British Poems - Poems about British

In the summer heat of '47's cry, A line was drawn beneath the sky. Not ink, but blood, not words, but flame— Two nations born, but none the same. Fields once golden, shared with grace, Now whispered names in a stranger’s place. Neighbors turned to fleeing feet, Homes abandoned, hearts incomplete. The Ganga wept, the Indus roared, As trains of silence onward soared. One carried...

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Irish Equines and Scottish Rubbish Admiration's and Despondent days as sail will say of sewing's ...

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I wonder. I wonder what will happen when all the English dictionaries are burnt and Shakespeare is abolished as FAR RIGHT and Racist, and when the Beatles are vilified for 'She Loves You' when it should have been 'they them love you'. When the battle of Britain Begs an unreserved apology. When the British inventions Are cast aside...

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Many British thermal units* later Vice linkedin to carnal flesh this writer, (a married heterosexual doofus, – whose alter egos named and highlighted courtesy Gallant and Goofus) attones to heat these lovely bag of bones amazingly graceful human specimen more so than required to generate clones, whose jibber-jabber feeble poetic words crafted for no particular rhyme nor reason analogous to babbling...

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They said we’d have snow and, by God, they were right I’m told that it came down just after midnight But systems in place and procedures pre-planned Meant our society could make a stand They’ve closed all the schools and they’ve cancelled the trains They’ve banned all the buses from tight country lanes And all the armed forces are still...

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As a war on life intesifys the land of Britian must soon decide.' How and what they'll put inside; their bodies.' That their earth and farmers provide.' Will it be earwigs? Or potatoes and beef? To be honest my choice will not Give me much greif' good pasture produce from familiy Farms; as its been for millenia will do...

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My sizzling heart failing around the clock No light colliding with the dark to spark But essence dying passively through the dim Dream's wall burning by the fire of terror In a second, a sharp arrow infiltrates the soul And silently overflowing blood around its artery. Nothing emerged than an insane time, Everything not set as materialised There are volatile inheritance bloodstreams Follows to...

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THREE BRITISH ANGELS Three daughters of Britain, in a dance class, their lives were viciously taken! But, sadly, for many of us, you are, in our silence, inhumanelly forsaken! You see, as poets, our hands, forced to pen of...

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There once was a field, with a tree On which all of the dogs liked to pee, And whilst one was urinating, The other sixteen were waiting, In a queue- oh so orderly!...

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Spent Treasure Julius Caesar desired Brittania not its tin for soldiers weaponry but for an island strung with pearls the rarest and most prized of gems he would face the channel storms Caesar’s lust for jewels and gold with captives sent to plunder banks shuck icy rivers’ mussel stores and freeze for gods of vanity to secure the emperor's fame a cuirass made of British...

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On the cliff at the Worm’s Head High above the horns of the bay I see the surfers ride great waves With horses’ manes That ever fail, but never end In the strong Atlantic surge In the estuary at Dartmouth Where the oyster boats dredge Turning and drifting in slow shadow dance Great nets of shells are hauled up And poured out...

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Sweet one, you are going to shine. My love will make you feel fine. The last 18 years will be over and done. You are going to shine sweet one. Lay your head on my shoulder. You’ll outgrow it and be bolder. I promise little girl, good times ahead. On my shoulder, lay your head. You’re no longer a child don’t feel sad. The...

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The sun was burning hot this morn, but then it poured with rain, I dashed inside and found a mac... the sun came out again! * mac - short for Mackintosh (raincoat)...

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British Blues Explosion Live, a five-show tribute to Eric Clapton, Jeff Beck, and Jimmy Page, records 14 songs. The 2016 recording took place at Greenwich Music Time at the Old Royal Naval College in London. Joe Bonamassa, a blues-influenced rock guitarist, pays tribute to British musicians who inspired him and shaped the genre. The two-disc album begins with...

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He’s Irish not Scottish or British You forget, he’ll get ornery and skittish He’ll point to his pelt Start swearing in Celt With a splash of some Gaelic and Yiddish...

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