So, Blair keep your England, and let me keep my Zimbabwe.
quote by Robert Mugabe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
I personally hold Blair more responsible for this war than I do George Bush. The reason is, Blair knows better, Blair is not an idiot. What is he doing hanging around this guy?
quote by Michael Moore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I don't think the Republicans would appreciate the comparison, but they're exactly like the Labor Party in England in the 1970s. They're letting their extremists take them straight down. The same thing is going to happen - they had to disappear for a while and when they reinvented themselves they did it with moderates, they did it with Tony Blair.
quote by Evan Thomas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Countdown to Zero
Graham Allison, James Baker III, Bruce Blair, Tony Blair, Zbigniew Brzezinski
from Countdown to Zero (2010)
Submitted by Monica
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Mr Tony Blair
Like every British Prime Minister he has purpose in his stare
And few are as good at talking tough as Mr Tony Blair
Once the World's greatest Empire to much now does not amount
And lessons that are in the past are never taken into account.
The British Government once took part of Iraq and formed a new State
And re-named Iraq's nineteenth province the Kingdom of Kuwait
And one war leads to another war look at Iraq today
A land ravaged by war where the Brits play a major part along with the U S A.
The winners always write the history in Ireland Cromwell left his trail of shame
But like every other war winner he did not take any blame
For the diplacement and deaths of thousands of innocent people streets signs now honour his ill fame
Yet in England's sister Country his is still a loathed name.
And the old tradition of waging war carried on by Mr Blair
In this wrongful war waged in Iraq he is a major player
And Saddam was the loser his statue was dragged down
If he had won today he'd be the God of Baghdad Town.
Can the likes of Bush and Blair and Johnny Howard bring back to life their war dead?
They only have the power for to take life enough of them is said
They are as bad as Saddam who is deservedly in disgrace
But the winners only write the war history and that always is the case.
Perhaps he will live to a ripe old age and the good life he'll enjoy
And for his victories in war as a hero he will die
And in years from now there will be streets named after Tony Blair
When all is said and all is done doesn't life seem so unfair?
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Made In England
I was made in England
Out of cadillac muscle
I had a quit-me father
I had a quit-me mother
I had a little Richard
And that black piano
Oh that sweet Georgia peach
And the boy from Tupelo-
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
I was made in England
Out of cadillac muscle
Face down on the playground
Crying god send me a brother
Not a bloody nose
For Rock-┬┤n┬┤-Roll
Give me that sweet Georgian peach
And the boy from Tupelo
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
I was made in England
Like a blue Cortina
But a Yankee summer
Had a way about her
You had a scent for scandal
Well here┬┤s my middle finger
I had forty years of pain
And nothing to cling to
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
If you┬┤re made in England
You┬┤re biult to last
You can still say homo
And everybody laughs
But the joke┬┤s on you
You never read the song
They all think they know
But they┬┤ve all got wrong
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
Wow oh oh oh I was made in England
song performed by by Elton John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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George W. Bush and Tony Blair had to convince the world that Saddam Hussein represented an imminent threat. Tony Blair lied when he claimed that Iraq could launch a chemical or biological attack within 45 minutes.
quote by Bianca Jagger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But let's be clear. We're talking about a country where there's no opposition. As leader he can ignore Parliament and - sorry that's Tony Blair isn't it? Um, so he doesn't even have to ask the country before he goes to war - sorry that's still Tony Blair.
quote by Rory Bremner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mama Zimbabwe
Mme Zimbabwe (seSotho word for Mother)
You were the overflowing Breadbasket of Africa
The Curvatious, tall and proud daughter of Africa
Until Mzilakazi sold you to Britain for mere bag of beads and Sugar
And they took you away
You weeped as your Children....
As your children suffered under the oppresing rule of those colonial demons
But as your children fed from the suculant breast of Mama Africa, The Queen of african soil
Thier strength grew and so did thier fight for freedom
And in 1980 you saw a promising Dawn despite the bloodshed that spread
What went Wrong Mme Zimbabwe, you lie mute?
You lie hopeless and your bruised soul evidence of abuse
The very same children who fought for your emancipation now corrupt, split, spit and kill the very essence of you
However even though your frail Body falls defeated
And you are now the laughing stock of the World
In your eyes i see resiliant strength
Your scent strongly of approaching freedom
And you smile continues to seduce me into loving you, Zimbabwe
poem by Wanelisa Albert
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The Zimbabwe Rose
She brought such colour to our town her and her flowery clothes
With her dark and wavy curling hair the dark Zimbabwe rose
Her smile lit up the dullest day the warmth in her hello
And she will make many new friends where ever she will go.
A young woman in her early twenties her beauty I recall
And I a male of average height beside her did seem small
Yet she was not conceited and she was free of guile
And how her white teeth glittered each time that she did smile.
The Autumn weather here for her too cold she missed the warm sunshine
And for her home in Africa Zimbabwe's rose did pine
She went back to her Homeland we miss her happy face
And the Town now without her seems much a duller place.
She missed her family and friends and her Homeland far away
And the weather far too cold for her so here she did not stay
She brought such colour to our Town her and her flowery clothes
And we who knew her miss her so the dark Zimbabwe Rose.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Zimbabwe frightened you
Zimbabwe frightened you,
Zimbabwe where we could be alone
and in a way I felt at home.
The dark black faces,
the savagery, hunger
and wretched poverty
were more than you could take.
You panicked thinking
that the unruly young teenagers
and so-called war veterans
would not just drive
the farmers away,
but were sharpening
their Panga-blades
even for white tourists.
Everywhere you looked,
you saw death, destruction
and black rule taking its toll
and the ever hungry
begging people
was like a prophecy
of what in the future
may be waiting for us
at home.
Visiting the places
we had dreamed of,
the Zimbabwe ruins,
Mana pools, Kariba lake
and the Victoria falls
was like a nightmare to you.
Even the African art carvings
of people and animals
and rural paintings
of the Ndebele people
hardly caught your eye
and you would rather die
than stay a day longer.
African dancers screaming
around a fire
and dancing like shadows
on the beat
of ancient drums
drove the fear home,
so that you wanted to get into the car.
[References: To Minette, of whom there is just memories. You Hated Spain by Ted Hughes.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Day I Met Cherie Blair
When you have spent most of your life,
Suffering from panic attacks, Agoraphobia, and strife,
The last thing you need to happen to you,
Is for your glasses to suddenly break in two.
Only an hour before you meet Cherie Blair,
Help, what a total nightmare.
Then on the next table you spot DAVID BLUNKETT,
As you sit there filling your face with junket.
there is always someone Worse off than you,
Especially at this type of do.
Then she comes over, CHERIE BLAIR, and starts to talk to us.
It feels like a dream, we are chatting to the Prime Minister’s wife,
Telling her all about my broken glasses and strife,
Telling her how we can hardly see.
She is so nice, as nice can be.
She’s done her homework, She knows what we were all about,
She impressed us, without a doubt,
I just hope I didn’t stare,
The day we met CHERIE BLAIR.