Best Westminster Poems
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I was down in Westminster the other night
and there I saw a most horrible sight.
I thought I saw a man without a head.
Cromwell? I asked, or a king long dead?
I then saw a dame with a horrid lurid glance,
not quite the sort you'd be asking for a dance.
If not Maggy, then who could it be?
I'm very sorry, mate. It's no use asking me,
Three weird sisters were there discussing Brexit.
One said leave it, and another tried to hex it.
What did I witness? Was this the 'monster mash,'
or just politicians as they made an awful hash?
A lanky hooded figure invited me in
with a croaky voice and a sinister grin.
My entry would be easy; of that I had no doubt,
but the problem would then have been: how to get out.
Was it all that talk of a 'backdrop'
that made me hesitate?
When I got back home eventually,
it was very, very late.
Sir, ‘tis a letter for your eyes only, oddly, ‘tis a brown envelope used?”
—“Pray tell, why did you say, oddly, madame?”
“It hails from the palace, a place of dignity, but to forward itself a respite with commonality, breeds a different sort.”
—“Ah! That explains that (holding the unopened envelope in his hand raised), for across our channel is abuzz, as war wreaks havoc beyond our shores, I beg that I be naught caught by any challenges, as an announcing envelope may hail an affront at my very doorsteps. Plainly, it draws none to wonder, for it lacks interest for the few who seek cover from our English weather, their ruse.“
“Really, here in England!”
—”That madman is naught an idiot, but diabolical. Give him no measure, for he’ll want more without end, for that’s his intent. Our nation has long been at risk, and I fear that the contents of this envelope may ripen our unsheathed souls to hail victory in its due course.”
“I dislike war.”
—”Madame, it's naught the matter of ‘dislike or like’, nevertheless, it’s a matter of our very survival that will purpose our furtherance of our ‘likes or dislikes’, their proper argument to entertain our future.”
“Maybe, the palace seeks peace.”
—”If it be so, then I challenge that ‘word’ with its homophone and not homonym from that depressing madman, with due respect, madame.”
“Well, open it, sir, for the king awaits—I trust—for an answer?”
—”Very well, tut-tut. Hm, I’m asked to be the next Prime Minister!”
“Oh my, and what of Chamberlin?”
—”He will probably be a thorn in my rose; unfortunately, it is rumored, yet prepared will I be, to exchange it with a lily. Well, I am off to the palace and there will I see that purplish king, or brown if it be so hush-hush.”
we honor our Queen
in Westminster, tears and grief
her crown, not her end
9/16/2022
~3~
Earth has not anything to show more dread or drear
And reckless would he be of soul to venture by
A tragic scene gut-wrenching in its travesty
This city now doth fully its mourning weeds wear
From a shocking afternoon filled with siren blare
Open to violent threats,aimed to terrify
Kids,tourists,passers-by,police and medics cry
In defiance,not broken in the pain soaked air
Never did the sun more glaringly drench and steep,
With her lancing rays, face,window or reflection
Ne'er saw I,never ever felt trauma so deep
River flowing by,blind to this vile aggression
Good God!The very House was locked in nightmarish sleep,
All that mighty city then and there racked with tension.
The sky’s acid blue, and I have an idea
To be approved by you
Let’s catch a cab to Westminster Pier
We'll be standing awhile in a queue
Let’s torment ourselves with a boat ride
Like in the good old days
Watching marinas on riverside
Passing through open gates
Of many locks on the way to Richmond
And as soon as we moor
Let’s visit the Kew and the Hampton Court
That’s what we’re here for
Let’s lunch in the Privy Kitchen café
Then I’ll get lost in the maze
Smiling the silliest smile I’ll pace there
Trying all possible ways
We’ll go for a ride on a horse-drawn carriage
I’ll chat with the coachman of topics
Not so important like Royals marriage
While you’ll be taking some pics
I’ll buy a walnut brandy before we set sail
Back to the Westminster pier
It’ll be quite an outing to repeat that trail
What do you think, my dear?
I take your silence as a sign of consent
I knew you’d accept my plan
There’s just one nuance, that wasn’t meant
Hope you will understand.
.
Westminster Abbey,
With all its doors,
Welcomes all,
As church bells implore:
Come now England,
And praise thy Lord,
Drop thy shield,
And sheath thy sword,
So that two hands can pray,
Against discord.
Inside, the pastor guides his flock,
He alone dares cast the rock:
Now, turn thine eyes upon the dead,
And saintly deeds respect,
So that St. Peter at the gates,
Your soul redeems, as he inspects,
Thy actions for misdeeds.
Then thou shalt remember,
The beadman at the door,
Telling his rosary, as to implore:
'Can I stay this cold,cold, night,
And rest in thy corridor?'
Then you'd think,
Not twice, but once,
About thy words, and jests, and jaunts,
Against his prescense on thy step,
Before thy Fell,
or rather, leapt.
Written September 30th, 2025, for contest sponsored by: Hilo Poet
***********
“Sir, a courier from the palace, posthaste.
A letter, sealed in alabaster wax—though oddly, the envelope is brown.”
—“Brown, you say? That’s abstruse. The palace, with all its aegis and aureate decorum, sends a missive in such a clod’s attire?”
“Indeed, sir. One might adumbrate a message of urgency or a deliberate elision of pomp.”
—“Hm. The hour is balmily acherontic. Across the channel, the clangor of war grows egregious. I dare not be caught in a deluge of decisions without due diligence. This envelope may well be a chimera.”
“Do you suspect it’s from the king?”
—“If not, then from a consanguineous hand. The appetency for peace is amaranthine, yet the nemesis we face is no amorist. He is bumptious, apoplectic, and besotted with ambition. I fear this letter may be a call to arms—or worse, a call to helm.”
“I abjure war, sir.”
—“And yet, madame, war does not abjure us. It is amort of our ambivalence. We must cogitate not on our dislikes, but on our duty.”
“Then open it. The aurora of fate awaits.”
—“Tut-tut. Ah! I am summoned to form a government. Prime Minister, they say.”
“Oh my. And Chamberlain?”
—“A crestfallen calyx, I suspect. I shall replace his wilt with a ductile lily. Now, to the palace—where the king awaits, purplish in mood, brown in discretion.”
Having a wish to wake up very early;
At the time, when people get up barely
When the entire London will sleep,
And through the window I will peep.
I will get out for a walk gently
And also feel the magical dawn deeply.
After crossing few miles, with the pleasant feeling of breeze,-
Oh!at last I will reach the Westminster Bridge.
Ah!then what joyance will rain upon me;
Noone will be there to take share of my glee.
Gradually, the Sun will rise and brighten the surrounding,
With the first ray, the River Thames will be glowing.
The thriving city will start its regular journey,
But there I will dawdle, because I will be free;-
The serenity of Thames will make me energetic,
And help me forget the adventures which are sardonic.
At the end of the day, my feelings will be frail;
It will be thrilling, if I hear the Big Ben's bell.
Now I am so far away, but I promise
To make my dream true at Westminster Bridge.