The London Verses No.5

 Quickly written today… hugely flawed etc. I’m not fishing for compliments, honest. Just enjoy.

   

The M25

A 20-mile grey necklace-

or noose-

Asphyxiating-

Enclosing the metropolis 

A quiet belt that can’t be cut loose?

   

Blandly anonymous suburbs scream

(Consuming as a vacuum for dreams) 

Stanmore on a Sunday-

Middle-class mercs-

And the bleak coda of Collingwood

or forgotten Finchley 

   

Hard shoulders- 

And cold shoulders-

Cadaver washed upon the South Bank

Kisses of thanks-

And hugs of grace

Draconian measures

Pepper spray-

and mace-

Empty office space –

on the Euston Road

and one Bedroom abodes –

in Wapping.

London Verses No.4 (Part 1)

More soon.

‘An as-yet-unidentified politician’s spleen  

was found scattered across Camberwell Green’

Sources say 

‘Were they payed?’

 

Paparazzo voyeurs in Vauxhall

Hopelessly enthralled

Trigger happy with telephoto lenses 

Debased men point and click 

For pocketfuls of sen-sen 

The London Verses No. 3

Don’t ever my mistake my silence for ignorance, my calmness for acceptance and my kindness for weakness’  Unknown

 

Iconoclastic in Ickenham

As the Bishop is punched straight

(‘This is what happens when corruption perpetuates hate’)

In the face

(‘And touches more than lace’)

 

Who’s the victim?

What’s the crime?

Some synonyms that rhyme with slime 

Disobedience was always sublime.

 

Diametrically opposed 

We stood on Platform 8

As the Duke decomposed 

Silent tyranny had militated 

A commuting carriage of newly debilitated. 

 

Purrs of satisfaction 

900sq foot sauna 

Why mourn her?

Belgravia fakers 

and Nunhead bakers

This Ealing feeling is misery

 

About as likely as

A Hampstead greasy spoon

Unknown communes

Featureless  warehouses  

Handmade rooms 

Parliament  Hill Fields in Bloom

When her womb resumed 

I presumed  new life 

No, 56 hours of strife 

Of waiting 

Teeth grating

A lone iphone 

In a lone corridor 

And then

There were four more.

 

The London Verses No.2

Is Anthropology anything more than mere, sterile euphemism for a wider iceberg of never ending fetishism and fascination for everything around us? Well, probably. I choose to disagree (quelle surprise).

The London Verses No.  2 

I recognise BPS doesn't feature in this poem however, I had to include it sometime.

The Beefeaters’ late

And someone’s preaching hate

On Speaker’s Corner

(His truth)

Hendon Ruth

As the Hearse pull away

As the armchair yellows and frays

Parking tickets and Private Police

                         In Pimlico  

(Though not alone)

Dystopia & Co.

Try as we might to righteously resist

An inexorable failure to cease and desist

 

Laughter in the face of fear

Oh, another adapted Lear

Disappears without a tear.

 

Paradise lost

Then found

On the Northern Line

Heading Southbound

 

Sliding doors

A desire for something more

Than toe-to-toe

Shoulder-to-shoulder

Something you wish you told her?

 

Do City cocks sleep alone?

 As Swarovski pendulums rock

(Forgotten failures in Enfield Lock)

In peppermint penthouses of present

 

The distant cacophony of cafes and bars

 Hexagonal headlights and shimmers of cars

And drones of manufactured ‘decay’

And of police sirens far away…

Move further away.

 

 

The London Verses No.1

Following the late-night creation of “The London Verses” page stating my poetic intentions I have since been trapped, both in contemplative thoughts and literally, in my room trying to capture individual essences and snapshots (whatever that could mean) of the many, varied facets of London from Kingston to King’s Cross, Peckham to Putney, Enfield to Euston. Well, you get the idea.Here is one those “snapshots” entitled “The London Verses No.1”.

Enjoy.

Consumers march up and down Oxford Street

Indiscrete advertising designed to fall,  fail and fill them,

Incomplete.

And Repeat.

 

Tell me:

With what wisdom, 

What it is the Elite excrete 

Whether Whitehall or City Hall?

 

The never-ending Sprawl:

A profound sense of loss in Highgate 

Taxis late at City Gate

Cyclists tempting fate 

Quiet cries of desperation from a Tottenham Estate

And

A blocked Blackwall tying up your godforsaken travel update.

 

And Repeat. 

 

More London Verses coming soon.