The bleeding fields of Naseby

A land all consumed to satisfy the gluttony of Kings;

And stilled blood of brethren in tankards for his Court.

We fight for England to be free from this tyranny;

One soul to be truly damned, and Naseby his road to agony.

Heaven sent but wild of eye the steaming horse returned;

Stubborn lines cut down and blue boys scattered to the winds.

Aithon strikes across the field, the mist knitting with his tail;

Returning to the horizon, dragging rising souls to their ever after.

Broken ranks, our routed brothers standing in ragged bloodied azure;

Colours dropped and muddied, some torn and worn as bandages.

A rhythm of defeat beaten with the throwing down of weapons;

And then a rising shrill of carrion crows for the promised feast.

In the distance, a volley of musket fire, I espy a final defiant stand;

My Lord Halifax, his temper high and mercy low, makes quick their end.

I would follow him to hell without fear, indeed today I know this truth;

The death of a demonic King holds no trouble for my soul.

My breath has returned, and in my blood no longer do I feel the burn;

I lift my helmet, and cold winds are welcome across my burnished face.

I hear the chimes of battle, as sea in a shell, and the stink of death is my air;

As demons seek their final play on this wicked day.

The bleeding fields of Naseby are cleared of the dying but not the dead;

It is a Royal shame to see the poor in need of corpses to live.

But when you have seen killed men feasted by badger and fox;

The loss of a dulled blade, torn cloth and worn leathers, is no sin at all.

All the men I have known in life stood beside me in this field today;

To take comfort I look for familiar faces but none will be the same.

As victors we stand but we are scarred with iron and fear;

We are changed but is not all England?  Do not let this be in vain.

Shirley Collins: Sweet England

Dean Reeves


My Poetry

Ghost Tree

The First Fen Blow

You should look away

I have not woken 

Bottled Love

War end

A lover’s touch


Beauty of her nature 

Fierce Love

The Rat

My Moody Girl

We have met before…

You are….

Looking Up


Stare of the Moon

Holding the thread


Stone cold love

The imps are feasting

I am more than a tree

Wisbech Morning

The bleeding fields of Naseby

I did not cry

We are England

Curtain Call

Do not pity the English

Turning Left

Prosperity of Evil

Bang Up

“The Return of Black Shuck”

“I saw You” by Dean Reeves

“Bring the wind” by Dean Reeves

“I choose” by Dean Reeves

“Forgotten Dancer” by Dean Reeves

“Market Day” by Dean Reeves




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