Kensington Poems - Poems about Kensington

Beyond the Veils of Kensington Street

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In Kensington Today

The factories long disappeared,
Silent structures still stay;
And more drugs than dreams have appeared,
In Kensington today.

The north of the Ave has its shine,
Less fine, southerly way;
Best Philly, and worst, intertwine, 
In Kensington today.

Six miles, in a small corner curled,
“What matter?” you may say;
Well, the world is here, here’s the world,
In Kensington today.

Kensington Avenue

It’s sad when poverty
leads to the proliferation
of gangs and sales of drugs
which leads in turn to addiction.

No bigger open market  for drugs exists
than one where great homelessness grew.
Gangs are thriving even to this day
there on Kensington Avenue.

Gangs of many ethnicities,
prostitutes and miserable folk
hang out there hooked on
heroin, fentanyl and coke.

A billion dollar market where

Kensington Avenue

“When it is obvious that the goals cannot be reached, 
don't adjust the goals, adjust the action steps.”
- Quote by Confucius
-------------------------------------------------------------
Human errors
beyond measure

K and A avenue
intersection

smoking hurt
needling pain

losing love of live
living addicted

people mistreating
people mistreated

unconscious youth
forgetful leaders

ruptured vein
dying humanity

homeless theories
weighed hopes

failed lot
lots failed

KENSINGTON'S LAMENT

*This poem was written for "Kensington Avenue Poetry Contest, Anthony Biaanco, sponsor, July 20, 2025

KENSINGTON'S LAMENT
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her city streets are grey and worn, with a denim sky overhead. Birdsong trickles out in fractured waves, as if feathered friends cried while flying her way. Engines sputter; horns blare. People hurry by her in silence, eyes down, broken

Kensington Avenue

The wheels of the chaotic times churn for them
the sands of crushed dreams in the desert of desiccated life,
settling frenzied on the unstratified fragile structure 
of the disorganized dunes of desolate existence.

The sequestered moments of distressed awareness,
drift the dust of disarray to the foyer of failed being.    
The truth of trustful conviction

Kensington Avenue

Here they come with 
an iPhone
Go Pro Zv Max
buddies in their ears
bopping to old tracks
dead cat on a mic
push it in yer face
what are you doing, girl?
Tryin’ to turn a trick
earn your Rhino tranq?

Sneakers burning
keeping warm
sleeping standing
got no dorm

Here they come in
their pink puffy
glittering long fat coats
frothy coffee, milk of oats.
Come see the zoo;
we got dead

Nativist Riots, Kensington Philadelphia

Sit down, and let me tell you, son,
about the historic district, Kensington,
in the year eighteen-forty-four,
when the streets broke out in war. 

The Irish-Catholic were new arrivals,
impoverished, fighting for survival.
The existing population was disquieted,
and so, Philadelphia nativists rioted.

It was then that false rumors were passed.
In a bad light, the Irish were cast,
Propaganda and lies, the devil's tools,
"They want

Kensington Avenue, Philadelphia

Where is this? Are we on Mars?
America – just count the stores,
capitalist carnivores.
That so-familiar movie score,
the swish of passing cars.

The city built on Brotherly Love
(Wells Fargo, Fitch and Abercrombie)
at the mercy of Pam Bondi
- was that a person, or a zombie? –
What was Madison thinking of?

Car’s no use: no place to park it.
Arrested at a

Kensington

Kensington 

Children of frustration
when dreams rose from the heap
the darkest of locations
tell white lies as they speak

open to persuasion
when abilities are weak
waves of degradation 
disturbs all those asleep

awake the dispensation 
to turn the other cheek
the house that they were raised in
and company they keep

a blur of segregation
when summers burn with heat
sit back for meditation
and sow

Kensington Avenue

"Sweet child in time,
you'll see the line
the line that's drawn between
good and bad"

Having cold sweats again in this godforsaken ninety degree heat. Shivering uncontrollably. God, what I'd do for a warm comforter right now. Zombies all around me mumbling incoherent poetry no one understands or even cares to hear. Young people half my age or

Kensington

Years of silence I can't recall 
Tears I pant on the scrawled wall
Clothes worn in an open cell
Souls torn, drowning in smitten well

Costumes worn by zombies
Moving as mannequins, not gnomes
Legumes not grown as beans or chickpeas
Roving pass skull watchers of spumes

My heart beating slow, recurring
My voice bleating low, murmuring...

Your soothing eyes I can't forget
Looking into

Kensington

what a potpourri
mopery and dopery
in Kensington town

Kensington

"KENSINGTON" 
Written By: Billy Malloy
 I choose the path of the lonely, bitter and obsolete, I picked up survival techniques to make ends meet, I learned life lessons from emotions of death being beat, in more ways than one, then again in repeat, I wear long sleeves to keep the track marks discrete, I got

King of Kensington

One percent of people are the king Of Kensington.
The rest think that it's easy but they live in Leamington.

How could all be happy there for all they have to live
and think about the one percent who make it and who give?

I'm the King Of Kensington.
A man who lives as civil.
I'll ask you how your day

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