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I am
in Eden
a mother's
brother but
this chunnel
is surf
London would
scarf to
the sands
therein dawn
as their
bridge was
to cross
the air
with Tim
where in
Times Square
A town in London allied Thames
Miss Luna May 2019
Oh you,
delightful man -
you find beauty
in everything.

I hope, one day,
you'll be able
to see
beauty
also in me.
ls Mar 2019
Like the pages of the book we ruined that day in the rain
When we walked through the dark ***** streets in secret
Without a care for the downpour that endured
We are warped and the ink is smeared
Overcome with blackness and nothingness
Distorting and destroying the beauty that once lay there.

Our words are gone, just the memory of what lay there before
We were made of the weakest material
Paper wasn't made to last forever
Stone would have weathered the storm
But stone was too heavy for you to carry and not as poetic as paper
You always loved poetry, so how could you let the book, our poetry die like this?

You ignored the clouds before us and let it drown me
While you stood up on my shoulders to keep your head above the flood
Careless, you left our pages cockled after I carried us
Damaged beyond repair because of our - your ignorance to what encompassed us
Beauty in words couldn't protect us from the onslaught
That fate had set out for us
The perfect pathetic fallacy for the fairytale ending we never had.
Blake Henningsen Mar 2019
Lying on the rare
Psychedelic river named
Thames, I wept for life.

My mother called last
Night. She said Thames messes with
You, causes cancer.

She suffered from renal
Failure, after doing the same.
That is why I wept.

The cool, brown water
Washed over me. It rinsed my mind.
It tames me from me.

Revelation strikes
My heart, maybe I should leave
And never look back.
mderdun Feb 2019
St Paul stands
stiff as a stone
recovering from
centuries of sinful sorrow
buttocks bare
waiting next to an Itsu.
mderdun Feb 2019
6:56PM
Waterloo Bridge/Southbank
stone cold shells
with staircases of
helter skelter;
the thames is high
with christmastide
Lancaster Place
6:58PM
Northern Poet Feb 2019
Up north
There's this thing called queuing
Down south
It looks more like ******* looting
I can see the trouble brewing
Squeezing on the tube – can't even get my ******* shoe in
Some of these miserable ******* look like they need shooting
Stuck on the northern line back to Tooting
Colm Feb 2019
Did you know?

That those shimmering shining reflective lines
Are from the deepest puddles man has yet to know?

And yet we call them ghosts
Out of limelight fear
Not of London made
But no less below

For beneath every living thing there is this
A shadow
A shadow
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