They pine for days that never were,
Through fag stained teeth and stagnant slur.
Where blackface clowns and monkey chants
Still echo loud in bitter rants.
The snow was whiter, summers long
They hum some half remembered song.
No climate lies, no “woke” offence,
just ignorance dressed up as sense.
They clutch their flags like sacred skin,
wrap rot and rage and hate within.
A pint, a bet, a Brexit cheer
no future grows, but still they sneer.
Stagnant days spent waiting,
wishing something meaningful to happen.
Pints, regrets and the stench of gammon.
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Author:
Syd (
Offline) - Published: September 12th, 2025 12:05
- Comment from author about the poem: Inspired by my local working mens club. June 2025.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 6
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Teddy.15
Offline)
Comments3
A most nicely written poem with great lines in rhyme. Well done and a fave
Dear Syd, Kudos on every line but this really is in my soul.
They clutch their flags like sacred skin,
wrap rot and rage and hate within.
A pint, a bet, a Brexit cheer
no future grows, but still they sneer.
Kudos on your language your rhyme and your vision. ❤️ 🇬🇧🌹Time to take our flag back for good.
Cheers Teddy. I'm glad you enjoyed this write inspired by local working mens club. Amen to that.
Thank for stopping by.
Appreciated - Syd
Ah, those were the days, then we got arrested for nostalgic look backs.
Still, the air is still free. Oops, just got a memo.
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