England. A poem

I almost entered this into a contest a year or two ago, but in the end chickened out. I thought I’d share it with you. I hope you like it.

England

That misty isle across the sea
Will always be a home to me.
The cliffs of white that guard our shores,
The rolling Downs, the bleak, cold moors,
The skylark with his liquid song
Soaring high above the throng
Of hikers, picnickers and such,
Whose hearts he never fails to touch.

The little streams and brooks do run
Through woodlands, glistening in the sun.
The little fish are swimming here;
A kingfisher is always near.
A flash of blue above the stream,
A dive, then gone, that silver gleam
Of minnows, gone to feed his brood
In holes, all waiting for their food.

In cities where the pigeons fly
The wind-blown litter flutters by.
The cars and buses, cycles too,
Line up at lights, forming a queue.
The city’s clamorous roar assaults
The ears, but never, ever halts.
The busy folk all rushing past.
They never slow, time goes so fast.

The little market towns do snooze.
The slightest little thing is news.
In pretty villages with greens
Are cottages with oaken beams.
The church bells echo o’er the fields
Calling us with merry peals
As they have done for many a year
Bringing hope and lots of cheer.

This land does not a climate boast.
Just weather blown from coast to coast.
All in one day, this land can get
All four seasons, sun and wet.
Though no extremes do us attack,
Do not go out without a mac
For rain can come at any time,
Though rarely with a gale force nine.

The English folk are stubborn, too,
As we showed in World War 2.
We do not push, but stand in line,
Waiting patiently till it’s time.
We do not wail and wave our arms
We think such behaviour has bo charms,
But when we’re roused, then just watch out
We’ll demonstrate, wave flags and shout.

And so my country is unique;
Its people never really meek.
An upper lip that’s stiff conceals
A wicked humour that reveals
Our lack of deference for power,
Our love for bird and bee and flower.
Abroad may have its charms, it’s true,
But England’s magic’s ever new.

Did you like this poem? Let me know your thoughts in the comments. I always enjoy hearing from you.

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15 thoughts on “England. A poem”

    1. Thank you, Bluebird. Have you ever visited the UK? This poem was about England, of course, but all the four countries that make up the UK are different. Maybe I should write about Wales and Scotland. I can’t write about Ireland as I’ve not been there.
      I visited New York and New England a few years ago. Maybe I should write about that too. And other countries I’ve visited. Thanks for sparking that idea.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I spent two months in Britain in 1975 as part of a study-abroad program. It began with two weeks in London, followed by six weeks in Oxford, then two weeks of wandering about in England, Scotland, and Wales. I absolutely loved it. I had always been an Anglophile, since all my favorite writers and poets and novelists were Brits, and it felt weirdly like coming home. I wish I could go back…

        Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you, Geoff. I’m glad you enjoyed it. Oddly, although poetry books don’t sell well, whenever I post a poem, it gets among my highest hits. So why don’t people buy books of poetry, I ask myself?

      Like

  1. Wonderful imagery – and it’s all true. Do you think it applies solely to England, or the whole of Britain? Sadly, in the wake of Italy’s win in Euro2020, England is also home to some very unpleasant racists and mindless thugs. I do not recognise these people as part of my culture, but unfortunately they are there.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I think much of the poem applies to all the UK.
      However, I’m with you on the racist and mindless thugs. Somehow, the publicity about Black Lives Matter, and equality for all, has brought these morons out from under the stones where they had been sleeping. It’s sad that young men like Marcus Rashford, who has done more good in his 23 years than these thugs have in their whole lives, should come in for this kind of abuse. It was a football match, for goodness sake! Here’s the world going through major crises, and they give abuse for a football match!
      We should feel sorry for them, really. They have little in their lives.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Extraordinary! I love the imagery, the pace, the rhyme. What a feat to write such a powerful poem, V.M. 💗

    Like

    1. Thank you, Gwen. I much prefer poetry with at least structure and/or rhythm. If it rhymes, too, that’s a bonus. I don’t count so-called ‘free verse’ as poetry, although some is lovely to read, and quite poetic. I’m old-fashioned I suppose.
      Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed it.

      Liked by 1 person

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