There was an old person of Bromley,
Whose ways were not cheerful or comely;
He sate in the dust,
Eating spiders and crust,
That unpleasing old person of Bromley.

Bromley pale marmalade
on rye bread
in tupperware containers,
flasks of milky tea too.
Pens and paper at the ready to review places:
Anglesley Abbey and Borde Hill
visited on alternating months.
Gardens so awe inspiring
their visual consolation  
so uplifting,
manna for the mind
and deadlines for the
horticultural society review.

'Next station is Bromley
South.' Cancel all my
appointments, Doris, I've
got the runs and my fault
doesn't get the joke. In a
sugar induced nose-dive
I wished you were on the
train with me, gasping at
every sight my Easter
essence was too tired
to diamond jubilee.

.
We might as well be
shearing sheep
instead of sweating over
things we want to change,
but want to keep


it's
in fukin sane and
that's like being
in fukin London.

the poet a
complicated halfwit
tails off into a distance
that was never there
and shares a memory,

Paul, an old friend was
diagnosed with something terminal
and his end was nigh,
he flew off to Spain
and said,
'if this is life
I'm not doing it again'
but
he died in
Bromley by Bow
I know
I was there.

We're all sleepers
frightened of bogeymen.

What is it that stops You
from smashing them windows?
is it the old biddy who watches
everything and will tell your
Ma it was you?
that she saw you?


You're either class acts or
brass tacks
it's in the way you take
the breakage
that defines you
and not
the last thing you see
before
the night closes in,

remember when you're
shearing sheep
you are just looking
at chaos in
the cosmos and there's
**** all you
can do about that.

Bromley by-Bow,
it
is as well to know
not the same as
Bow road where it is
still advisable to
'Mind the gap'

Have you ever seen
Stepney Green on
Saturday?
Ha
no way you'll see it from
the underground
as I've just found.

On to Aldgate East
don't expect to meet
that
'turbulent priest'
he's long gone.

I'm going on
passing Tower Hill,
the monument
a monument to
the great fire

Cannon street
no cannons
Mansion house where
they really need *****
(of the cannon variety)
Blackfriars in a blackfriary,
must remember that and put
It in my diary
Temple
Embankment
Westminster
at James's park
and it's dark but still
underground so quite
reasonable

Victoria
amused?
I'm confused
it looks so new.

Glass and steel
all go to make me
feel cold and
unwanted
which is probably true
in the new
continuum.

Bermondsey,
the new Bermuda triangle,
Battersea too
and Bromley By Bow
what I want to know is why?

Things disappear all the time
like people,
some friends of mine
were people and
they disappeared,

somewhere between
Mile End and the West End
they vanished,

buildings as well
they disappear just the same,
even streets do and then
one day they turn up with a
different name and you don't know
them at all.

Perhaps we're at the edge of a black hole
and it's ******* us all in
changing the concept of where things begin
and more importantly
where they disappear to in the end.

wonder where I went that day
after being sacked 

i would have gone back home
if I had of had such a thing

i may have looked in the posh shoe 
shop window for comfort

that store figured a lot in my early days
losing myself in the display, styles 
and colours

I bought a pair once
they let me pay the four pounds 
weekly
as I did not earn much more than 
that weekly

only on tuesday did we discuss our
lack of money then
now with lockdown
we spend little
though we have

more

coming in back home with those
shoes she laughed then scolded me

who do you think will look at you
notice you

at work the upholstery assistants
laughed

I still like shoes james
and boots

and my home

#russell&bromley

Italian stiletto
Talk of artificial islands
A water bound Streisand
There’s movement on the second floor

No loyalty or obligation
Just disproportionate
False dawn’s and sleeping giant’s
And fractious separation

Feedback Old Bailey, peel, perfect pitch
Too many bells, in Shoreditch
Arlo’s and De-Borah’s infest Bromley By Bow
Coming to Leyton, then into Walthamstow
Earring’s for dogs, Marmalade in Coffee
Remember Mr.Men, now the Mr.Many
Feedback St.Clement’s, peel, perfect pitch
Too many bells, in Shoreditch

I’m not seeking an opinion
Or approval, logic dictates
A stunning lack of foresight
Vampire’s become victims

Joke’s are obstreperous children
History enshrined in wood and wire
Imagineer’s and funster’s
Snap, crackle and K-Pop

If I remember, nobody could wait
To sell their plot and move away to Essex
Mary-Le Bow held no charm then
In Maggie’s smoke and mirror’s property fix

Feedback Stepney, peel, perfect pitch
Too many bells, in Shoreditch
Occasionally yes, but basically no
Rebranded idea’s, everything’s retro
Hirsute Wally’s and Wilf’s as far as the eye can see
Don’t try the slang, son, you ain’t got a Danny
Feedback St.Martin’s, peel, perfect pitch
Too many bells, in Shoreditch