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Best London Poems | Poetry

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Don't stop! The most popular and best London poems are below this new poems list.

a sniffing plan for elaine london and another thing lego by low, gate
London Bridge: Here I Come - or not hah by Earnings, J.W.
Kirsty Boden, Hero of London Bridge by Warren, Paul
withdrawing into shell final part is leaving london by low, gate
Beggar of Old London Town by Shaw, Kevin
With apologies to Jack London by Knowlton, Charlie
London Knife Crimes by Garcia Howard Bramble, Patricia
Love Lost London by McClean, Jonathan

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The Best London Poems

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The tour of London begins
 In the streets of my mind,
  Through past and present
   Intrinsically entwined,
    Through people and places
     It's heart we will find,
      Through fellow travellers
       And friends left behind.

From West End theatres
 To the cafe's and bars,
  Round Oxford Circus
   On buses and in cars,
    Where rich and poor
     Peruse bottles and jars
      On the old market squares
       Beneath the neon stars.

Intricate and beautiful,
 Woven in rhyme,
  Delicately melodic,
   Pure and sublime,
    Rhythmically beating
     Perfectly in time,
      To the bells of bow,
       How sweet you chime.

On speakers corner
 Free justice calls,
  For the suffragettes
   Chained to the walls,
    Sneers and ignorance
     From the Westminster halls
      To the whispering gallery
        In the dome of Saint Paul's.

Innocent naivety,
 Children who stray,
  Ragged and forlorn
   On cobblestones lay,
    Begging for morsels
     To survive the day,
      In the Eastend arches
       Where harmonicas play.

Dirty old Thames
 Lapping the rocks,
  Where painted harlots
   Swish their locks,
    Coax the sailors
     With perfumed frocks,
      For half a crown
       On the London docks.

The Mayfair Gentry
 Their carriages refined,
  Regalia and etiquette,
   To snobbery resigned,
    Ridiculously wealthy
     Yet socially blind,
      The waifs and beggars
       Out of sight and mind.

Trade and commerse,
 To the city, its life,
  The hustle and bustle
   In the ale houses rife,
    Westminster or Stepney
     Husband or wife,
      Make bread and honey
       For the trouble and strife.

Parades at the palace
 Where the Queen sips tea,
  Changing of the guard
   Tourists duty to see,
    Trooping of the colour
     With all its pageantry,
      Pomp and circumstance
       Steeped in history.

To the bloody tower
 Where the ravens fly,
  Where heretics confessed
   And traitors died,
    The Beefeaters guard
     The secrets denied
      In the gallow's tale
       Of London's pride.

Piccadilly to Trafalgar
 The omnibus mayor,
  Over Westminster bridge
   To parliament square,
    Where commoners and lords
     Will debate his fare,
      While the underground
       Buskers sing for spare.

This is my ode to London,
 My poem, now penned,
  Celebrates the diversities
   On which these words depend;
    "A song for all seasons
     To your ears I'll lend,
      And my heart I bequeath
       To London, my friend."

Copyright © Robert Horton | Year Posted 2015

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Jimi Hendrix

Electric poems reverberated,
Within the walls of a London abode.
A psychedelic haze fueled the gift,
That a creative heart was bestowed.

Far from his broomstick days,
Passionate strums…electrified the room.
Emphasizing the pain from within,
Recalling the days he strummed the broom.

Acid rock...illuminated the winding path,
That led his creative heart to fly.
Good intentions laced by corrosive thoughts,
Inspired the work…from his daily supply.

Guided by his artistic soul,
The frets…fretted to that day.
Captured by a recording device,
Were the anthems…that we replay.

What began in London ended in London,
In the same lonely…workplace room.
He was here that day, then gone the next,
In the blink of an eye, he was gone too soon.

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2011

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The City And The State Of Play Today


No one worries about morals today 
They follow the rules they create
So to them all is ok
Those on the outside looking in 
Are the only ones feeling queasy 
As avarice and selfishness triumphs
So easily 

Good corporate citizens they claim to be
Industry awards abound on their walls
As thank you tokens from themselves
Yet society harbours a lot of ill-will
As it feels the often brute force of 
The raid
And destroy mentality
Of people only wishing to make money 
Any which way 
While Using up all of society’s communal resources

Sharks abound
The waters are forever bloody as they 
Know no fraternity and would gladly 
Cannibalize anyone with no influence 
The ability to upend competitors
A cherished characteristic 
In a bullish machismo drenched environment 

Bullet proof psyches
Absorb and repel any pangs
About unfairness
Blocking any regulatory or chattering classes’
Attempt at nirvana and equality 
They employ better paid lobbyist 
So always have the upper hand 
In influencing policy 

The gravitational attraction of money 
Towards another even bigger pot of money 
Numbs any cautionary instinct
That would take a long term view 
The thrill of instant riches
Overpowers common sense 
And even decency 
Fat cats they all wish to be 

The slickness of glossy tongued lobbyist
Who spin wrongs till they become rights
Embolden oestrogen low males with no inbuilt brakes
To take risks that eventually cost them disgrace 
They are champions of graft not of society 

Loopholes in legislation
That were built in by too friendly politicians 
Coupled with ambiguous suits and claims
Cause far reaching hardship when the good old days are long gone 
The villains only muster some phantom national pride
 When begging for a lighter sentence 
Some are forgiven
Others fatally wounded by an unforgiving public

Lots of money can be made both legally and illegally
As one racket is closed another materialises instantly
The conveyor belt of dishonesty
Overwhelms bureaucracy 
Who is not David to the goliath that is money

The ethos is wealth
The acquisition and the maintaining of gains
Not often acquired through hard work
There is no limit of acceptable financial comfort
For the millionaire always wants to be a billionaire
And the mega rich super rich

Money must always be hidden from the taxman
Shareholders want tax free dividends
Investors want tax breaks for buying with other people’s money 
Infrastructure and new runways must be built 
But not from the pocket of those who wish it 

With their hands outstretched
And always wanting more and more
From a government too eager to please 
We have a tax system geared to the advantage of party donors
And non-domiciled moguls and tycoons
Who know no philanthropy unless it is tax efficient 

Disadvantaging society by  
Never paying their fair and moral share 
The largess they reap so selfishly
They wish not to share 
Wages are low
Taxes are nil
Only the investor wins as we pay his bills

Fast paced expansionist dogma
Is preached within city limits
Only the highest paid
The biggest company
The greatest profits
Are allowed 
They are held up as ideals that all who
Wish to succeed must follow
Gunslingers they all appear to be
Rushing in to capitalize on the wanton success of their peers
The cloud of misery left behind 
Is never seen for the look forward 
Never backward 
Hindsight is never welcomed in this parasitic environment 

The political will to weed out these reckless demons
Is lukewarm at best 
The revolving door of government creating opportunities
For industry and industry gratefully accepting politicians post government 
Ensures that self-interest is king 

An economy built on flawed assumptions of wealth creation
Is one that must forever be in hyper-drive
Creating ever expanding demand and supply 
That is as real as a thief’s conscience 
When taking the rings off a dead persons fingers 

Money must always be made for 
There is no alternative 
Wealth is good
Poverty to them is laziness

The city is not the heart and soul
Of the nation
It is but one player in a system skewed in its favour
We all must share in the wealth of this country
To ensure its longevity  

Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2013

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Let me take you to Venice
passing through the canals
all the alleys and valleys
saying cheers,drinking wine 
whilst we dine,full moon  
lanternes lightning sweet Venice,
its the place for romance
our place, shall we dance?
home sweet home ,we're in Venice............
Let me take you to Paris,
lovers home were we roam
and we go up so high nearly 
touching the sky in chic Paris,
There we go on Eiffel Greatest tower,
holding hand,disney land an adventure
for hours,shall we dance once again?
im your girl,you're my man!
home sweet home,we're in Grand Paris............
Let me take you to London doing good 
shopping spree,London eye,more to see 
visiting Royalty Handsome William and Harry,
thats the day ,You will ask me to marry......
Whilst we pass London's bridge by  the ferry
Home sweet home London home.......
Shall we Marry?...................................
Let me take you to Greece,
where all legends  and myths
shape to life once again,
whilst the Gods bow their head
shall we wed then we sleep in our bed,
making love through the night in soft breeze,
i'm your girl,You're my man!
Home sweet home,we're in Greece............
Let me take you to Malta melite!
Rich history, flowered carpets n all  streets,
Mdina  lovers' den, charming gem silent city,
brown eyed men with a tan,girls so pretty!
and the sun shines so bright,many stars 
through the night,my sweet homeland delight,
happy faces what a site!Malta beauty sweet dreams,
showing you what life means,where safety matter most,
where people are not ghosts,where love flows as it glows,
through our seas,scented breeze,treasure  treats
temples , harbours,good food,all to please...and they please.......
Its the place where you're home ,feel at ease
whilst we dance ,the best dance of classic  LOVE romance
home sweet home,we're in land of the knights,
we're in MALTA--MELITE--EUROPE'S  PEARL off all times...
Malta Melite my Heart Beat.........till it dies..................


Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2009

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No Easy Answer - London Attack

How do we fight this war on mirth,
When love and life now have no worth?

How do we alter such twisted souls,
With death and horror their only goals?

To save a spirit such perverted spin,
It has to transform from deep within ...

Seems hope is done before it starts,
Yet, LOVE can change the coldest hearts.

Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2017

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Lone Londoner

I look at this wonder, 
This art, 
The landscape behind her blushes, 
Lone Londoner, 
She defeats my love, 
Trumps my harmony, 
Warms my blood, 
She beats my heart, 
Passion in her eyes, 
Collapse my brain, 
Love is devotion, 
Dedicated to her will, 
To cry, 
To sob at happiness, 
I really can not explain, 
I love.

Copyright © david bucknell | Year Posted 2017

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At the close up cinema

Removed for external competition entry

Copyright © Zara Bosman | Year Posted 2017

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A Tale of Two Cities - Life Lesson

How thrilling was a novel long ago
I read for school: A Tale of Two Cities.
It tells of common people whose great woe
comes from the upper class’ atrocities.

A doctor tortured in Bastille has been released.
To London he returns and regains his health
with his daughter Lucy’s help. To the east,
things get ugly for the French with great wealth.

Two men love Lucy: Sydney and Darnay.
She weds Darnay, who’s lied about his family.
They’d locked her dad up. She forgives him anyway!
But now he has big problems. He’s nobility!

It happens that poor Sydney has a face
much like Darnay’s. Though Sydney’s never been
a man of character, he will find grace
by taking Darnay’s place at the guillotine. 

This novel shows the need for reformation
and is a treasure from Great Britain’s past.
It teaches redemption through transformation.
Dickens’ stories through the centuries will last.

Feb. 19, 2017 for Line Gauthier's Life lesson from a favourite novel

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2018

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Wimpole Street, Part 4 of 7

(Sir Frederick Treves, Victorian surgeon, has the
following claims to our respect: (1) he discovered
and cared for Joseph Merrick, "The Elephant Man":
(2) He followed the route in Italy of the characters
in Browning's "The Ring & the Book", taking
priceless photos: and many more things!)

The Eloquent Man

Sir Frederick Treves enjoys four claims to fame:
the lifelong friend of Thomas Hardy, who
supped with him in the King’s Arms snug: the name
of Joseph Merrick (Robert Browning, too!)
is intimately linked with his: he’s due
a place in heaven for his healing feats:
and yes, he lived here, on the street of streets.

It’s Dorchester, or Casterbridge to some.
And Treves, a native, knew its ways and whims
as well as Hardy did.  When he succumbed
to his appendix, genteel pseudonyms
were dropped.  Tom Hardy chose the funeral hymns.
He also honored Treves in gentle rhymes,
to mark his passing, in the London Times.

The wretch named Merrick, or the Elephant Man,
could well have lived his loveless life untended,
had Treves not found him.  Merrick’s mortal span
was made more bearable, being befriended
by one of London’s foremost.  When it ended,
poor Joseph Merrick, long reviled and scorned,
found home in Wimpole Street, where he was mourned.

King Edward feels a grumble in his tripes,
and sends for Surgeon Treves, the kingdom’s best.
“You mustn’t operate,” the sovereign gripes,
“My coronation’s looming.”  “Which seems best,”
asks Treves – “a crowning, or cremation?”  Pressed
to give an answer, Edward takes the knife –
and Treves the genius saves his monarch’s life. 

The poet Browning wrote some novel verse,
or rather, a verse novel: ring and book,
Italian murder tale.  Treves was immersed
in it, obsessed with it, completely hooked: 
went off to Tuscany, made notes, and took
some photographs, made sketches, thus preserving
the base of fact.  The man defines “deserving”!

Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017

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Great Britain

Royal family, regal, royalties,
England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales are part of GB, Europe
Army, Air force, and Naval support
Treasures, tutoring, training

Buildings and gardens of significance
Rivers, rail and roads
Islands surrounded by sea
Territorial forces, tax tea and traffic
Archaeology, history unveiled and preserved
National pride, National Insurance, National Health Service

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

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The Olympic Games

How lucky I, to have the time
To watch Olympics all the day.
I have not written one small rhyme
For fear I’ll miss some of the play.

To watch Olympics all the day
Means I don’t get my housework done
For fear I’ll miss some of the play.
In Rio town its rain or sun.

I don’t get my housework done
My favorite has lost the race.
In Rio town its rain or sun.
There’s disappointment on his face.

My favorite has lost the race
I haven’t written one small rhyme.
There’s disappointment on his face.
How lucky I, to have the time.

Copyright © Joyce Johnson | Year Posted 2012

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he is leaving home

                  In great respect of the band I grew up listening to
                       as sure as Mom passed down Saturday Chores 
                      for I had been chosen to scrub bathroom floors `

                    Yet a familiar sound would bring me to keep scrubbing
                       The red album, The blue album , The White album 
                        Then .. Abbey Road , always remembering the sad look on
                  Ringo's face ,  something hard to understand underneath~
                      I get it now, what you were saying all those years ago ,
                    the many sad lonely tears , secret tears , secret fears 
                    For Maxwell's Hammer was a real one . It wanted silence

                    Going back ..remembering when John Lennon died 
                      I was in Arkansas saddened with the world .
                      Then seeing his face saying " Drag isn't it " 
                      No .. this was not my hero in music and song .

                      he was a stand in hired William , he filled his shoes 
                      bringing diversity to create so much beautiful music from loss

                       One left standing , alone;; grief struck on back cover ~
                       The other identity hidden, tried to be part of ..coming together
                            his  world of secrets
                        He to suffers today , in fear , Faul~
                        Too many years gone by .let us tell the Truth. Let us be free
                         The very sad long and winding Road ~
                         Let us Bury our real Paul. 

                         No more " Mystery tour "
                             No more fear 
                                Let him be in peace ~

           Inspired by " The Last Testament of George Harrison , Is Paul Dead ? "


Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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She called herself London
On that day 
She fell from the sky
Child of apple blossoms
Dancing wildly
Into your mind

The snake that hung from her neck
Bites your hand
Expels you from Eden
Tears into the cool flesh
Of your madness
Posing as reason

Kisses you like a sweet lover
As though she really cares
Lets you 
Taste the passionate orchard
In her body’s secret lair

Wrestles with all your demons
Nothing quite compares
To the pain 
The indecent pleasure
In the waters that you share

Her name was London
Call her London

She called herself London
On that night
She prayed to the moon
Apollo’s lyre
Played darkly
In a portent 
Of your own doom

The hell she hides 
In her soul
Toxic drug you’ll never escape
You crave the milk of her touch
Her strange and dangerous ways

Kisses you like a sweet lover
As though she really cares
Lets you 
Taste the passionate orchard
In her body’s secret lair

Wrestles with all your demons
Nothing quite compares
To the pain 
The indecent pleasure
In the waters that you share  

Her name was London
Call her London

My baby, London
Call her London
My moon-girl, London 
Call her London

I love her, London
Call her London
Forever, London 

I call her London……

Copyright © Catman Cohen | Year Posted 2011

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Arriving in London

I arrived in London,
but misted windows
showed me a strange Big Ben
without the time.
Its four faces loomed,
but white, them all.

I arrived in London,
and went straight to B & B,
but the woman wasn't kind -
quite sharp to me.
Her face was white
and not pleasant, not at all.

I arrived in London,
but soon was gone again...
I remember Trafalgar Square
with pigeons - one was albino
and pecked my hand -
not nice at all.

Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015

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The Castle

In the green countryside of Wales,
A castle sits, dark and decaying,
It holds many ghostly tales,
That the locals keep relaying.

Surrounded by majestic, rolling hillsides,
Covered by a gray, misty shroud,
And cliffs high above the blue sea tides,
Where voices still ring out loud.

What was once a beautiful garden,
Where all the children used to play,
Has been left to whither and harden,
Just as the castle was left to decay.

Long cobwebs hang like curtains of lace,
In windows that remain dark and cold,
Someone still walks the crumbling staircase,
Just as they did in the days of old.

They walk the towers and through the halls,
Making the dusty, wooden floors creak,
Their portraits still hang on the walls,
Where the voices of the dead still speak.

The empty rooms will never make a sound,
But, if you listen hard enough to their history,
Stories of romance and love still abound,
Along with secrets of murders and mystery.

August 8th, 2013

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

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The Dignity Of It All

The Dignity Of It All

Don’t look me in the eye
Don’t look at me and sigh
Or shake your head and wonder why

As I walk along the street
Ensuring our eyes never meet
I frown, and look down at my feet

A mere and simple cleaner
Don’t laugh at my demeanour
Don’t be sad, for there are no keener

No barrister am I
No educated guy
Don’t look me in the eye!

That dirty, menial task
Which for nobody would ask
(Nor do I behind this subtle mask)

I pick your rubbish of the floor
While you hurry through the door
Who am I to ask for more?

But if you gave another look
You’d surely bring yourself to book
For my “lack of pride” you’ve sure mistook

I may clean up all your dregs
But I’m not one who begs
Not while I can stand on my own two legs

Don’t think that it’s a pity
As you travel through the city
Don’t dare question my dignity!

For you see I’m very proud
Of that I’d shout aloud
Above the heads of any crowd

Because, in my mind, I guess
Somebody must clean up your mess
Though it’s me I am no less

An honest person - just like you
Who takes pride in what they do
(Is there a moral in here too?)

Don’t look me in the eye
We just can’t see eye to eye
As I pick up your junk and sigh.

Copyright © Thomas Mansfield | Year Posted 2014

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Kingdom Lost

In summertime, the ivy climbs,
and hides the castle wall.
The king dreams of late,
that the sea is so great,
and yet - his boat is so small.
As swift as a fox and
dark as a raven on wing,
seven hundred soldiers march  
into the valley of the king.
Long overdue, a battle ensues
flanking the powers that be.
Children cry, and good men die, 
the monarch is now on his knee…
Soon the horsemen alone 
try to maintain the throne.
But the long way around
is the shortest way home.
The evening is filled
with chaos and smoke,
and the kingdom is 
stunned by it all…
Soon the sun will go down,
and in spite of his crown, 
the king will undoubtedly fall…
His rival’s strength
was mistaken,
by a king overtaken,
his life is now but a pawn.
His authority lifted,
the power has shifted –
an era of glory is gone…

Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013

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A Praise To London

        A Praise to London

To all of London’s folks who travel each
     day on their famous “under ground”
Yes praise you our London Town as we ride our 
carriages in safety, ease and comfort each lovely day

Oh yes on our daily tasks it might be to school to 
our work, or maybe, to some place just to play.

Certainly to us you are something very special as 
you weave close to the river, the sea, or by the bay.

Yes. when at the end of a busy week you will take 
us to our places of rest and worship where we can pray.

Yes when some unkind folks wanted to hurt our London
Town more then ever now we know what we need to do.

We'll stand shoulder to shoulder with conviction and courage
to heal our mighty land to protect her each day through.

Yes to our mighty London Town we will never give in to the few
who think they can hurt us, to TRY. to make us feel sad and blue.

Our prayers and thoughts of love are with us as we stand against 
our foes,. Oh London Town, to you we will always be very true.

Copyright © David Hampson | Year Posted 2005

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It was a visit long overdue by most people’s standards. I had last seen my daughter two years prior to that during a whirlwind trip which she and her fiancé had made to Cape Town. I had an unexpected financial windfall and the money was burning a hole in my pocket. On the spur of the moment, I called my daughter and asked her to source accommodation for me in London over the Christmas season. A few days later, she called me back with the news that all the hotels had been booked up, save for the Ritz. I chuckled at the idea of having to spend my entire holiday budget on just one night at the Ritz. Then reason asserted itself and we put our heads together to come up with an alternative solution. I could hear her flatmate in the background, chipping in with her penny’s worth of advice. My daughter hung up and I was feeling down in the mouth about the plans for the trip being derailed in such a fashion. Later that evening, my daughter called back with the offer that if I did not object to sleeping on the settee in the lounge, I would be most welcome to stay with them at their London flat. I gladly accepted. She is a chef at a top restaurant and I was looking forward to gourmet meals prepared by her - including the Christmas turkey.

screeching seagulls dive at sushi scraps on a plate - the urchin watches
The evening of the booked flight to London, arrived. It was an uncomfortable hot day and I showered and dressed with only minutes to spare before my friend took me to the airport to book in the statuary two hours before international flight departures. At the airport everything was in chaos. We were given the unwelcome news that our flight had been cancelled. This was the third direct flight to London which had been cancelled that week due to London experiencing the worst weather and snow since records began in 1890! We were offered alternative flights and had to stand in queues for hours in order to procure a new airline ticket. Some people became very verbose and insisted on being granted passage on other airline carriers (at the cost of our local airline carrier). I do not know whether it was due to the weather or the disappointment I was feeling, but when my turn came at last to book a new flight, I readily agreed to fly on Christmas Eve ( three days hence) to London. If I had been given time to reflect on this date, I would not have accepted it. Arriving in London on Christmas Day would have been disastrous: The tubes and other public transport would have been curtailed on Christmas Day and shops and other amenities would have been closed for the day. This I knew from previous trips to the UK over the festive season. To add insult to injury, taxis would have charged triple for cab fare and no amount of quibbling would have swayed them. I phoned my friend to collect me and when we got home, I poured a large glass of Merlot and retired on the sun lounger in the garden. It was *full moon that evening and it was almost worth missing the trip to witness its beauty. I left my bags in the hallway and retired early – after phoning my daughter and giving her an update on the status quo.
moths dart between moon flowers - lunar eclipse
Six am the following morning, I was woken up by the phone ringing. Sleepily I took the call. It was the airline inquiring whether I could get to the airport by seven am. My friend was dancing up and down in agitation and already had the car out by the time I had brushed my teeth. I offered to pay any speeding fines which she might incur during our mad dash to get to the airport on time. The flight was an additional service which was laid on to get the backlog of passengers to their desired destinations. Heathrow had given our pilots permission to proceed, hence the call to me that morning. We were a total of thirty six passengers on the Boeing 747 – it translated to two passengers per crew member. We were treated to five in flight movies which were current and could eat and drink as much as we wished to. By the time we landed in London at seven pm that evening, there was a festive spirit among us. A radio taxi (which my daughter had organised) was waiting to collect me at Heathrow airport. It was a chilly four degrees Celsius below zero and I was grateful for my leather coat and wool accessories.
steep steps to flat shut out the bitter world - a heart pounds
**************************************************************** *The December 2010 lunar eclipse occurred from 5:27 to 11:06 UTC on December 21, coinciding with the date of the December solstice. It was visible in its entirety as a total lunar eclipse in North and South America, Iceland, Ireland, Britain and northern Scandinavia. "bitter" means piercingly cold..... A term commonly used by Britishers... "flat" means apartment. The Londoners I know, refer to it as just "flat" with no adj or possessive noun or article. Please see the About section for explanations regarding the 1ST AND LAST haiku. Haibun(literally, haikai writings) is a prosi-metric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and includes the autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~ Wikipedia

Copyright © Suzette Richards | Year Posted 2013

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witches revenge

   The misty dark night lit by pumpkin light

   To drive evil away , candle light an old way

   Witches brews , good and bad they choose 

   Always a woman as oracle from the start

   A Witch giving advise to many in battle 

   Then the day where she was taken by cart ~

   If a confession not made by drowning being nice ?

   The Witch would die by fire not smoke inhaled 

   Burned Alive , to be seen from a pub, a party held

   This Witch, many child  would suffer a severe Death 

   stalks put rightly in place,the fire felt directly on face

   If it be I that suffer this fate , I would curse all whom participate ~

  So when you are out this Halloween, stay close to parents 

  An angry Witch from the past may come to pass, you'll hear screams 

  you'll think it is done for Halloween , you'll be wrong while shaking

  The Witch burned no mercy given, cruel Death coming back a force driven 

  preying on innocence from inherited names , the Witch Blames .

  The Fire , pain , laughing while burning ,vengeance is hers in the making !

                    ~~~this Halloween ~~~

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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Chairs lined with stripes, 
green and white,
became ski jump ramps
for feelings, innocent and pure,
taking off from the edge
hoping to defy the gravity of fears. 

Only a lucky few made it,
others turned into tears
landing on the grass of Green Park
as the warm air was getting dark.

Copyright © A.O. Taner | Year Posted 2016

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A Tribute to our Soldiers

Fare thee well our precious men and boys
Marching into war
Fighting for a purpose
Does anyone know what for

As some you return lying down
Instead of tall and strong
How can we all sit and watch
Surely this is wrong

Will you buy a poppy
Will you shed a tear
13,310 soldiers
Killed in 10 years

Downing street want to resign
Saying it is now the time
That's not a victory we know its a crime
That's not a victory on the front line

The soldiers do their jobs
Fighting for our Queen
Lets not forget though the military supplies
Not the best we have seen

A lack of helicopters sent to assist
These terrorists could now be missed
British soldiers now lost their lives
Us army men also lost to their wives

We need to help somehow
Britain decide what to do
The lives of our servicemen around the world
Could depend on you

Why should we leave this to them in London Town
Mp's who don't know what biscuit they like, I frown

Copyright © Gail Lewis | Year Posted 2016

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Long time ambition, maybe,

Of Nadia's to go there...

Nadia, checking timetables

Down in a basement 

Off Sunny Street -

Not sure.

'Tis a thought, anyhow

Of mine, not

Wildly out of the question -

Nadia packing her bags.


Copyright © Julia Ward | Year Posted 2015

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Home Sweet Home

Once I bought a ticket to the theater.
Shakespeare’s play.
Some old, small stage in London.

I never needed more.

I was prepared quite well.
The dress, the shoes, the mood.
I had it all.

The moment I sat on that balcony
I knew I was home.
It felt right.
Better than anything before.

For one day I returned to Wonderland.
Restored my faith, was not afraid of who I was.
I belonged there.
And nothing else mattered.

Copyright © Danka Sikorska | Year Posted 2014

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Can you feel me

Feel me standing there
on the draw bridge
that stands stubburn and erect
over the rushing waters blown by the wind
back and forth.
I listened to the crows
posted on gargoils designed
of eightenth century Gothic architecture
singing their death songs,
when the sun is setting in the far.

The voices of women passing
startle me with a feeling of sorrow
I can't breathe, I am dying.
Feel me, can you feel me rot away?
Slowly but surely rot away
as time passes with ease,
and taxi cabs take smiling, intoxicated faces
to wayward cafes, oh how they screech to a halting stop
and wave to me to get in.

"No thank you, I'd rather walk." I say to the smiling faces
highly intoxicated with the thought of the birds and the bees
rattling around in their empty minds.
Then they drive off, into the city lights and turn a darkened corner.
I look at the rushing water
and feel myself rot away
slowly but surely rot away.

Can you feel me?
Can you hear me?
Can you see me?
Feel my heart thump with slow paces
that manage to keep up with fast melodies.
Of songs that play in your mind
only the ones that make you sigh
and think those one days in Spring time
as you walked over the draw bridge
and paid no mind to the water underneth.
I hear no more talk of you and me, I hear no more talk
of the good old times we all shared.
Time has passed, as I take my last breathe
and hold my chest and shead a tear.
Feel me, can you?
If you can, put your hand to my weak heart 
and feel it thump away with every second wasted
on useless items.
Now, see me a man of one time greatness
reflect his life with a reflection in the water below.
How I sigh and cry and breath heavely,
as I feel myself rot away.

The voices of woman pass me by.
Tomorrow is a new day,
for the smiling faces in taxi cabs will go home
and soak their raging hangovers with cool, wet rags.
As I still stand on the draw bridge singing with the crows,
feeling myself rot away.

Can you feel me without you, rotting away?
I surely can feel myself rot.
Such a heavy word, "rot"
So vulgare, yet a great description of me,
without you.

I pull out a shawl you once wore and I kiss it.
As the wind gusts and the sun rises and my shadow
comes to meet me, the wind shall take my last memory
of you away.
And I shall weep no more.
Then what will I do? Shall I walk the streets
and think of you.
Yes you, still rambling all throughout my head
like a lose screw.
Can you feel me? Feel me rot away
feel me think about you, and all your works.
Can you feel me?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013