Poetry Blogs (Britain)
Can it possibly be true
How the twelve months flew
Really twenty-four have passed
In terror of being outcast
Since that dire vote to leave
The parties it seems must all deceive
Mindless of the real cost
All thoughts of governance long lost
So the lady May survive
Gainst all that ministers contrive
Regardless of the pundits' sense
Ever blind to the expense
Thursday 20th December 2018 12:05 pm
This poem is really just for us older brits... who can still remember the good old days.
Children of the 'sixtys' old age hippys rule! Happier days..
THE GOON SHOW
Trying to find some humour in this world that seems quite mad
never was a problem when I was a lad.
I used to laugh at lots of things that struck me rather funny
Humour now I cannot find, for simply love nor mon...
Saturday 8th December 2018 6:28 pm
Anarchy runs through my bones, A sanctuary, a mind set in stone, No worth in a life without purpose, Enough people around me trying to surplus, Without reason or must. Society isn't run from home, We're fed a diet of lies and bad omens, A curfew on our personal time, Cursing those who brave past the line, Fucking with your mind. Sobriety is harshly overrated, When the priority is to...
Saturday 2nd May 2015 6:16 am
A silence fell upon the city,
contorted shadows twisting moonlight.
Stuttering in a speakeasy seemed so misplaced
bottles rattled flickering like Fedora feathers
in an unforgiving wind.
The wretched odour of deprivation
a stench that sticks and degrades ones existence.
Even by day this city remains a lifeless sap
and by night the vampires feast on thei...
Tuesday 9th April 2013 4:44 pm
Monday 16th July 2012 8:18 pm
Bit of a weird recording, sounds like there's two of me at points...
Tuesday 3rd July 2012 12:49 am
First time he'd ever been,
First time he'd ever seen
imaginations running wild brother,
see it to believe it.
As British as fish and chips
on a sunny London afternoon.
3 way dance or triple threat,
call it what you like but never forget
As Ligero drives the crowd wild,
the show stealer got robbed
Friday 6th April 2012 5:56 pm
For him the song took a whole new meaning,
a control that made him wish to control others.
“Something's gotten hold of my heart”
an evil, a darkness
he mused on midnight
and the encroaching demonic hours.
3am and a stereo's blazing in a stolen Volkswagen Beetle
inaudible white noise, a prerequisite
for the red mist to follow.
Tuesday 3rd April 2012 9:10 pm