The London Verses

The title says as much as I can say. Okay, I’ll say a bit more. I want to build a poetic mosaic. A what? I hear you exclaim, well, I know it sounds madly audacious as well as never before precedented, though I hope you know where this is headed. 1 verse everyday poetically observing the many facets of personality, inadvertent interactions, geography and more of the sprawling wonder that we call the London ( I’m speaking of everything enclosed within the M25)

I’ve said too much, however you too in the true spirit of collaboration, fellow poets, lyricists, and anyone/no one in particular can submit your own musings (musings sounds pretentious doesn’t it?) on life and London, life in London whichever  stokes your disposition.

The verses don’t necessarily need to be true (Hey, I was contemplating “Putney Party Planners”) but it would be nice if they did. Perhaps rhyme and musicality is vying for dominance here. Anyway, enough sloppily written,  late-night blather that’s almost (but not quite?) demanding for me to hit the backspace button all the way back.

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″ hopefully the first



Consumers march up and down Oxford Street

Indiscrete advertising designed to fall,  fail and fill them,


Consume. Repeat.



Tell me:

With what  wisdom, 

What it is the Elite excretes 

Whether Whitehall or City Hall?</p



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


A blocked Blackwall tying up your godforsaken travel update.



And Repeat. 



The London Verses No.2

Posted on March 23, 2012


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


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.<


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