Inspired by the bards birthday and it being St Georges Day in England. Love my homeland…
My soul searches all the small ancient nooks
but the verbal spaghetti isn’t clear
despite the exhaustive amounts of books
I say, Happy Birthday Mr. Shakespeare.
England’s heart beats for you and our St. George
April twenty-three painted red and white
stories of dragons falling to his sword
and your words immortalised in the night.
The sun rises and we are still breathing
ancient castles, vast woods, and national pride
shaping the might of Albion’s dreaming
twisting and turning along with the tide.
I am a child of this lovely island
with her future out there on the horizon.
Is it too late for yesterday?
A reel of memories on replay;
The Lions roar turned out the lights
Casting the day into the night
Hiding under the Chelsea Bridge
Haunted by the London Blitz
Smoke stings her weathered grey skin
A mighty war she was breathing in
Fightin’ them for bread and water
A small bereft southern daughter
Blasted out of her rub-a-dub
Just her and her little cub.
What happens when tomorrow comes
Will she be cast back into the slums
collateral damage of this time
where being poor was a crime.
The photos linger in the past
But the stigma will always last
Just a shot of another place
Another time in another space.
Her lion heart is beating true
inhaling buckets of vindaloo
hearing the drums, seeing bright red
taste of fresh grass – battles ahead
Failure is the tide coming in
sail the ’66 bandwagon
1 of 19, the news said,
the empire is certainly dead.
Her little red mane knows the score
generations have seen it before.
Are they all just cream-crackered?
Lost, alone, completely battered?
No – because the pride roars loudly
dancing Nobby’s dance – hopefully.
We may have misguided hope
pride of St. George others can’t scope
even when their mighty paws
graze the grass like kitty claws
she WILL put the ball in the net
and put on a show you won’t forget!
Once this small cub ran through the town
painted red: oh, what a clown
screaming “Viva L’Angleterre”
the solid cup would soon be theirs.
Sigh, Keep Calm and Carry On
is the soul of this nations song.
My new ‘Keep Calm & Carry On’ Mug
Englands losses in the first round.
Baddiel & Skinner ‘It’s Coming Home’ – England’s 1996 football anthem.
Back in the days of jeans and bandana’s I would tip toe along the old stone brick walls taking a swing on the old iron gate into the old tennis-racket shaped road. We were the children of the River Bourne playing happily above our ancient wood cycling in circles around our bubble waiting to venture down the unknown path. We created chalk worlds on the grey pavement where our art reflected our village life of summer carnivals and bonfire nights bringing this circle into another vibe. I remember standing outside my home eighteen years of me imprinted in those bricks echoes of laughter bound through the parish as I waltzed into the woods, goodbye. The 90s children have all grown and gone new pedals and canine friends take their place but the brown robins are still all twittering like the old ladies down by station house. The road I grew up on belongs elsewhere in a time of jeans and bad bandana’s when dancing to ‘Under the Sea’ was cool and dinner was hot curry sauce on chips.
I see you in our little coastal town
a photo awakens a reels of memories
of childhood antics on rocky beaches
and Welsh mountains that we would race down.
A traveller of the last century
I remember how you could spin a yarn
We would laugh at your terrible acting
every moment you made legendary.
Written across a tattered birthday card
printed like a human type writer
said the infamous words “Carpe Dium”
words that are tattooed in my mind and soul
as the world twists and turns without you.
Inspired by We Drink Because We’re Poets prompting us to reawaken a so-called dead language via a Latin proverb. I chose ‘Carpe Dium’ meaning to Seize the Day.
Todays prompt was inspired by my other interest in researching my family history. The journey took me and my dad to the New Forest where we found the church my great great great grandparents were married (and presumably) buried in. I remember sitting in the churchyard thinking about what I would say to them if I could…
Looking out from St Andrews
last May – it was a lovely day
the sky brushed in shades of blue
we’d been wandering the forest
studying Landford – tracing
you – on an ancestral quest.
We found you on this country hill
reaching up into the heavens
coated in yellow daffodils.
The world you knew is history
the young’uns migrated to the Smoke
why it’s all a mystery…
But, here stands the same ol’ church
of course in your time it was new
much like that weary silver birch.
Are you in the breeze about these stones?
Listening to my quiet whispers
as I ponder this place – your home.
Do you know we are related?
I’m your grand daughter’s grand daughter
and wanted to say hello – albeit belated.
Todays entry was inspired by yesterday (23rd April) being St. Georges Day in my beautiful home country of England. As much as I love my new digs in Australia (been here 10 years now) England will always have a special place in my heart…
B By and by, I’ll be home in those woodlands
R remembering myself in yesterday’s
E earldoms, skipping along the ruins – gran
A alway there, with her sea candy in May.
T too many tales and stories to relive
H happy, we were kites floating in the sky.
E every memory and moment was a gift
E Etched in my soul; eternal in my eyes.
N now I’ve departed my darling island
G grateful I am to be a part of her
L long may she breath through my feet and my hands
A albion, my soul you have conquered.
N next time I see you it shan’t be for long
D don’t be disheartened for I live your song.