Here are a hundred tan claret red drops;
triangular: They shattered on the floor
and so I've spat them,
like eggs,
at your shirt.
Britannic split first
and I hid the cardboard words,
but, I'd seen what you'd done.
'State' and lions lingered longer.
But, now they're a dessert too,
so, I struggled,
to set them burning,
before your tanks could roll,
like dollars with golden turrets.
Growing out of your rotting English
soil is a poppy.
Fertilised by the passport shards,
And look! It grows with tears,
please pin it to your shirt
and know exactly what it is for:
a corner of all fields, forever England,
where the heroin grows,
where the backs are all broken,
Forever England, where the human being's sold
Forever England, forever England,
the lives and worlds that you stole:
I think only this of you.
Author notes
Heya, I know you said Bush. But, I hate Blair so very much more, I just had to vent. At least Bush is stupid. Blair doesn't have any excuse. I've actually just posted this to my prime minister. So, maybe it'll change the world. Good idea for a contest by the way. Enjoyed reading the entries.
A contest entry
- The truth is hidden under the rug by XxAlishaxBentleyxX.
450 points, ended March 10, 2007, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Hey, I'm Alisha. I'm the judge of this contest.
I liked this. It really didn't go with what I asked for. However, I still enjoyed reading it.
Good job!
Good luck in my contest!
- Lisha Dawn
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