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I was tired and seated next to the window.
Things passed away. Images of Albion.
Ironically I was approaching the Hawthorns
As I sat next to this window, half asleep.

In my right ear a melody played about
Some form of unrequited love.
I was hurting. She’d left recently.
And just like that I was in the jewellery quarter.

Things move so very quickly
Things come and go and never stay
Things are born and die and all we can do
Is watch and watch and watch and watch.

I was tired and sat next to the window
Feeling lost, half asleep and lonely.
In front of me, a woman read a self help book
And I wanted to scream to her


As I thought this,
I glimpsed someone pass through the aisle
A blonde in a beret, and she looked
Terribly sad. Like something had happened.

Suddenly, I was in the hawthorns
And she’d left the carriage.
I’ll never see her again.
things pass
As the door closes on another England Chapter
A sterling effort far from disaster
A first major final in fifty-five years
Jubilant voices replaced by tears
But we've come along way in such a short time
Maguire and Stones a solid back-line
Pickford mature and calm between the sticks
A terrific save in penalty kicks
Shouts of "Shawberto!" From the stands
A chorus of 'Sweet Caroline' "hands touching hands"
Cries of "bring on Grealish!" Phil Foden's bleach blonde hair
Fist pumps from Southgate
The passion was there
Beating the Germans at last
Now that felt sublime
Sterling a constant menace now in his prime
But we came up short and that's what matters
Broken hearts English dreams in tatters
Yet I firmly believe this is just the beginning
So keep your heads up and keep on singing
"It's coming home it's coming home"
Cos it will one day
Even though it rains and the sky is grey
Red and white ribbons on that cup we'll see
And what a perfect sight it will be
Copyright ©️Joshua Reece Wylie 2021
I’ve never ‘got’ football,
always felt like a bruise
I wasn’t sure how I’d got
or a changing room joke that involved
small ***** or arcane bullying

Perhaps my tutelage was bad
but the pattern in my head
is gammon woven
with misogyny, bigotry
and misunderstood pride

But these boys,
with unhappiness and graft built in,
with ‘other’ credibility,
broad shoulders, tough chins,
make me think that with my time again
I’d have listened

So to them, I opine:
you’ve earned a win,
and have one
The wind bellows:
Unrelenting, pounding, cold.
A dog barks, sending sharp shivers down my spine.
Lying on my front my nose presses against the mud, It's earthy smell filling my nostrils.
Footsteps quicken; voices rise, the taste of salty sweat on my brow.
They've found me.
Reaching for my revolver I grasp it firmly, assured at last.
A single shot fires, it's echoes piercing the night as the thirsty ground soaks up my blood.
©️ 2021 Joshua Reece Wylie. All rights reserved.
A poem about a soldier in world war I who was never going to allow himself to be captured and become a prisoner of war.
Safana Mar 19
It's a destiny on
everyday to
the sunbeams
to hit the soil
and the green
to grow fresh

It's a nature, every
seeded plant to start
growing with
germinated awakening

This, is not by guess
it's just on real incidents
That had so many did
in the dreaming of the
realities yesterday and
the day before yesterday
Sussex will be the monarch  ruler of England one very day
Michael Adubato Dec 2020
It was another time
Walking on the large pebbles
Of Beer beach
The long shadows of the
Dry docked boats of the
Local fishermen resting
Until the next morning on
The English Sea
Stretching towards the
Jurassic cliffs that crumble
Signs warning the visitors
Of the probability of
Falling rocks
Cliff pieces

It was another time
A time I almost
Until I returned
Beer is a seaside town in Devon, southwest England where I used to go quite regularly long ago.
Jade Wright Dec 2020
Work? Still permitted.
If you’re still employed, that is.
Your windows are grey?
Just paint another rainbow.
Clap again if you fancy
EmilyBatdorf Nov 2020
haughty and hateful or pitilessly played,
head freed from embroidered shoulders,
her heart beat, heavy, behind corseted layers.
Temptress or model maiden,
she fell just the same.
The jewel in a king’s crown,
cast away for the next shining stone.
Alaric Moras Nov 2020
You waded through memories
on your throne
All of us look on, smiling,
False courtiers, pretend lovers
To the hag who was queen
Your Tudor eyes crinkle

As you pretend joy
At this false homage
From this worthless court,
All bows and manic grins
shining winter twilight coldly on you

You see Death in their eyes
As once before in your sister's
When her Spanish heart
Sent yours to the Tower

But your head did not roll on its green,
As your mother's once did
For tearing Christendom in two
For daring
To think
That a woman
Could have
A voice

You stroke Queen Anne's jewels
With her fingers,
The ones she gave you
When she loved your father
Despite all it cost the world

We, the victors of the Elizabethean age
Laugh at you, Elizabeth, aged,
****** Queen
Whose lover's letters litter
The back of her tear-stained pillow

When your cold Tudor eyes finally close
And end the dynasty first founded
On a woman's vicious piety,
Know that you,

Liquid eyes
that sunk a Thousand Ships,
Tinkling laughter
that tore men asunder,
Iron fist
that quashed a myriad hopes,
will not be mourned.
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