The docks of London

A wide-open mouth guides the grasses west
pushing half puddles under the grey bell and

chimes it dully.

Shrubs bow to the broken
underground,

bound for better.

London bent left, in all hell churnings.

Morning in white cloth, the sky spills its veil.

A contest entry

Your Neck of the Woods by Olivias Violin. 575 points, ended July 24, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest

1 - 8 of 8

By me, right now

Adding your comment:
Coathanger
July 18
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Inspiration for my next poem. I hope to that inspiration as much justice as you have here.
awannabepoet
July 8

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London you miserable wench, the great fire could not have been a smaller blessing for in the squalls of that city were the refuse of empire.

The things you would never see lest you were lost in some Jack the Ripper fantasy, les you be boiling on the gun deck of an old man of war.

London the great city it is yet sometimes she is a splendid whore.

I really do like that city though.
Olivias Violin
July 7

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I have never been to London, but someday I hope to have the opportunity to visit
DolceVito
July 7
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Awesome...I will visit someday
Rowan
July 6
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I've never been to London, till now. winks
Thanks.
Nicolette
July 6

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this is beautiful and such great brevity and vivid visuals here. what a wonderfully tight piece of writing that placed London right back in my eyes again!

~ Nicolette
Macsword
July 6

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I visited London back in 1972 and had five straight days of wonderful sunshine. I think things were less complicated back in 72.

Very nice write Emma.
MJ Donnelly
July 6
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Beautiful Emma, a real pleasure to read.