"kensington" poems
t/w: violence, death
-
dear little miss dreamer
i'm sorry i couldn't write to you sooner
but yesterday night, i've read all three
each and every one of your letters
your mother sounds lovely
a brave woman, from what you've told me
if your brother comes by downtown
tell him, he's welcome to visit me
you have some big dreams
and i hope i can help them come true
i'm sorry i've been so busy
but i would truly love to meet you
you remind me of my wife
of her dreams when she was your age
we grew up together in center city
like you, she was wise beyond her days
i agree, we need to help kensington
and we've begun taking some small steps
i'm pushing for a new bill to pass
but it'll still take some time to prep
i know you mentioned drugs and violence
and yes, i agree, it's completely true
please stay safe and stay inside
it could help protect you
actually, that just reminded me about kensington
my wife had told me some shocking news
a mother chased to her kitchen counter
a little girl, shot, in the same view
i think she was writing a letter, too
but i don't quite remember who exactly to
it was titled, i think, "dear mister life-changer"
wait, it couldn't be— no, God, please, not you—
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 9:52 PM UTC
En robe de parade.
Samain
Like a skien of loose silk blown against a wall
She walks by the railing of a path in Kensington Gardens,
And she is dying piece-meal
of a sort of emotional anaemia.
And round about there is a rabble
Of the filthy, sturdy, unkillable infants of the very poor.
They shall inherit the earth.
In her is the end of breeding.
Her boredom is exquisite and excessive.
She would like some one to speak to her,
And is almost afraid that I
will commit that indiscretion.
4.3k
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were a very notorious couple
of cats.
As knockabout clown, quick-change comedians, tight-rope
walkers and acrobats
They had extensive reputation. They made their home in
Victoria Grove—
That was merely their centre of operation, for they were
incurably given to rove.
They were very well know in Cornwall Gardens, in Launceston
Place and in Kensington Square—
They had really a little more reputation than a couple of
cats can very well bear.
If the area window was found ajar
And the basement looked like a field of war,
If a tile or two came loose on the roof,
Which presently ceased to be waterproof,
If the drawers were pulled out from the bedroom chests,
And you couldn’t find one of your winter vests,
Or after supper one of the girls
Suddenly missed her Woolworth pearls:
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a very unusual gift of the
gab.
They were highly efficient cat-burglars as well, and
remarkably smart at smash-and-grab.
They made their home in Victoria Grove. They had no regular
occupation.
They were plausible fellows, and liked to engage a friendly
policeman in conversation.
When the family assembled for Sunday dinner,
With their minds made up that they wouldn’t get thinner
On Argentine joint, potatoes and greens,
And the cook would appear from behind the scenes
And say in a voice that was broken with sorrow:
“I’m afraid you must wait and have dinner tomorrow!
For the joint has gone from the oven-like that!”
Then the family would say: “It’s that horrible cat!
It was Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer!”— And most of the time
they left it at that.
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer had a wonderful way of working
together.
And some of the time you would say it was luck, and some of
the time you would say it was weather.
They would go through the house like a hurricane, and no sober
person could take his oath
Was it Mungojerrie—or Rumpelteazer? or could you have sworn
that it mightn’t be both?
And when you heard a dining-room smash
Or up from the pantry there came a loud crash
Or down from the library came a loud ping
From a vase which was commonly said to be Ming—
Then the family would say: “Now which was which cat?
It was Mungojerrie! AND Rumpelteazer!”— And there’s nothing
at all to be done about that!
2.8k
Lawrence Hall
[email protected]
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com
Peter Pan in Bowring Park
For Dan, who knows something of magic
“Do you want an adventure now,
or would like to have your tea first?”
-Peter Pan
Sweet little bunnies browse and squirrels climb
And tiny mice and fairies give delight
To all the little ones of Newfoundland
Who visit Peter Pan in Bowring Park
He plays his pipes for them, and they can hear
The joyful music of his magic world
Where they may celebrate their pixie-dreams
At this bright second star from Kensington
And sing in peace their happy morning hymn
For darling little Betty, who waits for them
...the history behind Bowring Park's Peter Pan statue? — Historic Sites Association of Newfoundland & Labrador
May 29, 2021
May 29, 2021 at 9:10 AM UTC
Peter never understood why Wendy was meant to grow up
why she had to leave the blissfulness of Neverland
If there's an answer to his questions it would be that
she was dreaming of castles and voyages and someone to love
while he was mischieving pirates,chasing a never setting sun
I often wander if I'm more like her,
sincere, gentle, a duchess-to-be
a young girl who dwells in stories
or like the boy who wouldn't grow up,
nonchalant, full of lovely wonderful thoughts,
Peter Pan,the one who could fly
But what did he do when she left?
Is she a beautiful memory in a child's mind,
why didn't he abandon immortality for love?
Here's Wendy, back in Kensington Gardens
a lady asking herself what if I had stayed
why couldn't he abandon youth for her love?
And she will forever remain in his mind as a little girl,
who played family with and dreamed
but Wendy will be married and will be kissed
but not with him.
And Peter will always be a chasing dream,
a fairyland with pirates and ships,
a world of villains, mermaids and the boy who
didn't return her kiss.
I read, imagining his crooked smile growing up
or her staying forever
and none of these feels completely right
In the end, I am another lost boy who went to Neverland,
and flew and fought with a sword, and swam with mermaids
and danced around fire with the eyes of Tiger Lilly
Sometimes there I return, finding him lost in her thoughts,
but there again everyone's forgotten among the things we never say...
Aug 30, 2014
Aug 30, 2014 at 2:08 PM UTC
In the ashes of division hope ignited
Unity decided a new fate, in its wake.
My father lived in Chester Road,
Off Ladbrook Grove, eight children
In a tenament flat back to back.
The poverty of the forties are
Now palatial palaces, white pillared.
My father joined the army to escape
To marry and move to Streatham,
South London, to an Edwardian terrace.
Notting Hill, the divided community
Chelsea and Kensington let it happen.
My grandmother moved to a new town
And this year we all watched on TV
Grenfell burn as an inferno in the dark.
Love Mary
Jun 14, 2018
Jun 14, 2018 at 12:48 PM UTC
“It's very difficult not to come across as a supremacist when there are so many black inferiorists around.”
― David Bullard
Look!..he's a leech, he's a parasite
That black man is draining the Taxpayers
He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled
Look at him, educated and refined, arrogant as black ****
Go get him, the ******* parasite cheating the working classes
Why not tell the ******* truth
That a white family of thieves broke into the flat of a black man
Something that they had done once already and caught but let off
Because they were neighbours and pitied, police were not involved
They did it again and were called thieving working class scums
Up comes hail and thunder and war
Their Militant leftist friends say it Anti-monarchy Revolution
Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes
Go get him, his life destroy, cast him asunder, hound him to hell
Down with the rich, this is war, people's power, this is democracy
LIES, HOGWASH, DISINGENUOUS ******** RACIST CRAP
They can't bear to see a black man do well
They can't bear a respectable, decent, confident black man
To then stand up and call them out to their faces was the ultimate
They are supreme and all else must fall before them or put down
A black that is not a Black Inferiorist must be discredited at all cost
If the situation was reversed
And a black thief steals from an equivalent white with same status
( He comes from a rich family, they say they are titled )
Would the reactions be the same
(Say's victim is a parasite and a leech, robbing the working classes )
Honesty says NO, you know it and we all know it
(Supremacy has taught him that all people of color are threats irrespective of their behavior. Capitalism has taught him that, at all costs, his property can and must be protected. Patriarchy has taught him that his masculinity has to be proved by the willingness to conquer fear through aggression)
But the black man becomes a leech, a parasite a threat
For standing up to white criminals and daring to call them out
Devious political chicanery is unleashed and our Supremacists
All rally up, totting falsehood and misinformation to cover truths
Why don't see any Class war action in Kensington and Chelsea
What really bothers some of you is simple - and you corrupt others
Blacks must always be inferior and if they are not, you fight secretly and covertly!
Because only you have the God given right to live decently
Only you have the right to air your opinion or disagreement
Only you have the right to call it as you think you see it.
And you'll fight tooth and nail and with everything else to keep
it that way!
Jan 5, 2019
Jan 5, 2019 at 10:02 AM UTC
Hop hopeless off the L
searching for hell
"works" "works"
"subs" "subs"
"Bars" "Bars"
"Xanny Bars"
The Avenue Chant
Howl the diseased infected addicted ****
The Avenue Chant
an open drug bazaar is a beautiful thing for one playing the beautiful *****
Requiem for a Nightmare
You ask what I need
knowing what I want
Hop down the corner
You know the best spot
they got the fire
I got a house to burn
You ask, can I get one?
I think in first person with a laugh
perhaps I would give you a leg for one
I see you could use it
We keep walking
you keep limp, limp, limping down....
Cambria
Crutches clacking off the littered decaying pavement
The boys are out in town (when aren't they)
the block is hot (as always)
I wait around the corner
You do my ***** business
Our ***** business
Everyones ***** business
You swing back, deed done, dirt in hand
awwww
yeahhhhh
the stamp is cobra
I remember this **** mm.
this **** is good
The printed snake swims up and out
siphoned from a tiny
baby
blue
bag
cleansing all insecurities, all fear, all humanity.
We limp along
You tell me how you ended up on these streets
wife kicked you out, job fired you, veterans insurance cut you.
The American dream as it looks, on Kensington streets,
circa2013
etc. etc. etc
I feel bad, but, not really, emotional skeleton,
Numbed.
I leave you with some rocks, not much,
then go off kicking
rocks all the way Redrocks
H>O<W
long can I continue without being caught in crosstalk.
A skinny white privileged boy from the suburbs
seeing his future
trotting away before his eyes
The
everlasting
haunting
crouching
limping
creature of death
A
rotten
old one
legged
......junk
Y
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:05 PM UTC
please note: t/w: violence
-
dear mister life-changer
how have you been?
i know you never answer
but i wanted to try again
introducing myself for the fourth time
i'm a small girl with big dreams
my dad walked out when i was real young
my mum hopes i'll have an easier living
i'm in kensington, philly
it's not a nice place to grow up
with drugs, gangs, and guns
my older brother once even got mugged
i'm writing from my little closet
my mum said it's for me to be safe
but i hate being alone in this place
it's such a small, empty space
a couple of gunshots outside
it's like this every other night
brother's not home right now
but i sure hope that he's alright
there's a clicking noise
it doesn't sound very nice
i hear footsteps down the hall
they're not mum's, they're too light
mister life-changer, i think that might be my brother
he told me you could make things right
but why don't you ever write back to me?
why don't you ever reply?
i want to tell you my dreams
i heard you can make them come true
just give me one chance, sir
it's worth it, i'll show you
i dream of a big wide world
where i can walk outside and not be afraid
a world big enough for every little brown girl
to skip down sidewalks and enjoy the day
i hope to move to the suburbs
buy a big house for mum one day
buy her leather bags and pretty dresses
and not a single cent she'll have to pay
-
dear mister life-changer
i'm sorry there's blood on this paper
mum's bleeding out in the kitchen
someone shot her at the counter
mister life-changer
they told me to wait
i called the life-savers
they said, just wait
i don't know what to do
so now i'm back to writing to you
will you ever make a change?
will you tell me to wait, t—
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 9:26 PM UTC
I saw Stewart and Maud under a locust tree in Kensington market.
They had new bicycles. She leaned her sweaty, curly head on his bicep.
They had baguettes, flowers, asparagus and apples from the farm booths in their packs,
Buzet and Minervois from the liquor store, library books. They had life-loving things.
He says that for him this new life is instead of being an artist in Paris:
Backpacks, bicycles, the look of young lovers. The little possessions
That don't feel like a car or a house. They are wearing bright white t shirts
And denim overalls. His children are confused. They have little money.
He joined the many who have refused to be punished for a mistake.
My friend Stewart lives with a university student.
You get to their Annex apartment up iron stairs bolted to the
Outside of a building of old brick coloured like a driftwood campfire. The bed's iron.
She's been an adult for seven years. Iron, bricks, flowers, white iron bed,
Stewart has the skills to make it good, he's done this before, made the Muskoka
Chairs, the harvest tables, and sold them, repaired window frames and doors,
Advertised in supermarkets. He likes to breathe, to drink water, to cut wood and dress it,
To study, to read, to live well with a woman, to write in the evening, to make life like art.
Paul Anthony Hutchinson
www.paulanthonyhutchinson.com
copyright Paul Anthony Hutchinson
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
born into nothing
still got most
made it to the bottom
from the starting post
expectation throttled
expected overdose
no escape
cant evade
foundations were imposed
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:56 AM UTC
I didn’t live long
Or so it seemed
I laughed, I cried
I hoped, I dreamed
At Kensington Palace
I had tea with the Queen
And over in Scotland
Nessie and I made a scene
I flew over wild plains
On my way to Timbuktu
I took on Niagara Falls
In a canoe
I played with the bulls
In my time in Spain
And while in Africa
I saw the rain
In San Francisco
I roller bladed the slopes
To the Golden Gate Bridge
Where I swung on the ropes
I built a snowman
That was Himalayan
I slept under the stars
Amongst ruins that were Mayan
In New York to the lovely lady
I sent a smile and a wink
In Rome at the Vatican
It made me think
That while in Ireland
Oh the beauty I found
I never really felt
My feet touch the ground
I never left my hometown
Or so it seems
But I did live it all
In my dreams
05/03/2010
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 1:00 AM UTC
Familiar strangers are everywhere.
Some look like you,
remind me of you.
On Kensington Avenue
there is a man
I have talked to.
Why?
Perhaps because I thought
he looked a bit like you.
Though he was much older.
He could almost be a much older you...
He could almost be your dad..
maybe...
He is a shopkeeper
In the market
of finely hand-crafted bags.
The market...
One of my favourite places to be.
So many interesting people
So many curious places.
You would love it here.
The man was so friendly.
His deep brown eyes
just like yours.
He gave me perfume.
Remember I told you
about the perfume I was wearing?
It was years ago...
but I remember.
He was a man on Kensington Ave.
A familiar stranger.
Friendly to me.
Perhaps I was too friendly to him.
He reminded me of you.
And sent me into
this nostalgic wander.
Your eyes.
I miss your eyes.
I miss your messy hair.
I miss your voice.
I'm crazy.
I miss you.
****** I'm crazy.
I wish this bitter-sweet nostalgia
would end.
Because it's not like
I am ever to see or hear
from you...
ever again.
All because I walked down Kensington Ave.
And met that friendly man.
Jan 17, 2013
Jan 17, 2013 at 12:04 AM UTC
In August 1997,
At a Parisian site,
Fate ****** the world to mourn—
Just past the stroke of midnight.
A beautiful princess
At soaring height
Suddenly lost
Her earthly light.
Sunday ended
Her mortal plight—
She breathe her last
And then took flight.
A kindly woman—
Full of life.
A doting mother,
And longing wife.
Her adorable sons,
Two young lads,
Were left, solely,
In care of their Dad.
The world noted
The touch of her hand—
The generous heart
She shared with man.
Heads of state—
Moved with tears—
Honored the Princess'
Fruitful years.
America, France,
Africa too—
Reflected upon
The Diana they knew.
She touched lepers,
Which royals forbade,
Embraced the homeless
And victims of AIDS.
An image of beauty.
A charming dove.
A woman of courage.
A token—beloved.
In the eyes of children,
Diana stood tall.
She won their hearts,
And loved them all.
With plenty to offer,
She traveled a lot—
‘Twas everywhere.
Then, she was not.
A pilgrimage came
Day and night,
With oceans of gifts
For tribute sites.
They stood for hours
In sorted lines,
To leave expressions
In books signed.
On September 6,
Fans of Di
Flooded the UK
For a final goodbye.
The jammed cortege
Was over three miles:
Kensington to Abby.
At Saint James she lie.
Many knew her
And many did not,
But all mourned
The fate of her lot.
Cher'shed impressions
Upon the world.
A legacy of hope
By a British girl.
A precious jewel,
A towering steeple.
Forever the 'Princess…
Of the People.'
-Walterrean Salley
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 2:23 AM UTC
I
Hero
in
Hero
He struts into a meeting feeling meek and needy but,
greater than the digit zero.
He figits around not breaking much mental ground although,
these restless legs could corrode the tiles to dust.
Nothing has been able to hold his attention,
they call it ADD.
He calls it the human condition.
He sees fear in a spoon full of dust,
shrugs it off continuing to pump veins full of rust.
Packs a bag and gives sister a hug,
trudge down under I95 reaching Broad to south Philly,
to be at peace and tormoil living amongst the crust.
II
Trying marijuana maintenance
Trying therapeutic intervention
Trying geographical relocation
Trying to be happy.
A pale king in the end a peasant feeling sappy.
He writes
He fights
To the bitter end he sees too many loved ones send,
Letters from the graves they dig for themselves.
An addiction which cannot bend and always leaves
Them broken.
These letters represent a token of hope to overcome
Dope, from beyond this temporal transient world,
He receives these letters.
Don’t give up! Don’t give in!
Written, in beautiful otherworld cursive.
III
These restless legs can wear the cotton sheets
To fractured fibers.
A splintered conscience,
A glint of hope,
These trans-dimensional letters arrive on a silver rope.
The pale king takes it all in with no buffering
And dismisses his selfish suffering.
He has won
He is the hero of this story.
The pale king who once strolled the Kensington
Streets less than zero.
Is now a ****** hero.
Rally around this man,
A clan of beautiful addicts,
Laughing and not being normal,
Who wants a life which is normal?
All his friends
All his friends
All my friends
The memories together blend,
In the end our fuck-ups make us stronger,
Than the accountant making ends meet in a
Culd-a-sac street sign labeled dead end.
We spent the last ten years trying to feel alive,
And will spend the next ten feeling justly deprived.
His letters scream to defend:
That it is all well worth it, in the end.
Where are those friends tonight?
He visits them at their headstones,
Reminded where it leads, a life being ******
Shivering cold to the bone,
Hot sweats dripping down flannel folds,
All we wanted was to break the mold.
He is more than a statistic of decimals and
Digits, greater than the sum of zero.
He is the ****** hero.
No longer
Less
Than
Zero.
Nov 22, 2015
Nov 22, 2015 at 10:45 PM UTC
Burts bees mint lip balm, I can still feel it, smell it, as if it were on me,
And I sit there and watch her overly apply it on her lips, I can feel the presence of
Innocence and bike riding up the winding trails towards Kensington and
there should have been a sign that told me to stop where I was going, to prevent
me from traveling to a different state of mind where affection was insignificant
and where losing myself was a crime
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 12:35 PM UTC
To the victims during the Boston Marathon, April 15, 2013,
Children of Boston
Children of Euston
Children of Kingston
Boys of Mesa
Boys of Tuy Hoa
Boys of Kalba
Teenagers of Kyoto
Teenagers of Toronto
Teenagers of Lesotho
Wives of Berlin
Wives of Kremlin
Wives of Yulin
Humans of the world
Let us spare one word
Let us pray,
From Larissa
To South Kensington
From Tokay
To Grafton
Humans of the world
Let us spare one word
For the children of Boston.
April 15, 2013
Montpellier, France
Nov 28, 2015
Nov 28, 2015 at 9:19 AM UTC
Henry The Eight
passed through the gates,
of a lost
and broken town.
A grin upon a hollow face,
another jewel upon the crown.
And as he rode high on his horse.
A royal nose
raised to the sky.
An Irishman upon the crowd,
was plotting out
his way to die.
He'd followed him from Kensington...
a thousand paces.....
well behind.
Hiding in the shadows...
everyone at home in mind.
With every step
a memory,
another valid reason why.
He kissed the cross
hung from his neck,
knowing he was going to die.....
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 5:26 PM UTC
the outside of the house
was looking rather dull
and over a color chart
I did ponder and mull
a shade of maroon
made for great appeal
so did a rich shade
of Kensington teal
with the color decided
for the paint job
into the local hardware store
I did nonchalantly lob
the chap behind the counter
asked if he could assist
I said of course you can
as I waved my wrist
we walked to the paint and putty
section of the store
where there were gallons of paint
sitting on the floor
we discussed the advantages
and disadvantages of exterior gloss
and I opted for a shade
known by the name of Rock Moss
the paint was placed in the trunk
of my Nissan four wheel drive
I then set out for home with a paint
which would bring my house alive
the overalls that were in the tool shed
I quickly hauled on
and I proceeded to paint
the exterior walls with great aplomb
there I was on ladder high
slapping the paint brush around
when all of a sudden
I landed face first on the ground
the house painting job
came to an abrupt finish
ye olde ladder and I parted company
after the skirmish
a painting contractor is finalizing
what I didn't quite complete
and by next Friday week
he'll have the outside of the house looking neat
it has been an adventure
improving the exterior of my home
yet I wouldn't have had the adventure
but for the ladder wanting to roam
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 18, 2014 at 7:24 AM UTC
you told me
lies
in my body
getting to high
forgetting how the rays of sun
feel
this smoke is making me look old
and now the clouds
cry forever
you told me
we laugh
crying like those clouds
forever
shiver down my skin
you kiss the clouds
forever
you told me
lies
in my body
hiding in the dark
getting to high
forever
Mar 23, 2014
Mar 23, 2014 at 11:29 AM UTC
I want to go exploring in the deep green woods
Where the leaves shuffle past on your feet, on your toes
Where the yellow streetlights and the red ones fade
Deer graze in the cracks at Kensington Station
Birds nest between the wheels of the dead railway
I want your lips against mine in the silence
In these hollow spaces, the reclaimed world
Bark peeling, sprouts, on the wood house beams
Colour of rust and liveliness, womb of ours, heart of ours
Greenboro metal on the slatted tracks
Jul 16, 2020
Jul 16, 2020 at 11:18 AM UTC
I miss my best friend;
She brought adventure to my life
We hiked Machu Picchu and Kokoda,
Tasted dumplings in dippings
at Holy Duck! in Kensington.
We were close for eight years:
Preempting needs - bringing her back a lg, skinny cap
after my morning walk around the Kirribilli shoreline.
But somewhere along the way,
I lost myself in her —
Love turned to hate.
She didn't see me, need me, want me anymore
And it became too late…
I miss her!
Well,
The idea of her anyway...
Jun 29, 2024
Jun 29, 2024 at 12:39 AM UTC
we have the same birth chart,
her and i.
she and me.
hands clasped together at kensington row
aries sun, aries moon
and gemini venus
and scorpio mars
together, both with black hair
Aug 16, 2022
Aug 16, 2022 at 9:59 PM UTC