"britannia" poems
I.
While raging tempests shake the shore,
While Ælus’ thunders round us roar,
And sweep impetuous o’er the plain
Be still, O tyrant of the main;
Nor let thy brow contracted frowns betray,
While my Susanna skims the wat’ry way.
II.
The Pow’r propitious hears the lay,
The blue-ey’d daughters of the sea
With sweeter cadence glide along,
And Thames responsive joins the song.
Pleas’d with their notes Sol sheds benign his ray,
And double radiance decks the face of day.
III.
To court thee to Britannia’s arms
Serene the climes and mild the sky,
Her region boasts unnumber’d charms,
Thy welcome smiles in ev’ry eye.
Thy promise, Neptune keep, record my pray’r,
Not give my wishes to the empty air.
6.7k
will the French
please stop stealing words
from Pretty Olde English?
we can’t but fix a secret meeting
and choose a rendezvous
and we discover the French have already
stolen every secret including the word rendezvous!
Oh, the French, when will
they stop this pilfering of English vocabulary?
I buy some trinkets and stuff for my beau
and they tell me my beau has been taken by the French –
and to add insult to injury
(those thieves!)
they’ve stolen all the stuff too!
Oh, there’s no stopping the French.
I can’t even sit to dine and say
“Bon appetit!”
and they steal my words,
and they run off with the dessert…
and would you believe it?
those cunning French,
they even steal the restaurant and its décor!
Oh, the evil French, will they never stop this? -
stealing from fecund English, so simple and innocent…
You see, even the Great Poet John Keats
he starts his poem in English
La Belle Dame sans Merci
and no sooner had he written the title,
the French stole the very words! -
and so ****** off was our Romantic John Keats,
he wrote the poem itself
in what he hoped could never be Frenched!
Ah, the French…would you please stealing
words from our Fair Damsel English….
And the Chindians too!
Chindians?
you know,
the Chinese and the Indians together!
(Yes, it’s a new word,
shows how inventive English is.)
Well, the Chinese have done it with
a smile and a kowtow! –
there you go, while you bow or cringe,
the Chinese steal the kowtow;
and before our very own eyes
today even in our modern world
the Chinese steal words like Dao, Zen, taofu,
chi, and feng shui;
and the Indians, not to be beaten,
and perhaps with a vengeance
to deal a fatal blow to the Raj,
they steal words like: nirvana, pundits, yoga,
juggernaut, pepper and curry
And of course
there are many more tribes and nations
in this merry global **** of Gloriana English
and there’s just nothing Britannia can do about it!
Oh, what’s the world coming to
when our Plain Jane English is molested like this;
and so I do my part
the Dark Knight coming to her rescue -
perhaps this earnest appeal in verse
will touch the hearts of the beasts and dragons
and they’ll keep their claws away
from our Fair Helpless Dame English
Sep 21, 2010
Sep 21, 2010 at 11:06 PM UTC
Say, muse divine, can hostile scenes delight
The warrior’s ***** in the fields of fight?
Lo! here the christian and the hero join
With mutual grace to form the man divine.
In H—D see with pleasure and surprise,
Where valour kindles, and where virtue lies:
Go, hero brave, still grace the post of fame,
And add new glories to thine honour’d name,
Still to the field, and still to virtue true:
Britannia glories in no son like you.
2.2k
I.
Adieu, New-England’s smiling meads,
Adieu, the flow’ry plain:
I leave thine op’ning charms, O spring,
And tempt the roaring main.
II.
In vain for me the flow’rets rise,
And boast their gaudy pride,
While here beneath the northern skies
I mourn for health deny’d.
III.
Celestial maid of rosy hue,
O let me feel thy reign!
I languish till thy face I view,
Thy vanish’d joys regain.
IV.
Susanna mourns, nor can I bear
To see the crystal show’r,
Or mark the tender falling tear
At sad departure’s hour;
V.
Not unregarding can I see
Her soul with grief opprest:
But let no sighs, no groans for me,
Steal from her pensive breast.
VI.
In vain the feather’d warblers sing,
In vain the garden blooms,
And on the ***** of the spring
Breathes out her sweet perfumes.
VII.
While for Britannia’s distant shore
We sweep the liquid plain,
And with astonish’d eyes explore
The wide-extended main.
VIII.
Lo! Health appears! celestial dame!
Complacent and serene,
With Hebe’s mantle o’er her Frame,
With soul-delighting mein.
IX.
To mark the vale where London lies
With misty vapours crown’d,
Which cloud Aurora’s thousand dyes,
And veil her charms around.
X.
Why, Phoebus, moves thy car so slow?
So slow thy rising ray?
Give us the famous town to view,
Thou glorious king of day!
XI.
For thee, Britannia, I resign
New-England’s smiling fields;
To view again her charms divine,
What joy the prospect yields!
XII.
But thou! Temptation hence away,
With all thy fatal train,
Nor once ****** my soul away,
By thine enchanting strain.
XIII.
Thrice happy they, whose heav’nly shield
Secures their souls from harms,
And fell Temptation on the field
Of all its pow’r disarms!
2.1k
when i heard about it,
when i heard of “free art:”
i thought of free bread and wine,
and celtic sirens,
i laughed though... you made the earth
so ******* boring we all wanted to become astronauts.
when art became free we tried to moralise
drinking wine (as a portent of richness)
and eating bread (as a portent of the russian revulsion),
i bought my art.. and waited for the ones who
discouraged it complaining buying their bread “well fed.”
the celtic sirens hung on though, singing softer and softer
but more prone to the acid tongues dragging the democrats into
a hope of kings and village kindred elders,
but i still didn’t hope for free artistry that was akin to circus,
caged the gypsy have i?
i have, but i did not warrant free food or free aquas of variation,
i simplified freeing the demands with the demands freed into excess,
well... if i were kingly i’d still have provided free bread and wine
rather than music and the curbing the excesses of lyricists;
making music free just discouraged all originality, all creativity,
it just became a realism of a struggled acting -
i feel cheated having missed the antics of britannia in
the 1960's and '70's like it was greek and roman without
the epileptics of watching a documentary on trans-sexualisation
of brazilians and ******** disco to gag on an excess of flashy lights
just to sell lipstick... and have these quasi-epileptic shivers
without having an opposing opinion to counter the freely stated & fluxed.
i guess my convulsions were due to the fact that the men
didn’t call it either homosexuality nor trans-sexuality,
and that i was actually looking at two dodos talking, meaning
i was seeing the extinction of the human race through the ****
meaning i was watching the knights templar idol, baphomet,
realised 2000 years after the crucifixion in that crown of thorn dreams,
perfected in thailand... of all places;
that actually beats the identification of ibn saud as the dajjal,
moving further east of mecca than riyadh and
the assassination attempt within the framework of muhammad’s hadith of ‘no entry’ into mecca by the dajjal.
Oct 12, 2015
Oct 12, 2015 at 11:17 PM UTC
I drop to my knees.
I keel over, coming hard.
My **** in your mouth;
My throbbing **** in both your palms,
I sink calmly into oblivion,
The happy ending devoutly to be wished,
For any ******* worth its salt,
What most matters to draftees of the Legion,
Roman plebeians applying most of their salary
To local honey BJs.
Salt: the poor man’s ******
Go ahead sacrifice my life for Rome,
Waste me in Gaul or Britannia,
**** me away for the Empire,
Exploit my wives,
Demean my offspring prostitutes.
But, please,
Just leave me my *** and TV,
Free Velveeta and Obama-Care.
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 1:23 PM UTC
From the patriotic song--verses 4 and 5, followed by three of my own verses:
* Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down,
Will but arouse thy generous flame;
But work their woe, and thy renown.
"Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
"Britons never will be slaves."
To thee belongs the rural reign;
Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main,
And every shore it circles thine.
"Rule, Britannia! rule the waves:
"Britons never will be slaves." *
When the international banks decree
that commerce belongs to them, not thee,
thou wilt arise and set things straight
and take back thy rightful fate.
When Brussels, and Germany insist
that immigrants from every shore
should find a home inside your door
(despite the people's cry--"No more!)
you quietly vote to resist.
What fire will flame from Britain's spark?
The division has been now made stark:
On one side, the elite's intent--
the other way, the people went.
Jun 24, 2016
Jun 24, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Seldom have I seen such strength, such purposefulness shown
And I have witnessed many who have made their message known,
Immovable this woman stands in seas of raging tide
Where friend and foe, as challengers, she’s deftly swept aside.
Resolute she stands atop white cliffs of blazing chalk
To glare across the Channel where her predecessors stalked
In league with Winston Churchill with pugnacious jawline set
When he thrashed the fiend in Jackboots and field grey appuletes.
In league with Margaret Thatcher with that glint of grey in eyes
To the accolades of Gorbachev who recognised the prize.
In league with Boadecia the ghost of power past
Who rallied this great nation to fight on to the last.
Snapping at her ankles the dogs of turmoil writhe
And comrades of another time amass to criticise,
Labourites howl murderously to all who would take heed
While the rabble rousing Europeans joust to intercede.
Swirling round her skirts they mass now screaming their abuse
At her articulated message of a pathway less obtuse.
If Tony Blair had the ***** it’s to her side he’d dance
As would Jeremy Corbett but of that there’s little chance,
Her Majesty stands forthright, as do all her heirs
Including Will and Harry who are cheering from the stairs.
Dianna’s there in spirit plus the Kiwis from the pub
And the rough crowd from the chippie all dolled up with a scrub.
She needs ALL of you behind her in her struggle for the best,
Independence for Great Britain is ascendancy’s great quest.
The very heart of what It means to dwell within these shores
The very heart of what it means to be Brittish to the core.
England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales combining for the task
Of a guarantee of future from the quagmire of the past.
We SHALL stand behind Teresa May and make our voices heard
As we scream aloud the anthem to impart our final word….
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITTANIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER…
SHALL BE SLAVES!
Boom, boom, boom
RULE BRITANNIA,
BRITANNIA RULE THE WAVES
BRITAIN NEVER, NEVER EVER….
SHALL BE SLAVES!
M.
18 December 2018
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 6:33 PM UTC
How dashing is the rain, as it forcefully kisses the skin upon our cheeks, amidst this precipitation of damp uncertainty.
Can we please scramble across the moorlands of Provincia Britannia, whilst blazing torches flicker across blatant boundaries where royal promiscuity succumbs to reluctant allegiance to the King?
Oh, great creator of ambivalent meteorological predictions, let us have a séance as we race through thick forests where ancient runes are carved into the trunks of establishment.
Don your armour, my friend. We are approaching the threshold where history lies ages before us.
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 11:01 PM UTC
Touring the cities of England and the UK
Back of a transit van, rocking up to anywhere that paid
The brothers Grimm and their trusty cohorts
Bonehead on rhythm, McCarroll on drums, Guigsy up to all sorts
That gig at the Wah Wah, King Tuts to be precise
Glasgow you beauty, **** the next show up in Fife
The man that found them, a mister Alan McGee
A Britpop revolution, all great memories
They came and most failed, that one gig on Top of The Pops
Menswear to Mansun and an array of rank haircuts where the seagulls did flock
We had the trendies in Camden all hanging around on their scooters with parka’s
Noel or Liam and that fella from Echobelly, anything to be famous and get on the telly
But then the times must end and it all turned a little sour
A few trudged on with an album or two, the Manics to Cast and the lyrics from John Power
Patsy and Liam had that cover on the front of Vanity Fair
Draped in Britannia, divorce on the cards, strange how no-one now cares
Good times they were without a worry in the world and a now gone era
Euro 96, Southgate’s miss and those goals from Teddy and Shearer
A time well remembered and days I’d love to see back
If not only for the music but for the not caring and the unforeseen great craic
Not to hate the now as times move on
But a day in the past, served at seventeen and to claim you were the one
Not to be asked I.D. and sneakily drink that Stella
laughing at the bar, king of the blaggers, not to be served again by that same fella
Before the phone and the apps, we used to meet face to face
Girl at the bar, a bit of blarney and a home number to suit, always up for the chase
Do you ring tomorrow and who’s going to answer
Her mum might be alright, but her dad could be a ******
I couldn’t imagine doing it all again now
Swipe left to say no or right to give it a go
Seems inhuman to me not to spark up a chat
But maybe that’s just me, stuck in past, I’m just old hat.
JJB
Feb 2, 2018
Feb 2, 2018 at 10:02 AM UTC
Colonisation of India
The ****** of the oriental princess happened
as the sun rose from the east.
A dagger, made of gold coins on her back as she slept
on a mattress made of hazy stars.
Her lips dripped ruby, collected by her father,
the potentate, who gave them to the queen of England,
she, in gratitude, gave him a Rolls Royce equipped with
a driver who could sing “Rule Britannia.”
Greed choked the potentate and from his blue lips.
Sapphire dripped.
Aug 31, 2017
Aug 31, 2017 at 6:27 AM UTC
. . . Bonjour,
Banque de
Bruxelles...
Bonjour,
beautiful
Betty!
Benjamin
Baker!
Barry
back?
Barry's
back—
Bye!
Bye,
Betty!
Bonjour,
Ben!
Barry
Beauchamp—
Brussels'
best
broker!
(Barry
blushing)
Benjamin
Baker—
Boston's
best
businessman!
Brokerage
balanced,
Barry?
Been
better ...
Been
better?
Bad?!
Below
benchmark :-(
Bygones
be
Bygones ...
Bullish
bearing,
Barry?
Best
be
bullish,
Ben!
Better
be
bullish,
Barry!
Brokerage
best
buy?
Best
buy?
Bonds!
Best
buy
bonds?!
"Be
bullish"
Barry?
Brighthouse
baby
bonds!
Brighthouse
baby
bonds?
BHFAL—
Balanced,
beneficial
buy.
Baby
bonds
bad
bet,
Barry.
Best
bullish
buy?
Bitcoin!
Bitcoin
bites,
Barry!
Bloomberg
broadcasted
Bitcoin's
bubble
bursting.
Best
bullish
buy,
BARRY??
Bullion
bars?
British
Britannia?
"Be
bullish,"
Barry!!
BEST
BULLISH
BUY??
BlackRock,
Buffett's
Berkshire—
Better
believe,
both
bullish
buys!
Bingo!
BlackRock,
Berkshire—
Buy
both!
BOOYAH!!
Bought!
Better
be
bullish,
Barry!
Bye!
Bientôt,
Ben!
© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Apr 18, 2020
Apr 18, 2020 at 11:03 PM UTC
Sycamore
Three syllables
No less pleasing
Rolling off
The tongue, yet
Possessing
A soupcon
Of economy more
Being four
Letters lighter
Dense as devils food
Lacking elbow room
Between the last
Two beats
Ninety feet
Bottom to top
Eighty
Odd years
Young and leaning
Against
Our house
Telltale
Leg of a timid
Giant trying
To squeeze himself
Into a moment
Ragged leafy breathing
Giving him away
English Plane
My tree guy
Says sideways so
We crane
Our necks
Squinting
Up at undeniable
Quiet dignity
Where shabbiness
Once prevailed
Rule Britannia! shading
All of our tomorrows.
Oct 22, 2016
Oct 22, 2016 at 8:12 AM UTC
Not Iraqi, nor Irani
With ancestors, Pakistani
And some fine roots
From India
But my main roots
Arabia
Did spent some time
In Austria
And later on
In Syria
Now heartbroken
And writing poems
In language of
Britannia
I'm heartbroken
Cause I lost you
Your heart is where
I'm calling home
Since its the place
Of which I can
Honestly say
I'm coming from.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 4:07 AM UTC
Fluttering weakly in the breeze
Left in the wake of the train's passing,
George's proud flag hung limp
From the pole,
Weathered and worn,
Like a tired old soul.
It's procurement no doubt,
was a misplaced, ill-thought out
statement of pride,
A belligerent shout
At the fresh-off-the-boat,
Here for the so-called ride.
The flag was once clear,
But Britannia's grey skies had
Poured down their drink,
Washing the colours,
Calming the passion,
From red into pink.
The train swept past,
It's multicultural seats
Brimming in rainbow hues,
As the punters sped
To the proud parade
Of the minority few.
They saluted the flag,
Laughter from lipstick,
Teasing it's impotence,
As the hated flag
Unexpectedly praised
Their innocence.
The train traveled on,
Past gardens like embassy roofs,
Displaying flags in retort;
Their bright bold colours
From every shore
Joined in support.
No tears for poor George,
Confused in his ways,
Run up a flagpole to fall and decay.
So sad to see, thought Union Jack,
As he flew with his friends
And waved at the track.
Mar 13, 2015
Mar 13, 2015 at 9:11 PM UTC
Archipelago of fire
Beautiful muchness high admire
Mediterranean sunset, Silvery moon
shallow drift of a blue lagoon
biblical , roman citadel
Rabat rabbit , Mdina befell
allied ally , friend nay foe
Britannia forevermore
Africa, europe nearer unsure
Divided ocean's fight it's land
a Country much sought after
beaches of many laughter
Pleasure crafts, weekend a saunter
line up deep blue still
for Malta's high nightlife
St Julian's hip paceville
Little Malta's big on me
three islands ,three cities more
Sunshine eternal burn
'til adventurers return
Martyn Grindrod
Jul 13, 2019
Jul 13, 2019 at 6:02 AM UTC
it's raining again.
medusa's let down her hair:
strands of raindrops
slithering,
poison on armour.
Jul 9, 2019
Jul 9, 2019 at 4:02 PM UTC
I've made a new record I'll call Rita and
You can play it on a long day,
Swinging in la dolce vita.
Passport pictures and coins
In a cottage by the sea, in western Britannia, among
Colossal monolith-like ruins on jade mounds.
And I'll regard well the traces of murmurs
Echoing off the stones
In whistles and moans
Under a drizzle of rain.
I'll sleep by the wishing well speaking in tongues;
Dribbling words and phrases;
Shifting, till still, In silence.
I'll nurture my urge with the cosmos
Under a blacken'd trove
Outnumbered by trillions of freckled
Galaxies fairly distributed.
Jun 23, 2015
Jun 23, 2015 at 10:02 PM UTC
I seem to have missed the lesson,
or maybe it was a paid seminar,
where being a ******* to folk not like you
is seen as cool
A staggering self-belief, or indoctrination
into a way of thinking that excludes
the workers, powerhouses, batteries,
seems insane in a way
that only limited lineages
seem genetically capable of
But now I’m stooping, so I’ll stop
Let’s all stop
being in thrall to noisy *******
rugger-buggers who had charmed and broken youths,
who knew no hunger except in minds
and no kindness except paid for
I would feel pity, but these bred monsters
are parasitic,
so to let them survive,
******* and spouting lies,
kills us all in the end.
Britannia rules these waves
Feb 6, 2022
Feb 6, 2022 at 9:23 AM UTC
Backing into battle
With our buttocks gleaming white
We are rogered for Her Majesty
And Britannia’s ruling might.
The enemy may raise his flag
Upon our flaccid pole
For the Queen’s most heartfelt wishes
Are that we should be the swishes
Fed will-nilly to the fishes
In our British glory hole.
Olé.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 7:20 PM UTC
Cast your mind back to 1973
If you wasn't there then you’re in the same boat as me
But Great Britain joined the EEC to make this land a force
So what had we been doing wrong beforehand to lead us on this course
We'd sailed this planet and conquered nations to show them of our pride
The smallest country in the mix of many, no one shoves us to one side
Spaniards tried and failed so bad who else wants to have a go
The Germans twice so anyone else, your dice in the ring, come on and give them a throw
But tactics have changed and evolved with the times, political is our new hurdle
Tony opened the gates and the waves came in, Blair’s fault or now Mrs Merkel?
No matter how you did vote it was a shock to us all that we now set sail on this boat we've named Britannia
29th of March, 2019, we raise anchor and set sail into a gulf of unknown venture
But British spirit much prevail as it always has if it still lingers to blow gust in these new sails
Two fingers towards Brussels, out on our own, with this we cannot fail
We’ve done it before and we can do it again it just depends who might follow
Only time will tell if it was the choice to make or may have to beg steal and borrow
JJB
Nov 21, 2017
Nov 21, 2017 at 5:52 AM UTC
Annaliffey
Stalling for time
Along St James
Anna Liffey looks back,
Noting down names
At Old Dublin's walls
The wind sighs in regret
Calling to her softly
Lest Anna forget
Her tears take in salt
With each challenged wave
As she melts in the sea
Domain of the brave
She finds final peace
Seeking her rest
In the arms of Britannia
Mar 5, 2018
Mar 5, 2018 at 6:50 PM UTC
So once again comes this time of year
When all everyone's expected to show is cheer.
Cheer for all that they have around
"Cheers!" as glasses clink together ringing sounds!
But this year, in particular, out of many
Highlights the every day struggles of any
Person unlucky enough to fit in with modern day 'expectations'
As our country chooses to eject any hopeful relations,
Casting down Others and even creating this Other-ing,
Rather than living up to Old Britannia's proud Mothering.
Leaving many, if most, fighting for jobs
We're not all lazy, just all that's left is odds and sods.
A culture already devoured by its own empty greed.
Flashing advertisements disguising us from anything we really need.
So instead of buying into what They want me to,
This year I've had to cut-back, but it doesn't mean I don't think of you.
And not just at this prescribed time of festive medication
But always - for you're part of me, in this crazy creation.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 6:40 PM UTC