisting evil’s sway,
leaving them adrift and helpless,
it is the tyrant’s way.
But now I see it’s even worse,
you suppress their free speech,
worried about words ‘hateful,’
so you turn to tyranny?
Wont even let folks in Britain
with right-of-center words,
tet Islamists have the run of it,
even with speech that burns.
Maybe you should sink, Britannia,
just sink beneath the waves,
’cause at the rate you’re going,
you’ll soon enough be slaves.
At Rotherham and Telford,
and a half-dozen more,
you turned your backs on monsters
treating daughters like whores,
ignored their degradation,
wouldn’t even take the case
more concerned with the word ‘racist,’
then women being raped??!!
You lock up folks for online
jokes done with a dog,
but genital mutilation
goes on in London’s fog.
Is this the same nation
that had ‘Rights of Englishmen,’
that ancient love of liberty
you spread to all your kin?
Perhaps you should sink, Britannia,
just sink beneath the waves,
’cause at the rate you’re going,
you’ll soon enough be slaves.
The nation of Shakespeare, Dickens;
they showed us how it’s done.
Chaucer, Elliot, and Thackery,
Shelley and Tennyson,
you once gave us Lord Blackstone,
a love for rule-of-law,
you faced down Napoleon
pried Europe from his claws,
held the line against the Nazis,
when all others had fell,
the full list of accomplishments
one voice could never tell.
Yet you throw away all of that,
toss aside geat glories,
just so you can get onboard
with the evil of P.C.?
So sink, sink Britannia,
just sink beneath the waves,
’cause a quick death is better
then living on as slaves.
(Satirically modeled after the famous poem 'Rule, Britannia' by James Thomson.)
Fidgety Cats And Feline Pets
(A Parody)
Fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run,
Siamese are to rare to ever dare to
And in Bali and Mali cats retire from dawn till one.
Persian Blues prefer to choose to snooze in the noon day sun
And there’s a rumour the Puma will sleep when the day is done.
Fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run.
The Ocelot, cares not a jot for the heat of the noon-day sun
And the Bengal rarely sleeps at all.
At mid-day in Mandalay the Tiger will hunt for fun,
But fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run.
The Lion’s roar is no more when the clock strikes one
And you will never meet a Cheetah after the setting sun.
The Maine Coone will bathe at noon and the
Burmese is quite at ease in the rays of the Asian sun,
But fidgety cats and feline pets go out for a midnight run.
Adapted from ‘Mad Dogs and Englishmen’ by Sir Noel Coward.
Barry Stebbings
07/03/18
Judy had a mission
to elevate my fame.
Spreading rhyming poetry
carrying my name.
She said I’d get more coverage
if I would help myself
by taking premium membership
like everybody else.
But I think that I upset her
with my silly English wit
for screaming abject poverty
I laid it on a bit.
It’s not the only instance
that my sense of humour failed
and someone took me serious
and my jokes were then derailed.
I really must remember
that when talking cross the ‘pool’
That what is fun to Englishmen
can make me look a fool.
So thank you Aunty Judy
I have taken your advice
and joined the ‘soupers’ family
cause I know that they’re all nice.
And just to show I mean it
and allay all of your fears,
to prove that you’re a real true friend
I’ve joined up for Two years!
Ivor G Davies
The Irish Republican Army
Through clenched teeth will fight,
So all with Irish accents
Will hear "Ireland's call" and unite.
The cowboys sings of the country
Mountains and farms and all that,
Though he is from the city
he'll wear his ten gallon hat.
The American is so proud
He was born on the Fourth of July,
He sings the "star spangled banner"
With hand on heart as he cries.
The Australian larrikin is proud
Of their beaches, forests and sun,
That he is "young and free"
With BBQ and beer soaked fun.
The Scotsman wears His kilt
And recites what Burns may have said,
About the braveheart spirit
That against the Englishmen bled.
Then there's the twelve year old boy
Thinks "in what can I now be proud" ?,
He'll wear his football jersey
With the thousands in the stand with the crowd.
These all have something in common
It's the same thing that drives them all,
It's all about their identity
By this we all stand or fall.
The identity is the powerful force
That drives all of life's decisions,
To understand motivation
The identity is the heart's incision.
For this we'll defend to the death
For that is our fighting territory,
Because it's who we are
Where belief comes from, our identity.
Note: "Ireland's call" is the anthem sung by the Irish rugby team which is made up of both the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland.
"Young and free" is in Australia's national anthem
"Larrikin" is Australian slang for a person who is a bit cheeky
The issue's not yet signed and sealed.
Three cogent answers hold the field,
and no-one knows which is the best.
I'll set them out before you, lest
the question go a-begging.
First
(and this one's frequently rehearsed,
but holds least clout - at least with me),
the Mason-Dixon Line must be
the great divide: South, slavery,
North, freedom. Dixon, Dixie - see?
The trouble is that way back when
those two unstinting Englishmen
surveyed the Line, none under heaven
(we're talking seventeen sixty-seven)
could care a cuss if blacks were pressed
to toil unpaid at whites' behest.
And Delaware, by no means least
of slaving states, lies north and east
of said divide.
Manhattan, now:
though it may try to disavow
a past that wasn't quite PC,
New York had sloughs of slavery.
A Mister Dixie held some lands
(right where the Guggenheim now stands):
the human property he owned
led folks to talk of "Dixie's Zone"
whenever slaves were being mentioned,
and gradually, by extension,
this came to mean the South. Could be.
Pursuing perspicuity
is noble in itself, and so
I offer as my final throw
the one which really should have won
(who measures merit, though, by fun?)
Louisiana, sovereign state,
sought (sensibly) to circulate
its very own banknotes. Problem was,
the Cajun cash collapsed, because
nobody trusted it. Each bill
was written in (for good or ill)
official French, so - quelle caprice! -
each sawbuck said, not ten, but "dix".
Thus, Dixie's fixed in every brain
as something quaint, quixotic, vain.
Stood on the roof of the Empire State
Two American men and their new English mate
It’s true that a bourbon or two had been had
Perhaps that’s what made them all act a bit mad
The Englishman, clearly, had drunk a bit more
His friends shared a secret which made them guffaw
One asked their English friend if he had heard
That bourbon allows you to fly like a bird
The Englishman grinned. ‘I’m not falling for that,
If I tried to fly I would fall and go splat!’
So one of his mates jumped right down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
‘My, that’s amazing,’ the Englishman said,
‘If I had done that I would be a bit dead.’
‘Nonsense,’ the other American said,
‘If you won’t do it, I’ll do it instead.’
True to his word he jumped down to the street
Bounced all the way up to land back on his feet
The Englishmen gasped. ‘I can’t believe that
You jumped off the roof but you didn’t go splat.’
So both the Americans said he was scared
And after a while the Englishman dared
‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I think I could do that.’
He jumped and smashed into the ground with a splat
They gazed at the gory result of their plan
And Spiderman said, ‘That was mean, Superman.’
***
Secretly watching from behind a tree
He thought to himself ‘They could never kill me.’
For they hadn’t known his identity.
Or that the ‘splat’ was ground beef for his tea
He hadn’t harboured malicious intent
When he had adopted an English accent
But in their ‘day wear’ he still knew what it meant
When young Peter Parker said, ‘Meet Mr Kent.’
It was nice to see that the graveyard was stuffed
He grinned to see Spidey and Superman cuffed
Soon he'd step out for his mourners to see
For now, Batman giggled hysterically
6 September 2022
For contest: superheroes or Supervillains
Sponsor: Robert James Liguory
"Turkey Fowl"
1776: The Eagle, The Dove, or the Turkey?
Great Seal of the United States
What should we choose for a symbol of our new life?
American birth of a nation
Declaration Committee chosen
Midwife of an egg Eagle, Dove, or Turkey
Dr. Benjamin Franklin
Plea a turkey
Truly a noble bird that’s free
Native American sees
A source of sustenance
Incredibly brave fellow
Single-handedly
Who wouldn't flinch in an attacking regiment of Englishmen
Foraging in clearings, field, forest, with nut bearing trees
Listen to the exuberant gobbling males carry
On the ground,
But at the night flying high
Roosting on treetops at the end of the day
Therefore, the national bird of America should be the Turkey
11/5/2015
1776: The Eagle, The Dove, or the Turkey?Choosing between the eagle, the dove, or the turkey for America's national bird. This is one of the final scenes in the musical 1776. Thomas Jefferson (dove), Ben Franklin (turkey) and John Adams (eagle) are waiting for Congress to ratify the Declaration of Independence. They start to discuss which bird would be the best national bird. Now I want to hear YOUR two cents. Which of the three would you choose and why? I'm leaving this wide open---be funny, be serious, be of two minds---whatever occurs to you, it just has to be one of those three.............