Category: England

Posted in England, Writing

Dear Mr Shakespeare

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Inspired by one of my favourite Blackadder clips…

 

Dear Mr Shakespeare, Today I must write

and give a whole hearted thank you, to you.

Like the sun, your words are shining so bright

across the stars and history, it’s true.

Present students are filled with weary eyes

as line by line, we dissect plays like frogs

incomprehension we cannot disguise

as we pull on our fifteenth century togs.

However, fair is fair on the world’s stage

when you master the human condition.

With your timeless life lessons on the page

so all your descendants could rendition.

So thank you for the last four hundred years

and cheers to you sir! I raise my warm beer!

 

Posted in #NaPoWriMo2014, England, Mythology, Time

#NaPoWriMo Day Seventeen – “Castles”

Posted on by Charlie Alford

 

IMG_0506

 

Through the window is a narration

of the past and present mixing

my heart of inspiration. 

 

I love the richness of these places

a group of united kingdoms;

strong pride in her peoples faces.

 

Albion has a long story

of Kings, with their conflict and feuds.

Just pages in her history.

 

The ruins of yesterday stand

tall and proud above the Wye

separating two ancient lands.

 

A little intimidating! 

But at the same time, brilliant!

To see her strong and surviving.

 

A castle weathered throughout time

for centuries now her church bells chime.

 

Posted in #NaPoWriMo2014, England

#NaPoWriMo Day Ten – “London, Inspired by Blake”

Posted on by Charlie Alford

So for today’s challenge I decided to use William Blake’s London as my source of inspiration see here http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172929. Don’t forget to let me know what you think! 🙂

 

London

 

Blake spoke of a wretched London

cursed by dreams of English elites.

Their world, an Orwellian dungeon

on the banks; on the city streets.

 

Still the people scream and shout

Still the people are marked with woe

Still the people wander about

Near where the chartered Thames does flow.

 

But above, the ancient houses

Eyes only see what they want to see

and treat humble peoples grouses

with no sense of propriety.

 

Is there hope for this ancient heart?

When history repeats herself.

Is there hope for her to restart?

And take her people off the shelf.

Posted in England, Family, Life

For my mum

Posted on by Charlie Alford

photo-1

Brown bear, you were there before I could walk

Before I could laugh; before I could dream;

Brown bear, you were there before I could talk;

Before I could cry; before I could scream.

My life story in intertwined with yours

We unearthed the world one step at a time

We climbed hills and walked across the moors

Our corner of the world was so sublime.

Seasons have turned and I’ve grown like a tree

I’ve flown the nest; I work in the city;

But here you are! Still watching over me

Just how nature intended it to be.

There is just one thing I would like to say;

Thank you mother, for being there, always.

Notes:

1. Photo taken from http://www.bitstrips.com/ – one of my latest Facebook-related addictions. It’s really fun and useful when wanting to wind up your mates 😉

2. Mum, you said you preferred poems that rhymed so I wrote this one just for you :p

Posted in England, Family, Loss

Goodbye, Uncle

Posted on by Charlie Alford

We got the word on Christmas morn,

And they told us you were gone.

Asleep, at peace, with the angels

The Silent Night, your Swan Song.

So, rest your weary head, dear uncle

your work on earth is complete.

“God is good”, you used to tell us

Now you’re sitting at his feet.

Sitting in the kitchen corner

With your cigarette and smiles.

“Oh, My” and “Exaa-ctly”

we would laugh with you awhile.

I’ll remember your red jumper

And the coat that was too big.

I’ll remember your brilliant mind,

And playful mischief with us kids.

I remember the last gift you gave

Was a box of “Indian Sweets”

We all gasped, and gave you “the look”

But were grateful for the treat.

Rest easy now, dearest uncle

Your light shines on us from above

No words can describe our sadness

Always and forever, sending our love.

Image

Friends

Friends

 

Summer storms through the silly season

And I am my own fashion treason.

Asleep in my hoodie and flip flops,

Cropped leggings and blue Whovian top.

At my desk the universe lights up

But a first thing first, where’s my Garfield cup?

On my phone is a little image

So my sleepy eyes start to scrimmage.

An old photo of a time and place

Where five girls are caught in an embrace.

They look up at me from yesterday

Far. Far, away from this port side bay.

Those were the days of Pimms and flowers,

Best friends, and summer showers.

Gone are those days of dancing till dawn,

Getting drunk, waking up on the lawn.

No we’re closer to the big 3-0

Alarm clocks and coffee run the show

Dancing along the trapeze of life

As friend, worker, mother, sister, wife…

The world has spun a few times or more

Since I was last knocking at your door

But no matter how far we all roam

That time, that place, will always be home.


Posted in England, Family, Life, Loss, Love, Time

Dear Grandfather

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Grandfather,

The reason I write to you these chosen words
Is that you left too soon, that’s what I heard.

You said for my birthday we’d take to the sky.
But you got on a bus instead, and died.

You promised to take me to far away lands,
I drew us a map, got paint on my hands.

I recall long walks across the village green.
You told me stories and taught me to dream.

The old man that boarded route forty-seven
Did he know he’d be diverted straight up to heaven?

Was grandmother waiting for you, just like you said?
Mum said she was, but I am easily led.

London has changed, its not the same without you,
The world is a scary place now, please come home soon.

Love, Charlie.

Posted in England, Life, Seasons/Nature

Shallot

Posted on by Charlie Alford

Watching the season’s come and go.
Tiny bulbs in the earth below,
From Surrey’s meadow, we did grow.
Our destiny we did not know.

Summer plucked us from the ground,
And exiled us – for a measly pound!
Farmer Trumps made no sound!
For mother’s hot pot we were bound…