I once said the Queen of England could use some fashion advice.
quote by Kathie Lee Gifford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mrs 'Fashion Queen
Oh Mrs fashion queen
humor me,
in telling me of days
where all that you ever dream
is matching the green and grays
but Mrs fashion queen
what does fashion mean?
is it something you can explain?
cause last time i checked
it didn't mean wearing that same thing everyday
Clothes, clothes everywhere
'oh chick check out my style! '
but honey you look as if you just
got rescued from the wild
'Oh tatyana please stop,
you'll hurt the girls feeling! '
Well it's for her better good
this girl needs some fashionable healing
So before you decide to blink
why don't you stop and think
Oh Mrs 'Fashion Queen'
C'mon everybody take a peak!
poem by Tatyana Hayes
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A Cavalry Soldier
With loud talking and laughter,
And a long, careless stride,
He paces the crowded pathway,
With head high in pride.
And mean men passing beside him
Shrink, as from one unclean,
From the strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.
In the forefront of battle
I think I see him ride,
With the drawn sabre gleaming
That swings at his side;
With a bearing erect and stalwart,
And a look calm and keen,
The strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.
When the drums beat to battle,
With a quick-leaping breath,
'Mid the rush and hurry of warfare
He rides down to death.
And the waiting and toil and hardship
Are as if they had not been
To the strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.
When the wild charge is over
And the safe ground they gain,
He may hear a cry from behind him
Of a comrade in pain.
And back on his way of mercy
To the smoke-mantled scene
Goes the strong son of England,
The servant of the Queen.
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Ripoff
I don't wanna be no traitor to the cause
But England is a luxury - not many can afford
There's people going under - it's getting out of hand
Whatever happened to our - our green and pleasant land?
It turned into a wilderness; it turned into a third world country
Most people ain't getting what they pay for
Some people gettin' more than they should be
I know, I know - I'm an alien - but what are you gonna do
I wanna live in England - but it gets to you
It gets to you, it gets to you, it gets to you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
What do you do when you find out?
Where do you go if you leave?
There's no place like home - that's what they say
And that's what you always believed
Someday you might win the Lottery
Someday you might win the Pools
But that's all you've got - that's all you've got
- to live for, to live for
That's all you've got - that's all you've got -
to live for, to live for (yeah)
To be or not to be - that's the question
Oh what's it gonna be?
I'd love to live in England - but it gets to me
it gets to me, it gets to me, yeah it gets to me
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
I really don't know why - England wants to rip off you
England wants to rip off you, England wants to rip off you
I really don't know why - England's such a ripoff
It's crazy, but it's true
Oh I really don't know why - England wants to rip off
England wants to rip off , England wants to rip o
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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I would rather be the Queen's English
given the chance to
to be Queen of England
or the Queen's English
(Queen of English)
I would pick the latter
with not a wink of the eye
more power have i
than the queen
tap, tap, tap
as i summon my men, women,
on the computer
they would come running
to take their rightful place
to carry out my ambition
to shape, shake up world
men, women, children
in the wrong place
are all thrown out
exterminated from their lines
tap tap tap and they are purged never to be seen
it is done so efficiently
it is quieter than
the dropp of a hairpin
the best world's secret police would even stand in awe
the queen of english
is also a queen of terror
worse than hitler's men
when it comes to her ambition
and right representation of her spirit
not a word is allowed to play truant
whenever her muse comes
visiting, clothing them
up to dazzle their way
into everybody's heart
is her prime concern
line up all of you words!
i am your queen
be at the right place
and stay in line
or else a single tap
and you blink into oblivion
not a single space
is allowed
for disloyalty
the Queen of the
English Language
is but a fastidious queen
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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My Future Husband - Keeng Royalness Troy Turner
Stay over there!
Said he of dark and golden hair.
Who me? Yes me Queen Royalty Patreni!
I am the girl Keeng Troy will wed.
Tho he may be a lover in a mauseoleum
Alone and nearly dead?
An explanation for my sorrow
An answer to why I am so sad?
My future husband is in a mauseoleum
My future husband is nearly dead.
I have traveled far to see him
For he is mine and for me to claim
My future husband is in a mauseoleum
My future husband is nearly dead.
Another explanation for my sorrow
My love with him will come tomorrow.
Someday soon I'll see Keeng Troy at home
And to my good love he is most welcome.
Then perhaps I will be so glad
To bring him back to life again
After he was nearly dead!
------
Written By: RoyaltyPatrenia Turner, Queen Of England
(I am an Undercover-Christian Rite Cherokee Indian, and
I am also a USA Poetry Queen since the good year 2009.)
poem by Queen Of England RoyaltyPatrenia Turner
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A New National Anthem
I.
God prosper, speed,and save,
God raise from England’s grave
Her murdered Queen!
Pave with swift victory
The steps of Liberty,
Whom Britons own to be
Immortal Queen.
II.
See, she comes throned on high,
On swift Eternity!
God save the Queen!
Millions on millions wait,
Firm, rapid, and elate,
On her majestic state!
God save the Queen!
III.
She is Thine own pure soul
Moulding the mighty whole,--
God save the Queen!
She is Thine own deep love
Rained down from Heaven above,--
Wherever she rest or move,
God save our Queen!
IV.
‘Wilder her enemies
In their own dark disguise,--
God save our Queen!
All earthly things that dare
Her sacred name to bear,
Strip them, as kings are, bare;
God save the Queen!
V.
Be her eternal throne
Built in our hearts alone--
God save the Queen!
Let the oppressor hold
Canopied seats of gold;
She sits enthroned of old
O’er our hearts Queen.
VI.
Lips touched by seraphim
Breathe out the choral hymn
‘God save the Queen!’
Sweet as if angels sang,
Loud as that trumpet’s clang
Wakening the world’s dead gang,--
God save the Queen!
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Oh England My Lionheart
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Im in your garden, fading fast in your arms.
The soldiers soften, the war is over.
The air raid shelters are blooming clover.
Flapping umbrellas fill the lanes--
My london bridge in rain again.
Oh! england, my lionheart!
Peter pan steals the kids in kensington park.
You read me shakespeare on the rolling thames--
That old river poet that never, ever ends.
Our thumping hearts hold the ravens in,
And keep the tower from tumbling.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
Oh! england, my lionheart!
Dropped from my black spitfire to my funeral barge.
Give me one kiss in apple-blossom.
Give me one wish, and Id be wassailing
In the orchard, my english rose,
Or with my shepherd, wholl bring me home.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
Oh! england, my lionheart,
I dont want to go.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tired Eyes
Well he shot four men in a cocaine deal
And he left them lyin in an open field
Full of old cars with bullet holes in the mirrors.
He tried to do his best but he could not.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
Well, it wasnt supposed to go down that way.
But they burned his brother, you know,
And they left him lying in the driveway.
They let him down with nothin.
He tried to do his best but he could not.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
Well tell me more, tell me more, tell me more
I mean was he a heavy doper or was he just a loser?
He was a friend of yours.
What do you mean, he had bullet holes in his mirrors?
He tried to do his best but he could not.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
Please take my advice, please take my advice
Please take my advice.
Open up the tired eyes,
Open up the tired eyes.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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England, My England
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:--
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There 's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England--
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When We Get To England
When we get to england
Will we know when weve arrived?
When we get to england
Will we know if she has died?
Does the girl with the dogs
Still live in the big house
On the corner?
Are the boys collecting frogs
Still marching away
To die in war?
Like its all from a dream
Like its all from some history book
Didnt look too hard
Did I miss something that I should have seen?
When we get to england
Will it still be there?
When we get to england
Will we know where weve arrived?
When we get to england
Will a kiss bring her alive?
Once a farmer in the field
Had to grow enough
To feed his family
Now they pay him for his yield
Just to burn it down
And throw away
Like its all from a dream
Like its all in a crystal ball
Did it fall so hard?
Rest in pieces on a village green
When we get to england
Will it still be there?
When we get to england
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home Thoughts from Abroad
April in England–daffodils are growing
By every wayside, golden, tall and fair;
April–and all the little winds are blowing
The scents of springtime through the sunny air.
April in England–God, that we were there!
April in England–and her sons are lying
On these red fields, and dreaming of her shore;
April–we hear the thrushes' songs replying
Each unto each, above the cannons' roar;
April in England–shall we see it more?
April in England–there's the cuckoo calling
Down in her meadows where the cowslip gleams;
April–and little showers are softly falling,
Dimpling the surface of her babbling streams;
April in England–how the shrapnel screams!
April in England–blood and dust and smother,
Screaming of horses, men in agony.
April–full many of thy sons, O Mother,
Never again those dewy dawns shall see.
April in England–God, keep England free!
poem by Norah M. Holland
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Peddling Round the World
When at first in foreign parts
Was her flag unfurled,
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
Sailing on the Spanish Main—
Everywhere you roam—
Peddling in the Persian Gulf
Things she’d made at home.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world—
England was a Gipsy lass
Peddling round the world.
England never wanted war,
Not on land or sea—
Other nations rising up
Couldn’t let her be.
England only wanted peace,
And the ocean’s breath;
So there came, in course of time,
Queen Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth—
Queen Elizabeth—
Came a plain, bad-tempered queen,
Called Elizabeth.
Queen Elizabeth, she called
Drake, and Raleigh too—
Essex, Howard, and the rest
Of the pirate crew;
“See what you can do,” she said.
“England’s feeling sick—
If you don’t, I’ll hang you all!
Better do it quick.”
“Better do it quick,” she said—
“Better do it quick”;
And they knew she’d keep her word,
So they did it quick.
Drake and Raleigh sailed away—
(Only Bess they feared)
Cleared the Spanish Main and singed
The King of Spain his beard—
Singed the King of Spain his beard,
And his hair they curled.
England was a Gipsy’s love
Peddling round the world.
Peddling round the world,
Peddling round the world.
England was a Gipsy’s love
Peddling round the world.
Once again, when Cromwell came,
England wanted room;
So he lowered Holland’s tone,
Smashed the Dutchman’s broom.
Sent a message to Algiers;
Made its meaning plain—
On the way they called once more
On the King of Spain.
On the King of Spain—
On the King of Spain:
Called, to jog his memory,
On the King of Spain.
So the years went round and round,
Over hills and flats—
England was a Gipsy wife—
England had her brats;
Peddling in the China Sea,
Far from English ground;
Doing biz with Mrs. Jap—
Peddling all around.
Peddling all around—
Peddling all around;
Making friends with Mrs. Jap—
Peddling all around.
When the war is past and gone,
With its blood and tears;
And the world may count upon
Peace for fifty years—
When the gory battle-flags
Round their sticks are furled—
Then you’ll see a Gipsy crone
Peddling round the world.
Peddling round the world—
Peddling round the world.
Then you’ll see a Gipsy crone
A-peddling round the world!
Shawl as old as Joseph’s coat,
Hair as white as snow,
Mind as bright as Seventeen—
Eyes still like the sloe—
Peddling in the Southern Seas—
Everywhere you roam—
And she’ll fill her baskets here
With things we’ll make at home.
Things we’ll make at home—
Things we’ll make at home—
Call to fill her baskets here
With things we’ll make at HOME.
poem by Henry Lawson
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A Haywood City Queen
Haywood City, Cherokee Indian
Reservation Queen
Haywood City, State Of Missouri
Five cemeteries seen
Haywood City, State Of Missouri
40 acres and a Mule
Haywood City, State Of Missouri
Where's The Negro Public School?
Haywood City, state of misery
Indian Royal Slove Queen
Haywood City, State Of Missouri
A Queen has left the scene.
-----
(I am an Undercover-Christian Rite Cherokee Indian, and
I am also a USA Poetry Queen since the good year 2009.)
--
poem by Queen Of England RoyaltyPatrenia Turner
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Queen
Head strong and steadfast junkies
All barter for the clean
They all wait in their plastic lines
To find what color means
Cause they all wanna be queen
And you do know what I mean
Cause they all wanna be queen
And you do know what I mean
I spoke to a girl by the backdoor
She said she'd do anything just to meet you
You know I've seen that smile before
Just in time for a knee to hit the ground
Little girls
Dressed up like French whores
In velvet paintings
Wide eyed
Long nails
They all wanna live the fairy tale
(Chorus)
Did they tear you all up inside
Did they take away your pride
and she cried herself to sleep that night
Cause they all wanna be queen
And you do know what I mean
Cause they all wanna be queen
And you do And you do And you do
know what I mean
Queen wanna be queen
Queen wanna be queen
Queen wanna be queen
Queen wanna be queen
song performed by by Tonic from Sugar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Said the Kaiser to the Spy
“Now tell me what can England do?”
Said the Kaiser to the Spy.
“She can do nought, your Majesty—
You rule the sea and sky.
Her day of destiny is done;
Her path of peace is plain;
For she dare never throw a troop
Across the Strait again.”
The Kaiser sent his mighty host,
With Bombast in advance,
To set his seal on Paris first,
And make an end of France.
Their guns were heard in Paris streets,
And trembling Europe heard;
(They’re staggering back in Belgium now)
And England said no word.
“Now tell me what can England do?”
Said the Kaiser to the Spy.
“She can do nought in Southern seas
Where her possessions lie!
Her colonies are arming now—
They only wait your aid!”
“I’ll send my ships,” the Kaiser said,
“And I will kill her trade!”
The Kaiser sent his cruisers forth
To do their worst or best;
And one made trouble in the North—
The Cocos tell the rest.
He sent a squadron to a coast
Where treachery prevailed—
Gra’mercy! They were stricken hard
On seas that Raleigh sailed!
“Now tell me what can England do?”
Said the Kaiser to the Spy.
“Her ports are all unfortified
And there your chances lie!”
He sent his ships to Scarborough,
And called them back again.
The Blucher lies in Channel ooze
With seven hundred men.
“Oh, tell me what can England do?”
Said the Kaiser to the Spy.
“She can’t hold Egypt for a day—
(I have it from On High.”)
And so the Kaiser paid the Turk
To put the matter through—
And England’s Queen of Egypt now,
And boss of Turkey too.
“Now tell me what shall England do?”
Said the Kaiser to the Spy.
You see that neither of them knew
Much more than you or I.
But the blooming thing that’s troubling me
As the pregnant weeks go by,
Is wotinell shall England do
When the Kaiser hangs that Spy!
poem by Henry Lawson
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Advice
We travel down so many roads,
during the course of our lives.
Occasionally we have to stop awhile,
and ask someone for advice.
Not all advice is good,
and nor is it bad.
However, advice is advice;
to all we should take heed.
A little help is always welcome,
from where ever it may come.
It’s just how we use it,
which makes it good or bad.
poem by David Harris
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