Men poems

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England, My England

© William Ernest Henley

WHAT have I done for you,

England, my England?

The Marriage Of Tirzah And Ahirad

Round the dark curtains of the fiery throne
Pauses awhile the voice of sacred song:
From all the angelic ranks goes forth a groan,
'How long, O Lord, how long?'
The still small voice makes answer, 'Wait and see,
Oh sons of glory, what the end shall be.'

Of The Nature Of Things: Book I - Part 06 - Confutation Of Other Philosophers

© Lucretius

And on such grounds it is that those who held

The stuff of things is fire, and out of fire

Shame

© Sukasah Syahdan

You often look at her at some nights, when she is asleep so sound so tight

Mister William

© William Schwenck Gilbert

OH, listen to the tale of MISTER WILLIAM, if you please,
Whom naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas.
He forged a party's will, which caused anxiety and strife,
Resulting in his getting penal servitude for life.

Messalina

© Alfred Austin

The gloss is fading from your hair,

The glamour from your brow;

Christophe Colomb

© Jacques Delille

Eh! qui du grand Colomb ne connaît point l'histoire,

Lui dont un nouveau monde éternisa la gloire?

Casualty

© Seamus Justin Heaney

Dawn-sniffing revenant,
Plodder through midnight rain,
Question me again.

Your noble reign

© Ivan Donn Carswell

The man whose term we would remember as our longest,
constant serving Head of State, besides the late Sir Robert
Gordon Menzies, turned 67 yesterday. Congratulations John,
youve run a long and torrid race, kept up a frenzied pace

The Hunt

© Ivan Donn Carswell

The hunt begins at a languid pace
belying hysteria building in place, biding its time
to menace the peace in an orchard where mayhems
scant held on a leash. Abigail Belles the first into line,

Something to shout about

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Captain AJ Shout, VC, MC, MID (& bar), who died at Gallipoli
of wounds and was posthumously awarded the VC,
a rare and prestigious award for most conspicuous bravery,
could say, even in dying, it was something to shout about.

Piscine kind of kinship

© Ivan Donn Carswell

To glibly say that Joe was sort of odd
quite missed the point. Peculiar in many
ways and kind of weird, I would have
been afraid of him were I a child (if I ever

Nights sentinel

© Ivan Donn Carswell

Even tonight will pass into memorys oblivion,
doomed, despite an ardent reunion
of once estranged yet precisely matched parts,
to a guiltless verdict a foregone conclusion.

Good neighbours

To my shame Ive been mending fences again
a quaint habit I inherited from my father;
he would rather fix a fence than parley
repair, and that it is where our views diverged.

Frogmouth biker

The biker was a menace on the farm, a madman bent
on speed, intent on leaving all for dead (it was fortunate
he never left the shed). This biker was a frogmouth owl,
a petrol head who sought to ride the biggest, baddest bike

Novembre

Captif de l'hiver dans ma chambre
Et las de tant d'espoirs menteurs,
Je vois dans un ciel de novembre,
Partir les derniers migrateurs.

Burns

MY OWN WILD BURNS! these rude-wrought rhymes of thine
In golden worth are like the unshapely coin
Of some new realm, yet pure as from the mine
And Art may well be spared with such alloy
As dims the bullion to improve the die!

Dead thoughts of corpses

The symbols that we use are T shirts of the dead
thoughts of corpses without heads, a rictus
without sound open-mouthed, empty, unbound.
And if you ever write those clichés which incite
my approbation, fuck you, I am not amused.
And if I ever do, then fuck me too.