London Poems
In A London Drawingroom
by George Eliot
The sky is cloudy, yellowed by the smoke.
For view there are the houses opposite
Cutting the sky with one long line of wall
Like solid fog: far as the eye can stretch
Monotony of surface & of form
Without a break to hang a guess upon.
No bird can make a shadow as it flies,
For all is shadow, as in ways o'erhung
By thickest canvass, where the golden rays
Are clothed in hemp. No figure lingering
......
Verses Wrote On Her Death-Bed At Bath, To Her Husband In London
by Mary Monck
Thou, who dost all my worldly thoughts employ,
Thou pleasing source of all my earthly joy:
Thou tend'rest husband, and thou best of friends,
To thee this first, this last adieu I send.
At length the conqu'ror death asserts his right,
And will for ever veil me from thy sight.
He wooes me to him with a chearful grace;
And not one terror clouds his meagre face.
He promises a lasting rest from pain;
And shews that all life's fleeting joys are vain.
......
London, 1802
by William Wordsworth
Milton! thou shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword, and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt apart;
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the sea:
......
Mandalay
by Rudyard Kipling
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!"
Come you back to Mandalay,
Where the old Flotilla lay:
Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay?
On the road to Mandalay,
Where the flyin'-fishes play,
An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!
......
Smoking
by Elton Glaser
I like the cool and heft of it, dull metal on the palm,
And the click, the hiss, the spark fuming into flame,
Boldface of fire, the rage and sway of it, raw blue at the base
And a slope of gold, a touch to the packed tobacco, the tip
Turned red as a warning light, blown brighter by the breath,
The pull and the pump of it, and the paper's white
Smoothed now to ash as the smoke draws back, drawn down
To the black crust of lungs, tar and poisons in the pink,
And the blood sorting it out, veins tight and the heart slow,
The push and wheeze of it, a sweep of plumes in the air
......
On Trains - edit
by Scott Sowerby
The lights from the station platform
Flicker on the floor of the carriage
As the train pulls away into the dark
My fingers and toes counteract
The toing - froing, pushing
Hard into the floor and handrail
Under the my fingers white
Knuckled stoney eyed. I stare
......
London
by Nkwachukwu Ogbuagu
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
......
Space in Mayfair
by Steven Andreev
There is a space in Mayfair,
Not far from Hanover Square,
Where we walk when the sun darkens,
That’s called Mount Street Gardens,
Where paths lead us often
To find a new affair.
First time we cycled off Trafalgar Square,
Shooting past streets on a bike by funfair,
It was early spring and the leaves were green,
......
Spring Trip to London
by Steven Andreev
The weary winter passed to leave us with nothing but
Estrangement from each other. As I sat in my damp student dorm,
Writing essay on Alienation, alternating between shots of
Tea, vodka and gin, brooding about the last time I saw you alone.
Nothing interrupted my concentrated efforts, besides the sound of
Keyboard under my fingers, until a bird chirped by my window
And awoke me to notice the first carnations of season. I rushed
To my bedroom, grabbed a tweed jacket and ran to train station.
......
Contemplation
by Steven Andreev
This is a day of contemplation
When autumn finally falls down on the capital
After months of desert-style heat, that burnt us more inside than out.
In the dust of general stagnation
One counts all the capital, another the lack of it
While I sit in indignation, staring at the building blocking the view of the park.
And remember the days when a park was not a tiny square,
But was Richmond Park that opened up by her and me.
......
