The Final Journey - Stephen A. Roberts

And so it came the end of life
In Balmoral heralded by pipes
Via Edinburgh to London, the resting places
All of them lined with mourning faces

Near Poets’ Corner in the Lantern room
Atop the catafalque in the eerie gloom
A normal lady who by twist of fate
Came to be our Head of State

Outside, a dying carpet of wilted flowers
Lies beneath the royal towers
Where the bereft masses queue
Hoping to get just one last view

From the Thames a tide of tears
Flows to salute 70 long years
Strangers unite in a shared grief
Old soldiers salute their CinC

The people weep to see the end
Victorious they can no longer send
Her Majesty, their revered Queen
The only monarch they’ve known or seen

Citizens of every stripe and sex
Shuffle through to pay respects
A man in sandals and white socks
Stares in reverence at the box

Tomorrow then is the final day
The cortège will make its way
In the shadow of the Shard
Past the silent funeral guard

From the Abbey a stepping stone
Through London streets once her own
To Windsor Castle where by default
She will rest in the Royal Vault

Bells will ring and cannons fire
Along the journey to the shires
Past transport hubs and corner shops
And across the Nation, things will stop

Stephen A. Roberts

Floral Tribute - Simon Armitage

© Simon Armitage
       Poet Laureate


Image : © Daily Mail

Coronation - Richard Fleming

That day in 1953
my family watched it on TV,
an innovation in our house.
I sat, as timid as a mouse,
enchanted by the pageantry,
the Coronation coach, the glee
of onlookers with Union Jacks,
the smooth-faced footmen made from wax,
toy-soldiers, cavalry, and guards
in uniforms like Christmas cards
We gazed in wonder and delight
at images in black and white
yet even monochrome impressed:
imagination did the rest.
I saw the young Queen, head erect,
in ceremonial robes bedecked,
her features, solemn and composed,
stiff-upper-lipped, thoughts undisclosed,
for in those far-off, post-war days
we still clung to our British ways
so joy and sorrow were suppressed,
not on parade: we thought it best.
But that day, gathered round the set,
a loud, exuberant quartet,
we sang God Save The Queen and cheered
till the last image disappeared.

Richard Fleming


Image : Twitter - @BarbaraRich_law

HRH (retired) - Donald Keyman

Cry for Prince Harry I’ll not shed a tear
His protection will cost us dear
But the only crown he’ll ever wear
Is his ring of monk-like hair

I find it hard to sympathise
With someone who gets free chopper rides
To his bolt-hole on the coast
Where lovely Meg will butter his toast

He’s done good work it cannot be denied
It seems he won’t toss that aside
But he’s bored of flunkies and Royal sages
And prying tabloids with their lurid pages

One day maybe we'll see him back
With Archie readied for the flak
And in these times where everyone wins
Wills and Harry will be joint kings

Donald Keyman

Meeting a Famous Person – Elizabeth Fisher

I met the Queen
When she was visiting Blackpool
I was standing in the front of the crowd
When she stopped right in front of me.
She asked me my name
And did I have a job
Did I live here and like it .
I couldn't speak
My legs felt weak
I pointed to the newspaper shop across the road and said 'Just above'
(I thought "you would prefer the palace Luv")
Then she shook my hand with her white gloves on and gave me a smile.
I was stunned for a while .
I met the Queen
How lucky is that
I'm only an ordinary chap !

Elizabeth Fisher