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The British are so funny. It's like they can't believe I lived in Hackney. 'You could live in Bondi Beach. Why would you want to live in 'Ackney?' But Hackney's fantastic. I'm serious. There are so many artists there. I loved the markets, the parks, the pubs, the diversity. It was a cultural melting-pot.
quote by Rose Byrne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My London constituency in Hackney has one of the highest levels of gun crime in the country. But the problem is no longer confined to inner city areas. Gun crime has spread to communities all over Britain.
quote by Diane Abbott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Minus into minus
The chambermaid, as usual, made ready
The bedroom for her mistress and master
When the master’s eyes fell upon her shoulders,
That the mistress took note of the least.
Without any fuss, saw the mistress
The master lay his hand upon the shoulder
Of the maid. No rage, no jealousy.
She, the straying, rather felt relieved.
07.02.2003
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mistress & Maid
She said
Come in my dear,
Youre looking tired tonight.
Your bath is drawn, let me loosen your tie
And fix you your usual drink.
He settles back,
Takes a magazine,
Kicks off his shoes, as he studies the form
Of every appealing soubrette.
But where are the flowers that he used to bring?
Every endearing remark
Reminds her of passionarte promises,
That he only made in the dark.
In her bed,
She wants to shout at the back of his head
Look at me, look at me, look at me Im afraid
See what its come to,
Im just your mistress and maid.
The wine is warm
But the dinner is cold.
The look in his eye tells her it wont be long
till the girls on the page come to life.
And theyll get the flowers that he used to bring
With every endearing remark,
And all of the passionate promises
Hell never fulfil in the dark.
In their bed,
She wants to shout at the back of his head
Look at me, look at me, now that Im not afraid.
See what its come to,
Im not your mistress and maid.
See what its come to,
Im not your mistress annf maid.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mistress & Maid
(mccartney/macmanus)
She said, come in, my dear,
Youre looking tired tonight
Your bath is drawn, let me loosen your tie
And fix you your usual drink
He settles back
Takes a magazine
Kicks off his shoes
As he studies the form
Of every appealing soubrette
But where are the flowers that he used to bring?
Every endearing remark
Reminds her of passionate promises
That he only made in the dark
In her bed
She wants to shout at the back of his head
Look at me, look at me, look at me
Im afraid
See what its come to
Im just your mistress and maid
The wine is warm
But the dinner is cold
The look in his eye tells her it wont be long
Till the girls on the page come to life
And theyll get the flowers that he used to bring
With every endearing remark
And all of the passionate promises
Hell never fulfil in the dark
In their bed
She wants to shout at the back of his head
Look at me, look at me, now that Im not afraid.
See what its come to
Im not your mistress and maid
See what its come to
Im not your mistress and maid
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cheerio!
The hackney carriage has pulled up at the door, what more could one ask for.
Off on a unknown trip, one last zip to do up on the case.
He’ll leave no trace of having been here, not at all.
He hadn’t had a ball, now it was time to move on, soon he would be gone.
Made no real friends, this is where it ends.
Bags stowed away in the taxi, lifts in the Dachsy and then they’ll be off.
One last look at what was home, and across the road at the Hippodrome.
He never went in there, perhaps he was too square.
Meters, logging up the cost.
Feeling kind of lost.
Station please.
Loneliness feels like a disease, at least he’s got the dog,
but with him there is no dialogue, just a one way conversation,
with no elation.
Ah, well. What will be will be, perhaps he’ll join the military.
He’s leaving now, he has to go.
Cheerio!
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 102: Wher Be Those Roses Gone
Where be those roses gone, which sweeten'd so our eyes?
Where those red cheeks, which oft with fair increase did frame
The height of honor in the kindly badge of shame?
Who hath the crimson weeds stol'n from my morning skies?
How did the color fade of those vermilion dyes
Which Nature self did make, and self engrain'd the same?
I would know by what right this paleness overcame
That hue, whose force my heart still unto thraldom ties.
Galen's adoptive sons, who by a beaten way
Their judgments hackney on, the fault of sickness lay,
But feeling proof makes me say they mistake it furre:
It is but Love, which makes his paper perfect white
To write therein more fresh the story of delight,
While Beauty's reddest ink Venus for him doth stir.
poem by Philip Sidney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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As the tree, so the fruit; as the mistress, so the maid.
He is a fool that kisseth the maid when he may kiss the mistress.
All Hail My Dear Mistress I
My dear mistress
People comment on you
Even in my presence
Your love in me is hard to take away
People respect me
Because of you
Your succulent lips
Makes me go crazy
My dear mistress
Your love in me
Is like a precious seed planted
That is hard to uproot
My dear mistress
I am happy and sad
Because I fear for the future
That we missed out on each other
My dear mistress
Oh lord!
I wish you prepared her for me
To marry in future
I wish she mothered my future children
My dear mistress.
poem by Tolulope Modupe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Name Is Qalme-Tari
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
People will follow.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Were I go
Death follows.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
I bring death
Upon people of injustice.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Death for people of injustice.
Tyrants beware!
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Dictators beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Kidnapers beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
Child abusers beware
I come for thee.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
For those of injustice
I am Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
For those of purity
I am Hope
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
The in just
Shall flee before me.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
The pure
Shall follow me.
My name is Qalme-Tari
Mistress of Death.
My name is Estela
Mistress of Hope
Were I go
People will flee.
Were I go
People will follow.
I am Qalme Tari Mistress of Death Nat. Norville.
Cretics Welcome
poem by Athena Goddess of Wisdom Lumis Light to all
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If you can kiss the mistress, never kiss the maid.
A Description of the Morning
Now hardly here and there a hackney-coach
Appearing, show'd the ruddy morn's approach.
Now Betty from her master's bed had flown,
And softly stole to discompose her own.
The slip-shod 'prentice from his master's door
Had par'd the dirt, and sprinkled round the floor.
Now Moll had whirl'd her mop with dext'rous airs,
Prepar'd to scrub the entry and the stairs.
The youth with broomy stumps began to trace
The kennel-edge, where wheels had worn the place.
The small-coal man was heard with cadence deep;
Till drown'd in shriller notes of "chimney-sweep."
Duns at his lordship's gate began to meet;
And brickdust Moll had scream'd through half a street.
The turnkey now his flock returning sees,
Duly let out a-nights to steal for fees.
The watchful bailiffs take their silent stands;
And schoolboys lag with satchels in their hands.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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A Man Needs A Maid
My life is changing in so many ways
I dont know who to trust anymore
Theres a shadow running thru my days
Like a beggar going from door to door.
I was thinking that maybe Id get a maid
Find a place nearby for her to stay.
Just someone to keep my house clean,
Fix my meals and go away.
A maid. a man needs a maid.
A maid.
Its hard to make that change
When life and love turns strange.
And old.
To give a love, you gotta live a love.
To live a love, you gotta be part of
When will I see you again?
A while ago somewhere I dont know when
I was watching a movie with a friend.
I fell in love with the actress.
She was playing a part that I could understand.
A maid. a man needs a maid.
A maid.
When will I see you again?
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale
Ay, beshrew you! By my fay,
These wanton clerks be nice alway!
Avaunt, avaunt, my popinjay!
What, will ye do nothing but play?
Tilly, vally, straw, let be I say!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
By God, ye be a pretty pode,
And I love you an whole cart-load.
Straw, James Foder, ye play the fode,
I am no hackney for your rod:
Go watch a bull, your back is broad!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Ywis ye deal uncourteously;
What, would ye frumple me? Now fy!
What, and ye shall be my pigesnye?
By Christ, ye shall not, no hardely:
I will not be japed bodily!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Walk forth your way, ye cost me nought;
Now I have found what I have sought:
The best cheap flesh that ever I bought.
Yet, for His love that all hath wrought,
Wed me, or else I die for thought.
Gup, Christian Clout, your breath is stale!
Go, Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale!
Gup, Christina Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
poem by John Skelton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 153
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love,
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distempered guest,
But found no cure, the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Sonnet 153: Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep
Cupid laid by his brand and fell asleep,
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrowed from this holy fire of Love
A dateless lively heat still to endure,
And grew a seeting bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied a sad distempered guest,
But found no cure. The bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire—my mistress' eyes.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Companions
The old maid and her tabby cat
Live together happily
in their small ground floor council flat
Where from the window they can see.
Pedestrians who hurry by intent
upon their own affairs
But others walk more soberly
as though weighed down by worldly cares.
They are content to stay at home
and watch the busy world go by
The cat is far too old to roam
her mistress ventures out to buy.
Although she goes reluctantly
the food they need from local stores.
The grocers and the bakery.
The old cat stays at home of course
but welcomes her ecstatically.
The moment that she steps inside
their haven of security.
Safe from the dangers of outside.
They keep each other company
the old maid and her tabby cat.
They are contents as they can be
in their small ground floor council flat.
29-Jul-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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