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Bryana Twice Oct 2015
this is just to say
you are my
stolen
plum London

and I can't wait
to sink my teeth
into the cool
bruised-light

of a late summer
Saturday
night
*please forgive me…
Had a stolen night in London tonight and it was delicious.
A structural and verbal reference to the master William Carlos Williams's 'this is just to say...'
Rockie Sep 2015
Red
Red
The only colour
In this sea of grey
Red
Your red lips
Are stark against your pale skin
Red
The only colour
In this sea of grey *suits

Oh London,
You dark, stark city,
Filled with wondrous prospects
For people made of *red.
DannyBoyJ Sep 2015
Through the smoke, **** and *****,
A parking fine, ***** on it.
The most horrid sight, we’re used to it, right?
The capital’s disgusting and we’re ******.

Lengthy ques for employment,
Assorted drugs for enjoyment,
Our bank account’s bust, believe it we’re ******,
The government won’t even lend a hand.

Will it be Lidl or Aldi?
Wetherspoons, cheap and rowdy.
An overdraft to, purchase more *****,
Fracking makes us hate you more, it’s true.

Unpunctual trains, privatisation.
It’s ******* cold at the station.
Elite middle class, this country’s a farce,
Don’t even get me started on the EU.

Chicken wings and pollution,
Private health care – THAT’S THE SOLUTION!
Increased licence fees, no money for tea,
Five more years of Cameron and we’re *******.
Sheikh Muizz Sep 2015
Ben stands deliberately imposing,
his arms crossed and his stern face
reminding us all we’re x minutes late.

We are each a cell.
Circulating the city’s veins
by foot, tyre and train.

The city doesn’t die, but it does grow old.
And when its veins tire from carrying its load
necessary roadworks interrupt its flow;

Like open wounds. Each yellow hardhat
a fingernail on the invisible hand
of an omnipotent surgeon.
Born to an Italian father
and a dreaming,
wide-eyed American,
travel was my fortune,
my life before I chose it.

One late September evening,
my wide-brimmed
velvet hat and I  
discovered
what it was to fly.

Surging through moving sculptures
of clouds,
riding the Pan Am night
flight to London,
I was nine, and I was hooked.

Peter Pan was my secret love then.

I had saved my loose tooth
for the English tooth fairy, wishing
and hoping for an English penny.

Scones and bridges from my books
were real now to taste and see.

I began to write then, mostly
in my mind.

That was how I lived then,
and still do.

Finding and forming
words within for everything.

A sacred artesian spring,
i Fonti del Clitunno.
Perfection at Paestum.
Stonehenge,
when one could still
walk among those holy stones.

The early church of Santa Sabina,
whose high windows
transmit light
through membranes of mica.

The abiding silence
of these ancient, sacred places
  held me transfixed.

Continuity of time flowed,
like invisible honey,
all around me.

I wanted to taste it with my mind.
Know it with all of my being.
And one day, find the right words.
©Elisa Maria Argiro
Carl Halling Aug 2015
From morn to friendless night,
He tramps the streets,
Just in case he might
Come across her, he's a tragic sight,
But he doesn’t care,
Love gives him might,
He haunts the cafes and the discos
And the bars, so lovelorn.
                                                              
He knows that he won't find her,
But he's got to keep on trying,
It gives some meaning
To his life,
It gives some substance
To his time,
It is his motive, and his project,
And his plan, so lovelorn.
                                                              
He only met her once,
But it changed his life,
And it changed his type,
And it changed his mind,
And he threw it all up,
As if he'd gone insane,
And he took to the streets,
And another man was born.
                                                              
They say love comes but once
For some, but when it does,
It's like a mighty
Atom bomb inside,
A disease that seizes
A gentle soul,
And if it comes for you,
You'd better try to hide.
                                                              
From morn to friendless night,
He tramps the streets
Just in case he might
Come across her, he's a tragic sight,
But he doesn't care,
Love gives him might,
He haunts the cafes and the discos
And the bars, so lovelorn.
"Lovelorn in London Town" existed initially as part of a series of songs written in 2003, although the music had already been written for a different set of lyrics.
Dreams of Sepia Aug 2015
All the way past Westminster
the Thames breathes rain & clouds

                                                         ­                     & the grim reaper beckons
                                                         ­                        in the iron vein moonlight
& I, I,
an I is an Eye
                                                             ­                  open wide a thousand times
                                                           ­                   & the grim reaper beckoning
Basho & the Dalai lama
might help me find
                                                            ­                                 the restless gambler,
                                                        ­                                            cards in hand
or escape the ships
that never sail past the horizon,

                                                       ­                                                     tribunals
  ­                                                                 ­                            & looking out now
from Cabot tower now past Bristol & beyond
a homeless man sits waiting
                                                         ­                                                     paper cup
                                                             ­                                            & styrofoam
& Clocks do not
tell the time

                                                           ­                              they are merely told it
                                                              ­                  yet in their vanity proclaim that they alone are it's keepers
& our only friend & Nemesis
Peter Balkus Aug 2015
My time has come before I haven't had. So I sat in Oxford Circus
and watched men without home as they were passing by,
taking pictures of big screen above us,
where Katie Hopkins smiles.

My time has come and I didn't ask why I haven't come yet.
Who is to ask? Who is to blame, when no one knows the name of the game,
they just want to play, play, plaaaay.

I headed down the Regent Street
where hundreds in store and out store mannequins
were making a fuss. And man on the bus I looked at,
he looked at me but it was more like a glance.
Don't you wanna look at, or look inside? It's waste of time?
OK, so bye. Enjoy your ride. You're not from here, I know. How?
I know it, right?

I'll better go back under Katie Hopkins's smile,
where high and dry and where I can wait me never coming,
watching like broken mirrors shine.

If there's no heaven, then fine, cause I've found mine.
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