Broadsword My Friend, My Gentlemen

aDarkerMind

Broadsword my friend, my gentlemen.

Songs of wood no better man.

Yesterday a better day 

From root to branch to where are we right now.

Minstrels come and go

My Jericho, my cheerio.

Two ships are we my father in our shabby clothes.

We wander lonely in our chicken shit and greed.

A cup of tea

The English way,

Dee dee dee da!

Some poor old sod

No genius my friend

No shangrila, we feel alone, my god a thousand lungs.

It is only me.

My spunk no more a sun tan on my heel

That strides the seven diamonds through a skull.

Sell my England for a pound!

No sound have I with a voice of a thousand men.

Slumber for the sleepers,

If it yourself, be dark my distant moon.

Too soon the yellow primrose 

Hark the Herald Angels sing

Glory to the suffering,

Soon comes heathaze suffering

So where goes shall I follow?

My cage no glimpse of light,

My Neptune has a better time of late.

How many pounds my England gives a a dam!

My music box, my afterglow,

I know not when the you and I proclaim.

Old man I am no better fool than you.

My island but kaleidoscope, 

Sing me to sleep.

I am not here.

You are there

Among the evergreens;

 

 

 

  • Author: Melvin James (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 11th, 2025 13:41
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 15
  • Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15, Thomas W Case
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments +

Comments5

  • Teddy.15

    Wow, with such passion and conviction you write poetry fit for a book that lasts eternal, Melvin chicken shit and greed, so powerful and so very much agreed, what a way to see my home. 🌹

  • sorenbarrett

    Has the sounds of a song. The words take one on a journey through places and times. Nice

  • Cassie58

    Sell my England for a pound - how dare they, but I believe some would and do. Greed is rife and values aren’t what they used to be. Your poem Melvin evokes dark feelings about the future and I fear for my grandchildren. Enough of me on my soap box.
    Sing me to sleep
    I am not here. Words I understand. When I think of my four grandparents and my parents who all had sound values, they would be shocked that past sacrifices now mean little. This poem is both passionate and powerful in its delivery and imagery. Have a better Sunday.

  • sorenbarrett

    Cryptic as always but powerfull lines. nicely written

  • Thomas W Case

    Tremendous use of language and painting the scene, great work, my friend.



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.