Unity by P.W

Unity

The problem with me and the problem with you.

Is all that we say and all that we do.

When was the last time we all stood together?

Defiant of all and in spite of the weather?

We've all been around now for so many years.

We've had our triumphs but mostly shed tears.

Each time things go wrong someone gets the blame.

They become former comrades its all such a shame.

Meanwhile the enemy just points and laughs.

As we carry on making stupendous gaffs.

While we are digging our bloody great hole.

Even more of our Nation is just being stole.

Right from under our noses they take it away.

While we sit at home on computers all day.

Let's go out together and breath the fresh air.

Let the people know that we really do care.

To those we've offended, lets say sorry now.

Because we want unity, lets show them how.

So get off your high horse and start mucking in.

Not being the leader is not such a sin.

But helping to keep us divided is so.

Try helping your comrades, just give it a go.

Forget about leaders, all they do is shout.

Remember the reason why you started out.

It was surely because you desired salvation.

For Fourteen Words and for Race & Nation.

PW.

The Promise Of Empire

The Promise of Empire by Bill Baillie

In the space of a lifetime

We have traded our place

From the centre of Empire

To the edges of space

Where once we ruled

We are now ruled over

From the mountains of Mourne

To the White Cliffs of Dover

We have lost our religion

Our bluster and pride

And the lion that once roared

Has curled up and died

But the blood that was squandered

In Flanders and France

Still flows in our veins

And given the chance

The promise of Empire

The love and the pride

Will shine in the darkness

With God on our side.

Boadicea: An Ode by William Cowper

                                                                       William Cowper

BOADICEA: AN ODE [Written 1780. Published 1782.] WHEN the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods, Sage beneath a spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Ev'ry burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief. Princess! if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues. "Rome shall perish—write that word In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt. Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground— Hark! the Gaul is at her gates! Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize— Harmony the path to fame. Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command. Regions Cæsar never knew Thy posterity shall sway, Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they. Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending, as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died; Dying, hurl'd them at the foe. Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heav'n awards the vengeance due; Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you. 8 16 24 32 40

A book that semms to be of interest....Patriotism and Poetry

Cambridge University Press, 17 Nov 2005 - 328 pages

The poetry of the mid- and late-eighteenth century has long been regarded as essentially private and apolitical. Dustin Griffin argues in this study that the poets of the period were actually addressing the great issues of national life--rebellion at home, imperial wars abroad, an expanding commercial empire, and an emerging new British national identity. He also reveals that poets such as Thomas Gray, Christopher Smart, Oliver Goldsmith, and William Cowper were engaged in the century-long debate about the nature of true patriotism.

Why do I wear a poppy?

Why do I wear a poppy? I’ll tell you if I may,
Because I believe remembrance is... not only for one day.
I wear it for the fallen, and for those falling still
For those who come back broken in body or in will.
For the parents, spouses, siblings where bereavement takes its toll.
Whose pain will never leave them, It eats into their soul
For the wino on the corner, Of his old...life nothing’s left.

Now he wishes when in battle he had died a hero’s death.

For the lad who loved a kick-about in the park with all his mates,
But now his legs are held together with pins and metal plates
For the selfless men and women whose final journey home
Is in a Union flag-draped coffin on comrades’ shoulders borne.
For all those marching proudly In Remembrance Day parades
My poppy’s worn in gratitude for the sacrifice they made.
(Writer unnown - contemporary poem 2012)

The Coming Storm....2006 by Eddy Morrison

The Coming Storm
There is a Darkness
in the skies over England
Rolling Black stormclouds
gather and thunder
the lightning bolts
are building
stronger each day!

Soon, and now, they will
strike our Nation
bringing fire and unholy
Black brimstone
to cover our land

Gone our meadows green
Gone our cities of fire
all consumed in a mad, mindless
Savage rage
that will sweep all
before it

Where England's beauty stood
will stand the Beasts of
the New Planned Apocalypse

And what shall we do?
And how shall we fight?
Will our hearts be strong?
Will our Will be true?

And will we rise as men
and face the Coming Storm?
or will we hide -
cover ourselves
in the False Cloak
of Blessed Respectability

and seek - hopelessly
False Shelter from
The Coming Storm?

William Blake - Jerusalem

Jerusalem

And did those feet in ancient time.

Walk upon Englands mountains green:

And was the holy Lamb of God,

On Englands pleasant pastures seen!

And did the Countenance Divine,

Shine forth upon our clouded hills?

And was Jerusalem builded here,

Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold;

Bring me my Arrows of desire:

Bring me my Spear: O clouds unfold!

Bring me my Chariot of fire!

I will not cease from Mental Fight,

Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand:

Till we have built Jerusalem,

In Englands green & pleasant Land

The Beginnings - Kipling

The Beginnings
It was not part of their blood,
It came to them very late
With long arrears to make good,
When the English began to hate.

They were not easily moved,
They were icy-willing to wait
Till every count should be proved,
Ere the English began to hate.

Their voices were even and low,
Their eyes were level and straight.
There was neither sign nor show,
When the English began to hate.

It was not preached to the crowd,
It was not taught by the State.
No man spoke it aloud, When the English began to hate.

It was not suddenly bred,
It will not swiftly abate,
Through the chill years ahead,
When Time shall count from the date
That the English began to hate.

The Anvil - Rudyard Kipling

The Anvil

Norman Conquest, 1066

ENGLAND'S on the anvil--hear the hammers ring--
      Clanging from the Severn to the Tyne!
Never was a blacksmith like our Norman King--
      England's being hammered, hammered, hammered into line!
   
England's on the anvil!  Heavy are the blows!
      (But the work will be a marvel when it's done.)
Little bits of Kingdoms cannot stand against their foes.
      England's being   hammered  hammered, hammered into one!

There shall be one people--it shall serve one Lord--
       (Neither Priest nor Baron shall escape!)
It shall have one  speech  and  law,  soul  and  strength  and  sword.
      England's  being  hammered,  hammered,  hammered  into
         shape!

The Law of the Jungle - Kipling

Rudyard Kipling

(Born December 30, 1865, Died January 18, 1936)

Now this is the Law of the Jungle -- as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back -- For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.

Poems For Our Nation

The supporters of Nationalist Sentinel have launched this Blog to gave a permanent place for as much poetry both old and new which celebrates our British Race and Nation. Here you will find poems by modern day Nationalist poets and patriotic poems passed down through the last few hundred years - Kipling, Brooke,Yeats, D E Lawrence,Thomas Hardy, Tolkein and others to name some very prominent ones.
We are also encouraging YOU to put pen to paper - or in this case, keyboard to email and send in YOUR poem which must in some way cover some aspect of racial-nationalism or British patriotism.
We shall also be featuring from time to time, tips and hints and writing better poetry......

...so on with the motley....