His felt hat brought face to face with life 's equalities

Fell in the river

Excess of emotion betrayed him

I collected her prancing up and down

The source of so much happiness

Made him wince

Look of ineffible boredom

There is no excuse for ignorance

Says so little without deliberation

Nothing scamped

Evidently reciprocated

Is there a Train in the morning


Vapid and supine

Victorian morality applied

Trunk of Harlot loomed out of the dark


We don't take much account of time

A few heavy stones will stop the roof from blowing off

Pictorial language


Seances in Stepney Green

Admire their old mentors

Marble aluminium recurs

Draped female figures

In a Confectioner's Shop


The game is over

Garbo corseted in afternoon Lucheon

Veiled, uncovered the mystery

Volley of sneezes wearing old gloves


Tackle the glamorous look

Gone with the wind


Ostrich plume, billowing feathered cape

Sauntered down the fire escape

Subdued sparkle,  deep folds of Tulle

Is there a Train in the morning


Revelation of Angels with banners

Imagination,  recumbant King

Broke through the usual customs

Tone that shrouds

Self satisfaction

The Telegram reads

"Tittalilating triumph"

The debonair refuse to split tacks

Eat her away greedily in the storm

A catch in his voice

Hopping from twig to twig

Fritillaries flitting fancifully

Run in my boy and fetch my sword


Dearest I never will

Eat Strawberries all day long

In and out of Piccadilly between Russia and the deep blue sea

Folk shouted obscenities down Jermyn Street

I cannot endure tyranny

The sun has set

The game is over

Is there a Train in the morning



The End

0 comments about this poem Feed