History Lessons

Do we truly learn the real lessons of our colourful past? This poem surveys the last eight centuries of British history.

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The fourteenth hailed a Reaper grim,
Who slashed the skies and made them dim.

In the fifteenth soft rose petals fell;
The Plantagenets rode into Hell.

In the sixteenth a fat king ate meat,
And upon his many wives did beat.

In the seventeenth a lofty king would tax,
And meet his maker by a bloody axe.

The eighteenth came: powdered wigs in season;
Man danced to the music of sweet Reason.

In the nineteenth dread machines took hold,
And man was simply bought and sold.

The twentieth dawned all drenched in blood;
Red rivers foaming as if in flood.

This century sees a plastic world;
From noisy cots new toys are hurled.

Do we ever learn from history’s woes?
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la meme chose.”

Nemo is a poet from Thanet who writes poetry to improve his mental health.

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    History, word made by two words
    His-story, maybe, just as be Her-story
    History, made by the likes of us all
    Though of course, our name unlikely
    To feature in history’s textbooks
    Unless handed down through the
    generations
    Till, evechaly, forgot
    History, not just about Kings, Queens, Despots, wars
    Usely wrote by the victors, the norm, of the teaching of the past
    History, I find of great interest to me, me and mine, been involved
    In the making of history, in our time
    Ken D Williams
    The Dyslexic Wordsmith

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