The Burghers of Calais
It were after the Battle of Crecy-
The foe all lay dead on the ground-
And King Edward went out with his soldiers
To clean up the places around.
The first place they came to were Calais,
Where t' burghers all stood in a row,
And when Edward told them to surrender
They told Edward where he could go.
Said he, " I'll beleaguer this city,
I'll teach them to flout their new King -
Then he told all his lads to get camp-stools
And sit round the place in a ring.
Now the burghers knew nowt about Crecy-
They laughed when they saw Edward's plan-
And thinking their side were still winning,
They shrugged and said- " San fairy Ann."
But they found at the end of a fortnight
That things wasn't looking so nice,
With nowt going out but the pigeons,
And nowt coming in but the mice.
For the soldiers sat round on their camp-stools,
And never a foot did they stir,
But passed their time doing their knitting,
And crosswords, and things like that there.
The burghers began to get desperate
Wi' t' food supply sinking so low,
For they'd nowt left but dry bread and water,
Or what they called in French "pang" and "oh"
They stuck it all autumn and winter,
But when at last spring came around
They was bothered, bewitched and beleaguered,
And cods' heads was tenpence a pound.
So they hung a white flag on the ramparts
To show they was sick of this 'ere-
And the soldiers, who'd finished their knitting,
All stood up and gave them a cheer.
When King Edward heard they had surrendered
He said to them, in their own tongue,
"You've kept me here all football season,
And twelve of you's got to be hung."
Then up stood the Lord Mayor of Calais,
"I'll make one" he gallantly cried-
Then he called to his friends on the Council
To make up the rest of the side.
When the townspeople heard of the hanging
They rushed in a crowd through the gate-
They was all weeping tears of compassion,
And hoping they wasn't too late.
With ropes round their necks the twelve heroes
Stood proudly awaiting their doom,
Till the hangman at last crooked his finger
And coaxingly said to them-" Come.
At that moment good Queen Phillippa
Ran out of her bower and said-
Oh, do have some mercy, my husband;
Oh don't be so spiteful, dear Ted."
Then down on her knee-joints before them
She flopped, and in accents that rang,
Said, "Please, Edward, just to oblige me,
You can't let these poor burghers hang.
The King was so touched with her pleading,
He lifted his wife by the hand
And he gave her all twelve as a keepsake
And peace once again reigned in the land.
poem by Marriott Edgar
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Related quotes
On Calais Sands
ON Calais Sands the gray began,
Then rosy red above they gray;
The morn with many a scarlet van
Leaped, and the world was glad with May!
The little waves along the bay
Broke white upon the shelving strands;
The sea-mews flitted white as they
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands must man with man
Wash honor clean in blood to-day;
On spaces wet from waters wan
How white the flashing rapiers play,—
Parry, riposte! and lunge! The fray
Shifts for a while, then mournful stands
The Victor: life ebbs fast away
On Calais Sands!
On Calais Sands a little space
Of silence, then the plash and spray,
The sound of eager waves that ran
To kiss the perfumed locks astray,
To touch these lips that ne’er said “Nay,”
To dally with the helpless hands,
Till the deep sea in silence lay
On Calais Sands!
Between the lilac and the may
She waits her love from alien lands;
Her love is colder than the clay
On Calais Sands!
poem by Andrew Lang
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Clean
Eat clean,
Live clean,
Sleep clean,
dress clean,
Walk clean,
Learn clean,
Play clean,
Think clean,
dance clean,
Talk clean,
Sing clean,
work clean,
Because the world around you is watching what you do;
You are the only one on this earth,
So live and let us live too.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ground zero
At a time I was forced
to go to ground zero
and there nobody
wanted to be a hero,
but some without choice
let the training take command
and did really brave things.
In war it’s a place,
where bullets fly
and the battle rages
at its worst
and bombs explode
and the living is worst
than dead.
The deafening noise
of the toys of war
at places still clatter on,
but reality leaves
people wounded, crushed and destroyed.
I wonder if it was the place,
where my soul was lost
and emptiness filled my heart
and the meaning
of life was gone?
poem by Gert Strydom
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Ohio
Tin soldiers and nixon coming,
Were finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in ohio.
Gotta get down to it
Soldiers are gunning us down
Should have been done long ago.
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?
Gotta get down to it
Soldiers are gunning us down
Should have been done long ago.
What if you knew her
And found her dead on the ground
How can you run when you know?
Tin soldiers and nixon coming,
Were finally on our own.
This summer I hear the drumming,
Four dead in ohio.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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King Of Somewhere Hot
King of somewhere hot
By: jimmy buffett, ralph macdonald, william salter, robert greenidge
1988
Robert greenidge and ralph macdonald finally got me to trinidad and when I heard the desperados playing my song up on laventhill I felt like a king and it was hot.
Ive travelled all around the world
And there are places that still stand out to me
None can really quite compare
To my island in the sea
My personal utopia
A place to run to where I can hide away
Where I can truly reign supreme
Somewhere fresh and clean where a man can dream
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Where the music in my soul(music in my soul)
Makes me start to lose control (start to lose control)
And Ill melt right on the spot
Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
Now you just rent yourself a tile and dance the night away
Just like the locals do
A million miles from robin leach, life is just a beach
So far out of reach
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Where the music in my soul(music in my soul)
Makes me start to lose control (start to lose control)
And Ill melt right on the spot
Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
So hot!
(pan solo)
Some day I hope to find my queen I know shell come my way
Ill give her all my love
Its not a complicated thing someplace I can swing
Where a man can be a king
Chorus:
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
Im king, (king) like every man should be
Im king, (king) king of somewhere hot
I dont care how hard you look (dont care how hard you look)
Ooh you wont find me in the book (wont find me in the book)
cause Im here right on the spot
Oh! Im the king of somewhere hot (hot)
King of somewhere hot (to trot)
King of somewhere hot (hot)
Hot to trot
King of somewhere hot (to trot)
(king of somewhere hot)
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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New World Order
Broken down, feeling naked
Leaving me unfulfilled
Promising compromise
Championing mediocrity
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
I reveal a deceiver
In the highest seat in the land
His idle hands the Devil's workshop
Generate more smoke than heat
Time and time again
What you said ain't what you mean
Even if all my bones are broken
I will drag myself back from the edge to
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King, God save the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
Kill the King, The King is dead
I am the King, Long live the King
A new precedent in pain, a new precedent in pain
Mankind is blown to dust, mankind is blown to dust
An explosion of the Brain, an explosion of the
Brain
Spontaneously combust, spontaneously combust
Kill the King, The King is dead, Long live the
King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
Kill the King, I, The King is dead, I am, Long live
the King,
I am the King
song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Was Lost
I SING what was lost and dread what was won,
I walk in a battle fought over again,
My king a lost king, and lost soldiers my men;
Feet to the Rising and Setting may run,
They always beat on the same small stone.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The Last Post.
The last post sounds and echoes round.
The neat and well kept burial ground.
Head stones in rows beneath the sky
to mark where our dead heroes lie.
Standing as if still on parade.
Each headstone looking newly made.
It is one way we show respect.
No more no less than I expect
Head stones don’t only signify
that battle weary soldiers die
They also serve who wait for men
who will not see their home again.
The last post makes us realise
That war destroys their families.
Each time I hear the last post sound
I’m filled with sadness so profound.
Tears spring unbidden from my eyes,
they always take me by surprise.
I’m not ashamed to let them flow
Because I’m old enough to know.
That real men aren’t afraid to cry
Despite the ancient common lie.
That men don’t let emotions show
and should not let their tear drops flow.
When I hear the last post sound
I can recall the battle ground.
Where so many comrades still lie
in foreign fields beneath the sky.
The last post serves to honour all
brave soldiers who sadly fall.
Not only friends but enemies.
Death selects quite randomly.
Young widows weep and mothers cry.
They have the right and so do I.
Tuesday,31 August 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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If I Were King
I often wish I were a King,
And then I could do anything.
If only I were King of Spain,
I'd take my hat off in the rain.
If only I were King of France,
I wouldn't brush my hair for aunts.
I think, if I were King of Greece,
I'd push things off the mantelpiece.
If I were King of Norroway,
I'd ask an elephant to stay.
If I were King of Babylon,
I'd leave my button gloves undone.
If I were King of Timbuctoo,
I'd think of lovely things to do.
If I were King of anything,
I'd tell the soldiers, "I'm the King!"
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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King Richard The Third
(1452—1485)
He was the last king of the House of York and last of the
Plantagenet dynasty. His deafeat at the battle of Bosworth
Field was the decisive battle of the War of the Roses.When
his brother Edward IV died in 1483, Richard was named Lord
Protector of the realm for Edward's son and successor, the
12-year-old King Edward V.The young king and his brother
were murdered in the Tower of London, on the orders of
Richard.
Shakespeare falsified Richard's memory
Appeasing his Tudor monarch's royal line
Claiming him unfit to be king, a bloody tyrant
With crown stolen on bloody Bosworth Field.
Richard was not born before his time
Hunchback, withered hand, dragging foot
But was of pleasing appearance, tall, strong
No withered hand, hunchback nor deformed limb.
He was a goodly king for his own dark times
Reigning two years, a brave warrior of the rose
Brother of a king, uncle to two young princes
Murdered, smothered in the Tower of London.
Betrayed by Baron Stanley on Bosworth Field
The turncoat traitor for the Tudor cause
Leading his Welsh army bringing King Richard down
Butchered, and buried naked in a farmer's dung heap.
poem by Colin Ian Jeffery
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White Powder Bullets
Rain,
We dream of rain
To wet the dreams we have,
Quench the pulsing heat
Wash away the footsteps,
Cleanse the spent metal jackets,
Clean dirty hands and sore eyes,
To break the dust.
Hand out the powder bullets
To those who we don’t mind dead,
Paper says what we want
While they shoot themselves in the head.
Hide it in the headlines
Of places big and tall,
Hide it in the faces
Of those that tell us all,
Hide it in the places
You never thought you’d go,
Hide it in the beauty
Of places your not meant to know.
Rain,
We dreamt of rain
To cover what we made,
To cover what we keep
We dreamt of rain to clean us,
Rain,
We dreamt of rain.
poem by Stuart Doggett
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Crecy
August 26: 1346
At Crecy by Somme in Ponthieu
High up on a windy hill
A mill stands out like a tower;
King Edward stands on the mill.
The plain is seething below
As Vesuvius seethes with flame,
But O! not with fire, but gore,
Earth incarnadined o'er,
Crimson with shame and with fame!--
To the King run the messengers, crying
'Thy Son is hard-press'd to the dying!'
--'Let alone: for to-day will be written in story
To the great world's end, and for ever:
So let the boy have the glory.'
Erin and Gwalia there
With England are one against France;
Outfacing the oriflamme red
The red dragons of Merlin advance:--
As harvest in autumn renew'd
The lances bend o'er the fields;
Snow-thick our arrow-heads white
Level the foe as they light;
Knighthood to yeomanry yields:--
Proud heart, the King watches, as higher
Goes the blaze of the battle, and nigher:--
'To-day is a day will be written in story
To the great world's end, and for ever!
Let the boy alone have the glory.'
Harold at Senlac-on-Sea
By Norman arrow laid low,--
When the shield-wall was breach'd by the shaft,
--Thou art avenged by the bow!
Chivalry! name of romance!
Thou art henceforth but a name!
Weapon that none can withstand,
Yew in the Englishman's hand,
Flight-shaft unerring in aim!
As a lightning-struck forest the foemen
Shiver down to the stroke of the bowmen:--
--'O to-day is a day will be written in story
To the great world's end, and for ever!
So, let the boy have the glory.'
Pride of Liguria's shore
Genoa wrestles in vain;
Vainly Bohemia's King
Kinglike is laid with the slain.
The Blood-lake is wiped-out in blood,
The shame of the centuries o'er;
Where the pride of the Norman had sway
The lions lord over the fray,
The legions of France are no more:--
--The Prince to his father kneels lowly;
--'His is the battle! his wholly!
For to-day is a day will be written in story
To the great world's end, and for ever:--
So, let him have the spurs, and the glory!'
poem by Francis Turner Palgrave
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King Electric
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
I was cutting a dash down bleecker street
The sewer was a-staiming underneath my feet
I looked down macdougal bout half a block
Said to myself thats where you come from
I got a vision right there and then in my minds eye
You in your finery, strolling by
Hands on your hip and your guitar case
Sound of the future blowing in your face
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
I stepped down the stairs, ventured through the door
Sound nearly knocked me clean to singapore
Black man child waltzing cross the stage
Squeezing guitar, singing purple haze
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
I remember back home, many moons ago
I had a front-room band, you should have heard us blow
We were rough as a dog, loud as sin
With a lead guitar player, name of davy flynn
He could play with his teeth, upside of his head
He could make that thing ring like a-raising that dead
You were his idol, you were his man
I didnt get it then davy, now I understand
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
cos you were just to early, I was just too late
You were just too fine, you were just too great
You were just too real, you were just too true
This world wasnt beautiful enough for you
King electric, motor on
The king is dead, the king is gone
The king is in us, let his song
Play on!
Keep your electric eye on me, babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love
Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah
Keep your electric eye on me, babe
Put your ray gun to my head
Press your space face close to mine, love
Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Of Him I Love Day And Night
OF him I love day and night, I dream'd I heard he was dead;
And I dream'd I went where they had buried him I love--but he was not
in that place;
And I dream'd I wander'd, searching among burial-places, to find him;
And I found that every place was a burial-place;
The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is
now;)
The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago,
Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead
as of the living,
And fuller, O vastly fuller, of the dead than of the living;
--And what I dream'd I will henceforth tell to every person and age,
And I stand henceforth bound to what I dream'd;
And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and dispense with
them; 10
And if the memorials of the dead were put up indifferently
everywhere, even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be
satisfied;
And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly
render'd to powder, and pour'd in the sea, I shall be
satisfied;
Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Warrior Red-Ants
I crushed some warrior-ants to death,
And wondered what, others would do;
And very promptly, came more ants
To investigate scene of crime!
These ants build nests upon the trees,
By gluing leaves with strange substance;
Their nests look like army barracks,
With sentry-ants guarding smartly!
The dead ants lay all strewn about;
A few of them were moving still;
And very soon, they too lay dead,
Like soldiers killed in battle-field!
The scout ants went from ant to ant,
Perhaps in search of ones alive;
Some went back fast to convey news
About the tragedy they saw!
And very soon, arrived more ants
To check if dead were truly dead;
Somehow, these ants smelt death itself;
They did it so effortlessly!
Each one of them lifted the dead,
By proboscis and sped back home;
Each ant with carcass upon mouth,
Ran back as fast as legs carried.
And in a trice, the dead were cleared;
The scene of crime was clean by now;
The work was finished in moments;
Yes, ants are truly busiest!
Oh, what respect ants show their dead!
How fast they rescue comrades hurt!
They proved they respected their dead;
Do human beings do like-wise?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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Let's Remember Those Soldiers
Let's remember those soldiers
No matter alive or dead
Hold them dear to our hearts
And keep their memories in our heads
Let's remember those soldiers
As they fight on foreign lands
And pray they make it back home
Because it is all up to Gods hands
Let's remember those soldiers
And the hell they are going through
Praise them when they get home
For all they've done for me and you
Let's remember those soldiers
And their families they left behind
Should you know some of these families
Try and treat them a little more kind
Let's remember those soldiers
They are fighting for our rights
Before you go to sleep tonight
Say a prayer for them tonight
Let's remember those soldiers
And let them know that we care
But for the grace of God
We might be the ones over there
Let's remember those soldiers
And let's wish them all the best
May they all make it back home
So we all can get some rest
Let's remember those soldiers
Even ones from wars of the past
Though some are dead and gone
Let's make sure their memories last
Let's remember those soldiers
And docs and nurses in those camps
Taking care of the wounded
Let's put their faces on postage stamps
Let's remember those soldiers
And not just count them as a loss
For they are truely the ones
That pay the ultimate cost
wrote 3/7/2008 by Norman Hale Jr.
poem by Norman Hale
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Clean Things
Clean beasts must have split hoof and chew the cud,
Clean fish must have scales and fins,
Clean insects must have jointed legs above their feet to hop;
And like other clean things listed in your Bibe.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Cleanest Man....
he is clean
he prides about the beard
that he has
just shaven
he is clean
there is no hair left on his head
no hair between his thighs
and legs
he is clean
his chest is bare now
his heart slowly
beating
he is clean as he
is empty
like a room without
furniture and
drapes
he is clean and without
sin
he who has not done
anything
and can do not wrong again...
he is clean now
for he is dead....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Death
I know nothing about this death,
For i only heard the gun shots from the soldiers!
And at day break, i came out and saw the dead bodies.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My Home
How do I find my way back?
I've strayed too far from home.
I've gone so many places
for so many days.
I've even been to Rome.
I have seen so many sights now.
It seems to me that somehow
that every place I've ever seen
were places in-between
from the place that is my home.
My search for brand new places
and all those other places
never filled the gap
as I crossed the map,
so far from my sweet home.
For I missed the landscape,
the place that I grew up in.
The old familiar faces
were not in the places I've been.
And now I must retrace my steps.
I've searched this world all over.
Too long I've been a rover.
I'll take a trip on back
for I'm on the wrong track.
I wonder what I'll find at my home?
Nothing seems the same now.
Familiarity has changed somehow,
except for the peace I feel around me.
'Cause in my memory I still can see
the place that is my home.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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