Fried in July

The Lynford Stag in July 2018

Spilling forth from Breckland stag,
Soldiers swinging, swords of fire,
Shouting praises for promised lands.

Crunching forth o’er sundried straw,
Crackles burning, soles all sore,
Citing crazes for conquered lands.

Falling forth from sun-singed lips,
Flowers frying, at devil’s door
Firing curses for shrivelled lands.



Copyright owned by Jay Cool, July 2018

(Inspired by the  Lynford Stag, a metal target stag that belonged to Sir Richard Sutton, Master of the Hunt and former owner of Lynford Hall, near Thetford, in the district of Breckand. The sight of my family emerging from the underbelly of the aforesaid stag during the July drought, evoked thoughts of soldiers pouring forth from the legendary Trojan horse, and setting fire to the city of Troy.)

Websites referred to in the composition of the poem:

Published by The Silly-Savvy Salopian

Freelance writer and descendant of the cave dweller and outlaw, Humphrey Kynaston. Banished from Shropshire for my eccentricity, I have made my home in Suffolk. I write poetry, short stories, travel journals, comedy gig reviews and non-fiction articles. My wish is to write my way back into the heart of my birth land. All writing commissions (and free holidays in Shropshire!) considered.

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