Piccadilly out
onto the park
tourists glare
coffee burns
the man from nowhere
pauses.
Up there
Trafalgar Square
lovers loiter as
lovers do, and you
are beyond cloud
above call beneath heaven.
I’m not alone
there’s that pull
in the gut
the vague apprehension
that something’s
been forgotten
Amputated limb,
lost shoe
crying child,
all of these
are easier to comfort
than my stolen heart.
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Wonderful.
Thanks for dropping by I appreciate all the support xx
That whole area from the South Bank is territory mostly for couples with almost everyone taking photos (and everywhere there are couples hugging or snogging or both) one finds uploaded to Flickr later, scary! Couples encountered en route to the Poetry Café: a couple to my right kissing, slavering and slobbering over each other and a couple there. There is no love, just pure lust, lust and cash-flow.
To my left and to my right were couples practically eating each other’s mouths out:
The sidewalks are lined
with coupled figures
I know will be doing
more than flirting tonight
It’s not for nothing we’re known as the Kissing Nation. In the words of the eighteenth century Mughal poet Mir, most of these London poets (not you) cannot write verse, and would be better advised to ‘Stick to kissing and slavering.’
Well there’s a rant 🙂 I’ll leave the kissing poets to you for the moment I’m in Barbados ……..agree about the standard of verse though