Life is fair,
when the day is dying,
and I can see pigs flying
over Trafalgar Square.
The fountain is singing,
the drunkard is drinking,
the homeless sparechanging
Sir Nelson is chilling.
The busker is screaming
and blind men are dreaming
The moon is starwatching.
The buskers Beatlesing.
my rounded dreams
Nothing is as real as it seems.
'Are you pleasing those Lions?'
She thinks to herself under Nelson's Column.
'I am no hero of the Nile, nor of Trafalgar. I am an empty vessel.'
City of Angels, yet full of devils. Will she find the exit from Oblivion, in those molten, vermillion revels?
'And will you climb that stairway to heaven? Is it true that what glitters is gold?'
That golden dust, which lies on her beside table, sedative for her sorrows.
'Oh he was a foul coxcomb. England expects every heart will follow its duty!'
She is followed, by those feral eyes;
Those on the underground, those in the streets
And those who she will wish
her eyes will never meet.
This short poem was partially inspired by one of my favourite songs from The Doors called 'Hyacinth House' whereby Jim Morrison expresses loneliness and the nature of being judged by others based on careers, personalities and relationships. I combined this with the strong presence of the lions in Trafalgar Square in London, which have a intimidating appearance and represent the strength of the British Empire. These eyes of judgement seem to pierce through the speaker in this poem who is being criticised by the personified statues for being unworthy of recognition.
This year was different
or was it me?
same Trafalgar crowds
full of afterthoughts
I could almost touch
like rusting leaves
on winter's breath
on our bench
lovers kissed shyly
Valentine's heart pounding
in a fledgling chest
I wondered if she were me
willing me to remember
hugging him close
to melt inside her happiness
old words, love and burger-boxes
where do they go?
It's a sad Valentine's poem.
There is a video version of this poem on my blog at
tickled pink if you visit!
Cold marble steps, brisk evening air.
hot chocolate with cream you didn't ask for.
The Canadian Embassy
casting glittering lights across the fountain waters.
Faint indigo sky,
laughing about the Renaissance,
falling asleep on the Bakerloo.
— The End —