London Poems | Examples of London Poetry

Born in Lyme Regis Dorset a palaeontologist fossil collector in the English Channel marine bed cliffs and a coprolites (faeces) detector who at only twelve years old found the first two skeletons plesiosaur and outside Germany that of a pterosaur yet as a woman who did not always receive full credit for her scientific contributions and ineligible to join to their discredit the Geological Society of London while...

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Victoria couch station does not go To sleep. It's not even a one third of an aesthetic But poets make frogs into princes so ... I see the becoming in change. The Comfort of being taken to a Known destination not needing To know the way. It happens only in travels like that. I see the becoming in repetition. A Man sweeping the...

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WORSE THAN DOGS Mi step off di docks, salt burn in mi chest, Suit sharp-press, hope pin to mi vest. Windrush blood, calypso fire, Dreams of gold — meet cold barbed wire. “Welcome,” dem sneer wid a crooked grin, Door slam shut — all ‘cause a mi skin. Signs in window cut like knives: NO BLACKS. NO DOGS. NO IRISH. — lives. But truth...

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He lived in chilly, damp London at the intersection of Medieval and Modernity We know little of...

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It looks to me like the iconic photo was shot on a Sunday Behind an abbey that was soundless with loud prayers The traffic was more human than mechanical On the broad, asphalted spine of a skinned, dead zebra Where four men created a useful, eye-catching scene With their stern military march of youthful legs, Coming together, yet drifting solemnly apart, Each...

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London fog, harshly early with strained warning, Looms all over the image of the hectic city There’s the smell of mists and the taste of Frozen rain gathered before dawn. Pulses brake and start, And lungs are besieged by distilled grime, Industrial tainting. I can’t see well beyond five feet ahead of me As I labour to walk, But headlamps from crawling cars and...

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Crossing the London Bridge by trike, I observed a head upon a pike. So, I politely doffed my cap and returned home to take my nap....

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I walked down the alleyways of London Early one edgy Friday evening. I am a touring, curious resident, mind you. The sun was shy and was sinking breathlessly and With the hushed melody of frazzled fog. I headed towards a snaky road, cobbled to fractured Heels and hills, and stumbled upon Oxford Street, famous for all manner of glitz And devoted heartbreaks. It was...

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A 22 hour trip home from London…gave us time to sit back, smile and unwind and think about all the memories we made…while still fresh within our minds. Yes, we saw London and Paris with our family…fell in love with England and with France. and yes, we ate our way across two countries…and Deborah even bought a pair...

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Through fog, on the London Bridge, I saw an image so forlorn - upon a pike, a traitor's head. The span it would adorn. While I understand the appeal of a well-weathered head, wouldn't Christmas lights have been a better choice instead?...

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London, a great house standing by a long water, bathed by a golden sun behind the closed doors of the eastern clouds that send stuttering rains even on the hearth of summer to salute all that pass the kennels of the city once they have legitimate travel passes that will elevate them high enough to see the Big Ben - a timely invention chiming and tolling, to remind us of our immigrating...

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Up today at 5:00 A. M….this was not by chance… We had to get up that to catch the 7:30 train to France. Paris to be exact…so with our packed suitcases in hand… we headed off to Paris…just as our Ooh La La tour guide planned. A note about Ooh La La Tours… When Bryan was planning the Paris part...

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After I woke up and went out to our little balcony to write… a ladybug landed on my computer and decided there to stay As she traversed the perimeter of my computer… I knew it was going to be great day We took the tube to Buckingham Palace…where more history was unlocked. We strode the rooms and hallways where kings...

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When asked, 'If the orchestra conductor had made an effort more concerted not to miss the concert and a sordid scene averted, would he have been less disconcerted?' "Don’t ask me, I’m only the drummer," replied I in chagrin. And, altho' the name of my favourite band is the one I am currently in, I do like the sound of the moniker, 'Big Ben,' it's...

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Jews are aliens we return to mother ship relax wine and feast ...

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