"westminster" poems
Like tigers scratching over scraps,
The fat cats posture and hiss
Over who gets the favoured meat
From the cows nervously
Chewing the cud, scuffing their hooves,
Pacing the green and pleasant hills,
No longer fooled by the purring soothe.
Each tiger takes a swipe,
Claws trailing blood lines
Over fatted flanks of meat
Of the cows hiding
In their homes, in their fields,
Pacing the mud that replaced the trees,
Not picked for need, instead for yield.
The fat cats grow full on our flesh.
I hope they choke on it.
Get it while it’s fresh.
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 5:42 PM UTC
When poets die
It's sad and true,
It matters not
What their bodies do,
The spirit flies
To Poet's Corner,
In Westminster Abbey.
You'll not see
Busts or inscriptions
For all the poets
Whose spirits linger
Alongside Chaucer, Browning, Spencer,
And a myriad of authors.
Dead Poet you have earned your share;
Dead Poet I will know you're there,
Composing in the Laureate's lair.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 26, 2015 at 12:33 PM UTC
My poor, stupid poodle,
peed on the pedestal
of Cleopatra's needle
on Victoria embankment,
near the Golden Jubilee bridge.
( Oh! I am miserable!
I couldn't stop the debacle)
The poodle's puny misdeed
embarrassed not just me,
but the whole city of Westminster,
as fire alarm rang out loud,
when an overzealous constable
gave a distress signal.
It brought the fire chief himself,
who came rushing to meet
the emergency situation,
thinking the poodle was trying
to put out a fire erupted
on the ancient monument,
once shipped to England,
overcoming great adversities,
from Africa, long back.
Dec 17, 2012
Dec 17, 2012 at 11:31 PM UTC
*(Not a home, I said.
An address.
The badges and the blossoms
Bragged ‘excess’.
Etched into every tree
The word:
S U C C E S S)*
I am London
And he is me,
Not ever knowing which London to be,
A button eyed orphan,
A one man band,
A Dickensian madman
Whey-faced and untanned.
I was a Ruby Infant,
(Montpelier)
Via turreted school
(Machiavellian lair)
My conspiracy of ravens
The guardians of lore,
Falling in feathers
To a barbershop floor.
My mind is confetti -
From each Westminster wedding,
Each pill, each stumble,
A little be-heading.
I first kissed a girl in Trafalgar Square
And the memory of her is still there in the air,
In the backdrops of photographs snapped up by tourists,
In the lost eyes of pigeons,
(I know it, I’m sure of it -
because I know London
And he knows me -
We flow into each other
Like the Thames, to the sea).
Gobstopper ******** in Whitechapel lanes,
Knee-deep in the streets, leaving opal-ghost stains,
The bleeding graffiti of Mary Jane Kelly,
Our deaths, our murders,
So many, so many...
Bells,
Chiming,
Dark
Oubliettes,
Cradle me, London,
My bowed silhouette,
Settle me down
in your newspaper bed,
Love me,
Watch over me,
And when I am dead,
Make me a martyr,
Smooth out my head
Swallow me up in your gum studded streets,
Somewhere busy where I can feel millions of feet
Treading into me,
Over and
Over again,
And every so often, now and then,
Play out your bells for my syllables four,
*Ding **** ding ****
Four and no more,
To remind yourself, London,
Of silly old me,
Who like you,
Never knew,
Which London to be.
Sep 9, 2013
Sep 9, 2013 at 10:56 AM UTC
For therapy i call the fire brigade to
to inform them Westminster bridge
here i come
and daydream of pushing nannies
and their charges towards tumbling waterfalls
and with my friend Judy
we watch tall men jump over ditches of dahlias
in the foggy dew
for no other reason than
we want to be amused.
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 4:29 PM UTC
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent , bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky,
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did the sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
2k
Elizabeth;
Of immensely esteemed birth.
Highly respected in life,
but more respected in death.
Having a crown that ceased to decay
for many decades long.
A queen of kings, but still a wife,
custodian of traditions strong.
She that saw historic anniversaries,
She that saw millennial discoveries,
She that transcends previous monarchies
in length of days and pivotal reign.
Queen of a realm of historic gains,
where the sun never sets on their plains.
All to Westminster their griefs convey
to our departed who countless smiles gave.
And for your funeral would many for death crave.
Dec 12, 2022
Dec 12, 2022 at 3:09 PM UTC
Ole Hunchback
Got a right Royal burial;
That smiling villain's bones
Bleached black-blonde
In underground parking.
Exhumed and parlayed
For over two years;
Confirmed to be he
Who caused a Queen
To cry vats of tears
For the Tower boys.
Poor Anne dropped her hankie.
His horse-drawn caisson
Is a subterfuge,
A distraction to veil
Civil dissatisfaction.
He finally got his horse,
And we get the droppings.
And I see Cromwell
Standing beside Churhill
And Charles ouside
Westminster.
Perhaps Manson
Will be busted
In Poet's Corner.
Mar 31, 2015
Mar 31, 2015 at 9:22 AM UTC
Tonight Guy Fawkes might get it right,
it's bonfire night.
Westminster,
the stage is set,
place your bets before the bang or hang old ***** high.
At Mansion House before fine fare,
sit politicians gorging there and getting fat from this,my land and I stand here with hand held out,
a teapot of a man with drooping spout and wilting will,
still,
Fawkes the hawk may walk the walk and then we'll see the ******** talk, when Parliament goes up in smoke,
Oh Guido,Guido take a match
don't let the watchmen catch you creeping,with lit taper,or you'll be 'sleeping with the fish'
It's bonfire night tonight
I do wish Guy Fawkes gets it right
and one more time,
't would be no crime
to light the fuse
and run.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 1:12 AM UTC
The clock struck mid-night London on the cheeks of her rosy smile. Glancing at Big Ben her high heels shined posh over the moon. Bold, intelligent and independent she stood at the corner of Westminster and Margret upon a shadow that faded her invisible to the alley of the big black door. She wanted a walk on the wild….. so with crimson lips the brazen beauty blew a kiss that knocked deaths door three times firm.
Beauty: Hello sweetheart. Could you be a doll and crack the bolt. She playfully inquired.
Death’s Door: ****** off!” I’m tired and about to hit the rack!
Beauty: "Eee you cheeky monkey" Do not play coy! For you may be a Fit Bloke for most but I’m
Karen Wankerstien the sexiest women in England! Crack the bolt I say!!!
Death’s Door: Who?
Beauty: Don’t be a ****** I’m Karen Wankerstien, business women of the year and the toast of this year’s Queen Charlotte Ball! Crack the bolt I say!!
Death’s Door: Who?
Beauty: You Nitwit. You know me well. It’s me Karen!
Death’s Door: OOO Hi Karen!!! You know I don’t recognize any of those fancy titles! For once you pass through these doors they all vanish. It’s best you live your life for the unseen beauty that never fades! “Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the Lord, she shall be praised.” (proverbs 31).
Then crack goes the deadbolt! Fluttering her spine with the momentary thrill that danced upon the sun-rise of her temporal fairy-tale identity.
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 7:57 PM UTC
1011
She rose as high as His Occasion
Then sought the Dust—
And lower lay in low Westminster
For Her brief Crest—
1.5k
I didn't write this work, it was written by my dear friend Carole Hurley who has been having a problem posting
I sit on the top deck of a red London bus and view the world passing by, so much more interesting than a drive in a car.
Where are they all coming from, the people I see? Where are they going to, what do they do with their lives? These people I view.
That little old couple, side by side holding hands. They look so content as they walk down the Strand.
The young men and women hurrying by, perhaps going to work, maybe going to buy a sandwich to eat in the park.
Tourists in their thousands viewing our London sites. I wonder where do they all go to at night.
I gaze eagerly down as we pass famous stores, their names proudly emblazoned over the doors.
I love the hustle and bustle of our London town, a wonderful mix of the old and the new, I try to absorb all the breathtaking views.
Theres Tower Bridge in her livery of gold and of blue, her ramps held aloft as a ship passes through.
Whitehall where the soldier high on his horse so proud and so still, while tourists take photographs later to view.
Big Ben chimes as the Houses of Parliament we pass. Westminster Abbey so stately and tall, for hundreds of years overlooking it all, the laughter the sadness, the tears and the fears.
I look at new buildings all made out of glass. I look at it free courtesy of my free bus pass.
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 5:59 AM UTC
Look.
Look again.
Don't avert your eyes.
Don't keep scrolling.
A boy alone on a beach.
A product of the dry cheeks of Westminster.
Let the image burn.
Burn until you can't escape it.
Burn until it consumes you.
Until it's all you can picture,
until you finally regain a pulse.
Let the sirens inside you begin as you look,
Let the fire of sadness and anger tear through your veins as you look,
Feel your heart pour out into the image as you look,
Picture his mother, childless as you look,
Picture this thousands and thousands times more as you look,
And keep looking...
N.Hedges
Sep 4, 2015
Sep 4, 2015 at 8:53 PM UTC
Heaven high whale bones
Gilded detailed domes
Anglo catacombs
The coronation throne
The stone of scone
All the kings
Forever
Beside
The poets.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 10:22 AM UTC
Towers burn and
the graves give up
their dead.
Biblical science.
Too hot to protest about
climate change.
Good Friday ghosts
clank chains in Westminster.
Lady Liberty's ****
fondled by tiny orange hands.
Nail bombs, acid and
vehicular homicide.
Armed police guarding Starbucks.
The vanishing hope of
finding a cure, or
even getting a doctor’s appointment.
Bees disappearing and
rivers running dry.
Refugees vilified, oligarchs welcome.
Fox playing
the most gorgeous HD footage
of The End Of Days.
Rage and no rage.
Fake news and alternative facts.
The criminalisation
of irony.
Inevitable Quisling betrayal.
Nihilism as a punchline.
Time to birth yourself
from the
Womb of the Echo Chamber,
maybe?
Please stop trying to pretend
that anything about this
is normal.
Jul 21, 2017
Jul 21, 2017 at 1:51 PM UTC
Earth has not anything to show more fair:
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth like a garment wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!
1.2k
Bending my brain to a mighty confusion
Casting tangential thoughts back through the years,
Try to come to terms with opposing profusion
From the conquering of Everest to Locherbie’s tears.
From soaring the heights in the conquest of cancer
To scouring the depths of depravity’s bin,
In rescuing pilot pods beached at the isthmus
To severing heads in The Killing Field sin.
How man can conceive of a Monet’s magnificence
Yet “Zeig Heil” the field grey of Germany’s brute,
Whilst fashioning spires of Westminster’s cathedral
To pushing ******* in a blue, pin striped suit?
A tenderness shown to a toddler at bedtime
Depravity’s best when they used Zyclone B,
The grace of His Holiness blessing the children
Hiroshima’s glowing from mountain to sea.
This weft in the weave of the psyche of the people,
This black and the white and the right and the wrong,
As long as he breathes on this beautiful planet
Man’s behavioural leap will determine the song.
The yin and the yan, the fall of the domino
Depicting the way the human mind bends,
The roll of the dice and the fall of the cards
Shall determine the outcome… in the way it all ends.
Marshalg
Pukehana Paradise
Auckland
NEW ZEALAND
25th January 2014
Jan 24, 2014
Jan 24, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
If you go down to Westminster today you're in for a big surprise
If you can stand the stench, you will not believe your eyes
For all the MPs who have lied and lied have all quit before the people uprise
For this is the week that parliament collapses.
******** it time for the Blairites, who don't know who to back for their best
******** it time for the Tories, as Daves walked away from his mess
The Labour deputy is such a coward and like the chancellor has lost his voice
Because they realise the people no longer want them.
So if you go south to parliament you best beware of knives
Labour have turned into Tories and only Jezza survives.
They think they can push him off a cliff, more chance of Dave being stuck in a pig
The week the war came back to haunt the Blairites!
But if go down to tip you hat and stand against Corbyn
Beware back home they petittion to do you knees like you did his
Your voters whom you have ignored and ignored are looking to throw you out the door
So grab your coat and don't forget your sister!!!!
But one more thing if you think this is cut and drawn
Remember Farage, Boris Gove and the irritable bowel one
None have so far grown a pair, they want to give someone else the blame
Because half the country has changed its mind again!!!
Jul 9, 2016
Jul 9, 2016 at 5:38 PM UTC
Zibbyzabby
Pontchartrain
Westminster Abby
Carpool lane
Sixty four g
No-fly zone
Zingaboppy
Rent-to-own.
Lay down a beat
Make some noise
Out of my seat
Girls and boys
Empty calories
Some free radicals
Kiss your babies
Separate but equal
Bippilyboppidout
Sannabannazoomie
Half a bannable
Yastagoochie.
Fastagammarama
Wammadammaboosa.
Crestarestalini
Totally organic loofa.
Locomotion ocean
Witchyglitchystuff
Beedee essem
Treatemkindarough.
Hepanepa plop
Simulated leather
Random drug tests
Keep it all together.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 1:52 PM UTC
Pedophiles in Westminster
All nicely covered up
Now it's the royal family
Will it ever stop
The thin blue line is broken
It's more like dot to dot
Then insult to injury
They give one of them a gong!
We earned the right to wear blue serge
With blood sweat and tears
It isn't cosplay for us
The uniform is real.
You say crime is falling
Your figures aren't real!!
So lament the passing of Dixon of Dock Green
You sold out to the Joker
there's no laughing here.
Jan 4, 2015
Jan 4, 2015 at 2:48 PM UTC
I see the mechanical men that peddle the illusion of wheels which drive down to the crankshaft,staffed by robbers and thieves that steal into the day putting a tax on the way you would speak,
and I peek in through the keyhole of Whitehall, dragging the chain and the ball that is tied to my leg,and sooner or later I will beg for some leeway from the mandarins but they'll say,
'Go away little man,we are the mechanical men in the doing of things and we'll bring blood and thunder,put you down 'til you go under,don't bother us now',
I have bowed to their power and ****** on their shoes,I choose not to be used by the ones who abuse the privilege of rank and position.
Please tell me that this is not true,
that the election of robots to Westminster is actually down to me and to people like you, and we get what we vote for,the
***** dealing,wheeling out manifestos,posing for papers,oil cans for arseholes and bolts for their braces,automatic voices,you've got so many more choices than this shower of ****
do your bit,a bit of research,search online, easy most of the time,vote for them and you'll vote for anyone,vote for anyone but,
the mechanical men have replicated in them and all is lost,we are screwed,might as well use the suicide pill.
I will.
Nov 16, 2013
Nov 16, 2013 at 4:15 PM UTC
***** got Fawked
somebody talked
to the Feds
and what did we get?
reds under the beds
missile attacks
packs of madmen
running free
zone one could be
so nice,
but
Westminster was saved
because some daft sod
raved about
*****
Jun 17, 2016
Jun 17, 2016 at 12:26 PM UTC
When asked
why she did not marry
the Duke of Westminster?
Coco Chanel replied:
*There have been many
"Duchesses of Westminster,"
But there is only one
Coco Chanel*.
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 2:37 AM UTC
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
Aug 18, 2015
Aug 18, 2015 at 2:49 PM UTC