Tomorrow night I shall be performing (and by "performing" I mean singing and playing guitar) my new set of poems which go under the title "Green Unpleasant Land" and are, for want of a better description, my "concept album" about the state of England right now.
I thought some of you might like a sneak preview as I know you are unlikely to attend (it's in China,after all - but it is free).
Here then are the poems songs in the set. There are some more in development but not ready yet. (Note: a couple have been re-purposed from older poems of mine)
Green Unpleasant Land:The Britannia Suite
When The Sun Never Set
When the sun never set on the Empire And Britons were fearless and brave When half of the world flew the Union Jack And Britannia was ruling the waves
When we were a power to be reckoned When nations with envy looked on When red was the colour of most of the map Who knew that those days could be gone?
The world is a sadder place for it Britons were born to be lords And for those who views took a different turn We had soldiers with guns and with swords
It was an age when all men weren’t equal The world echoed with God Save The Queen Victoria sat on her throne, grim and stern And old England was pleasant and green
And we all knew that God in his Heaven Was an Englishman trusted and tried Which is why in the wars through the ages we’d fought Always he’d been on our side
But the sunset eventually found us And we were no longer revered And all we’d achieved at last came to nought As the red on the map disappeared
But don’t count old England out yet We’ll rise up to rule once again And the doubters and scoffers who do not believe Will have to acknowledge it then
That ours are the highest of standards That in every way we’re the best And though it may be hard at the moment to see it We’re still way ahead of the rest.
Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves. Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.
The Other Lot
I’m not to blame for this mess we’re in It’s not my fault so as you begin To wag your finger… well you’d better not I voted for the other lot
The other lot would have been much better Everyone knows that it’s true This lot only work for themselves The others would have worked for you The other lot are decent and straight Every last woman and man This lot? Well they’re not so great Nobody’s liking their plan
I think it’s strange how people say I would not give them the time of day But somehow still they’re who we’ve got I voted for the other lot
Something here must be amiss No one says they’d vote for this Someone must be talking rot. I voted for the other lot
And next time it changes round You know that I will stand my ground And when you ask me, I’ll say, “What?” I voted for the other lot.
The other lot would have been much better Everyone knows that it’s true This lot only work for themselves The others would have worked for you The other lot are decent and straight Every last woman and man This lot? Well they’re not so great Nobody’s liking their plan
Alice In The Underpass
Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice
Alice waking, Alice sleeping, Alice laughing, Alice weeping, Alice singing, Alice dancing, Alice fleeing and advancing,
Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice
Alice trying, Alice failing, Alice healthy, Alice ailing, Alice wanting, Alice needing, Alice broken, Alice bleeding, Alice falling, Alice flying, Alice living, Alice dying.
Alice, Alice, Alice, Alice
Alice through the looking glass. Alice in the underpass.
Green Unpleasant Land
Sally says the oily water looks pretty in the setting sun Sally sinks her shopping trolley to see the greasy colours run Sally eats her fish and chips, throws the paper in the reeds. Takes the short canal path home, doesn’t notice that it leads Through England’s green unpleasant land Of plastic bags and broken glass A tower of tires has been built here Upon the burnt and blackened grass
Mickey scribbles down his name on the bus seat in felt tip Instagrams a photo of it, says it livens up his trip Mickey lights his last smoke up. The empty pack drops to the floor. Top deck of the number seven, from the window, sees much more Of England’s Green Unpleasant land Decaying buildings, rusting cars Washing lines of still grey clothing Broken windows, back street bars.
Kylie says the concrete stairwell, smells of urine, beer and sweat Takes the key, unlocks the door to her gloomy maisonette. She gazes from the kitchen window and microwaves a frozen meal Weighed down by the heavy burden of all the things she does not feel In England’s green unpleasant land Obscene graffiti meets her view Rubbish drifts across the playground She doesn’t notice, it’s nothing new
Martha struggles with her shopping, through the broken garden gate The neighbour’s dog has been again. The mess it left will have to wait Martha tries to recollect a time when what she felt was hope A time were all her feeble efforts were not spent in trying to cope With England’s green unpleasant land With dirty busses in dirty streets With so much she brought second hand As she tries to make ends meet
A Public School, School Song
The children and the scholars who tread these halls with pride Share a certain quality that cannot be denied It's not breeding or intelligence that makes these children suit It's the fact that all their parents have lots of lovely loot.
A certificate is good to have, I think we all agree But when you get right down to it, there's no necessity To consider trying working, nor anything so rash For every door is opened by the smell of Daddy's cash.
Oh, let's sing it all together, let's hear it for the school The dear old alma-mater where all the teachers drool Some with pure senility, and some who'd like a kiss But mostly with the longing that comes from avarice
And if your understanding of Science, Maths or French Is such that every lesson just makes your buttocks clench Don't worry, for the hoi-poloi from the school on the estate For just a coin or two will make sure your homework’s great
There are societies to join with their rituals arcane But the rewards that you will reap are very, very plain An education here will ensure that life's long road Will lead to all the things that you think you should be owed.
Oh, let's sing it all together, let's hear it for the school The dear old alma-mater where all the teachers drool Some with pure senility, and some who'd like a kiss But mostly with the longing that comes from avarice
You may end up in the Government, it doesn't matter which You can take your pick of parties when your family is rich You can make the laws that made you into a self-made man And ensure that your children can follow the same plan
We're a bastion of privilege of whom it may be said That we produce the leaders where others have the led And when you leave our hallowed halls proudly we can claim That you know even less than an the day that you first came.
Oh, let's sing it all together, let's hear it for the school The dear old alma-mater where all the teachers drool Some with pure senility, and some who'd like a kiss But mostly with the longing that comes from avarice
Imaginary Times Past
I am a little Englander And proud of it because I remember in great detail How wonderful life was You may say that I'm mistaken That it never was that way But I am perfectly sincere When I stand up and say
Bring back the old blue passports And the old red buses too Bring back the Mini Cooper Brussels sprouts and rabbit stew
Bring back the London Palladium On Sunday Night TV Brink back Juke Box Jury, Crackerjack, and scones for tea.
Bring back the football pools And buying on the knock. Bring back the good old days When our doors we did not lock.
I am a little Englander And proud of it because I remember to this day How wonderful life was You may say that I'm a fool That it never was that way But I am sure of my veracity When I stand up and say
It was indeed a golden age And it only ever rained When the gardens of green England All had to be maintained
The sun shone all through summer There were no crooks or crime And the policemen were all jolly And were there to give the time
Bring back spotted dick And bring back potted meats Brink back cucumber sandwiches And bags of Peanut Treets.
Bring back foaming ale Drunk from tankards on the green Bring back balmy breezes And days quiet and serene.
I am a little Englander And proud of it because I remember as if yesterday How wonderful life was You may say that it's not true That it never was that way But I assure you that it was When I stand up and say
Bring back the school uniforms With caps with little peaks Bring back respectful children With rosy dimpled cheeks
Bring back the outdoor toilet Bring back THE Wagon Wheel Bring back Pathfinder shoes With a compass in the heel
Bring back the good old days Things were so much better then When I wrote my letters to the Mail With an ink-filled fountain pen
I am a little Englander And proud of it because I long for bygone days and ways How wonderful life was You may say that I am dreaming That it never was that way But that's how I recall it I wish it were like that today.
These ARE The Good Old Days
These are the Good Old Days We only have one goal We’re taking back control “Control” you ask “of what” “Of everything we’ve got.” “Control of law and order.” “Control of every border.” “Control of wealth and trade.” “Of all we’ve done and made.” “And who”, you ask” is ‘we’?” “’We’ is ‘you and me’” And we will make the rules Why do you think we’re fools? It won’t be like today When people far away Can tell us yay or nay. And the people have no say There’ll be leaders we elected And we will be respected Why does that make you smile You’re just a Europhile…
These are the good old days that when you’re old and grey you’ll look back on and say “Those were the good old days.” “Those were the good old days.”
There’ll be the constant spin as darker days begin so that from here on in your head is in a spin. your head is in a spin.
You won’t remember then the suited businessmen who took it all again. They’ll be forgotten then They’ll be forgotten then
You’ll have achieved your goals by selling all our souls and at the exit polls you’ll have achieved your goals you’ll have achieved your goals
But we are not to blame will be your one refrain if we had felt the same there’d be no need for blame because we’d have won the game
These are the good old days that when you’re old and grey you’ll look back on and say “Those were the good old days.” “Those were the good old days.”
We only have one goal We’re taking back control “Control” you ask “of what” “Of everything we’ve got.” “Control of law and order.” “Control of every border.” “Control of wealth and trade.” “Of all we’ve done and made.” “And who”, you ask” is ‘we’?” “’We’ is ‘you and me’” And we will make the rules Why do you think we’re fools? It won’t be like today When people far away Can tell us yay or nay. And the people have no say There’ll be leaders we elected And we will be respected Why does that make you smile You’re just a Europhile…This message has been edited. Last edited by: BobHale,
"No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money." Samuel Johnson.
January 23, 2017, 05:39
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quote:
s I know you are unlikely to attend (it's in China,after all - but it is free).
My local bus line failed to make connections.
January 25, 2017, 19:39
Kalleh
Wish I could be there. My favorite is the first one.
May 21, 2017, 15:10
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I DIDN'T SEE THE NEED TO START A NEW THREAD WHEN i COULD PGGYBACK bOB'S POEM COMPILATION. i WROTE THIS SEVEN YEARS AGO (BASED ON AN OLD JOKE). Pardon the caps. My wife left capslock on and I didn't want to retype.
While settin’ on mah porch one day, a-scoffing beer and butts When here comes Jake with all his dogs, a bunch of surly mutts. “So whar you heading off to, Jake? Ah see you brought your gun.” “Ah plan to do some huntin’. Want to join in on the fun?”
Now Jake’s the best damn shooter that has ever come along He’s shot the balls from off a fly and never nicked its dong. But ah was stuck a-watcing kids, my little Clete and Shorty, Since Ma says she’s too busy (she’s a-plowing the back forty).
Ah handed Jake a can of suds; he started to relax. I aksed about his hunting trips -- no lies, please. jis’ the facts.
“Ah’ll tell you ‘bout mah nunting trip, the best I’ve had so far Since it involves a special shot ah took to kill a b’ar. Ah were huntin’ up by Fletcher’s Farm, just where his land gets steep. Ah came upon a giant b’ar and he were fast asleep.
“But he were tucked inside a cleft just showin’ bits of head And ah was scared ah’d only wound. Ah meant to shoot him dead. Ah checked the sityouration out and realized that my Best choice was ricochet mah shot and hit him in his eye.
“Behind the b’ar there were a rock about five stories high And wider than a barn. Ah could glance off it to his eye. So ah ckecked Kaintucky windage and took very careful aim ’Cause if ah missed that b’ar would charge. Mah rifle spewed its flame.”
Then Jake he took a swig of beer and gazed off into space And a look of melancholy was emblazoned on his face. So ah waited several minutes for Jake to end his story To tell how he had killed the b’ar and wallow in the glory.
But his silence lingered awkwardly. Ah gave a little try: “So tell me how you hit that b’ar, your shot glanced in his eye.” “Ah’ll finish up mah story and ah pray you will not mock. Mah shot not only missed the b’ar, it also missed the rock.”
May 23, 2017, 10:04
sattva
This is very good, Proof!
May 23, 2017, 20:53
Kalleh
Yes - and, while I like all types of poems, I do like rhymes.