Watching The World Go By
In a coffee shop window, I sit and stare
At all the people passing by, out there.
In London town, literally anything goes:
Zany hairstyles, as well as crazy clothes.
As a regular visitor, I'm now never surprised
At the sights, which I see set before my eyes.
People of all ages pass by: some young, some old;
Some wear quiet colours, while others wear bold.
Some have mobile phones pressed to their ear:
Their faces full of frowns - no trace of cheer.
But tourists keep a much more leisurely pace;
These are the people with a smile on their face.
Football supporters are just back from a game;
Fuelled with alcohol, they are less than tame.
A tramp searches for food in the nearby trash.
A busker plays his guitar, hoping for some cash.
Small children tightly hold their parents' hands;
The dangers of the city, they don't yet understand.
I see friends greet, and, each other, they happily hug;
The warmth between them, I feel in my coffee mug.
I see teenage girls with hair dyed red or bright blue;
And they dare to flash an amazing amount of flesh to.
Here, people aren't afraid to show just who they are.
Some of them drive around in really cool, funky cars.
London is so different from the town where I reside:
No one in the city feels as though they've got to hide.
Sitting, watching people, just makes the time really fly.
I love sitting in the window, watching the world go by.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Watching For Pa
Three little forms in the twilight gray,
Searching the shadows across the way;
Two pair of black eyes, and one of blue --
Brimful of love, and of mischief too;
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
May, with her placid and thoughtful brow,
Beaming with kindness and love just now;
Willie the youngest, in anguish did lay,
Stealing sly kisses from sister May,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Nellie, with ringlets of sunny hue,
Cosily nested between the two;
Pressing her cheeks to the window pane,
Wishing the absent one home again.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Sitting by the window,
Watching for Pa!
Now there are shouts from the window seat;
There is a patter of childish feet;
Gaily they rush through the lighted hall --
"Coming at last" is the joyful call.
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Watching for Pa!
Standing on the doorstep,
Watching for Pa!
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The City With Eyes
The city with eyes
Sees everything,
City with eyes
Hears everything
Feels everything
The city with eyes
Sees people living on the rough side of the streets
Sees people eating crumbs from the floor
Sees people with ripped clothes and no shoes
Watching other people wearing lubatones walking past
It cries not one but millions of tears
For them
Tears which touch every one
Which soaks everything
Rain, they call it.
The city with eyes
Watching
What has happened to my city?
It cries with sorrow
The city with eyes
Feels the sadness
Of those in need, sad, hurt, …
Watching what was happy
To what is sad know
The Train To Waterloo
I can see the 10.06 train heading towards Waterloo,
And, I wish I could jump aboard, and go there too!
I have a real longing to head on up to London City,
But I have to go to work today, which is a real pity.
In spirit, I’m also riding with the people on the train,
But, here, in this sleepy old town, my body remains.
I can imagine myself sitting there in a train carriage;
With London, I have formed a really loving marriage!
To be one of those lucky passengers, I am yearning;
So much so, that it feels as though my heart is burning.
I can imagine sitting on a train, which is really packed,
As it heads up towards London, along the railway tracks.
I’ve lived here, all my life, in this sleepy little town,
Where there is hardly ever anything really going down.
But, in London, there is always something going on,
Amidst the Capital’s seemingly never-ending throng.
I so love being there, slap bang in the middle of it all;
Surrounded by crowds, the river, and buildings so tall.
Compared to my town, there’s a different atmosphere;
It’s more exciting, more happening, than it ever is here.
The sights and sounds, in London, I so love to savour,
And breathe in the aroma of a whole world of flavours.
To go to London very often, sadly, I just can’t afford,
But it still doesn’t stop me wishing that I was aboard.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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London
My visits to London always bring me cheer;
I wish it were possible to bottle the atmosphere.
I would collect together all the sights and sounds,
And surround myself with them, when I’m down.
A trip to London always seems to lift my mood;
By good old London town, I’m easily wooed.
There is always something new and exciting,
Which is why, to me, London seems so inviting.
I may begin a day feeling just a little bit down,
But once in London, a smile replaces my frown.
It’s one of my very favourite places to be;
There’s always so much to do and to see.
I think that London is such an amazing place;
It can suit all your needs, whatever your pace.
In central London, people are always in a rush,
But in the gardens and parks, can be found, hush.
When in London, I always feel on such a high;
My problems, for the day, I can kiss goodbye.
At the end of the day, I don’t want to leave.
The heady mix of aromas, I love to breathe.
I always find it so very hard, to pull myself away,
When, deep in my heart, I desperately want to stay.
Even when, at Waterloo, I’m sat on my train;
In London, a little piece of my heart remains.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Essence of Edinburgh
Evening time, in my town, is often deadly quiet,
But, up here in Edinburgh, there's a sensual riot!
From a night club doorway, purple-pink light spills out;
Along the streets, crowds of tourists still amble about.
There is an endless stream of cars and buses;
In my town, the pace is slow, but here, it rushes.
In the city, there are exciting sights and sounds;
It is so much livelier than my own little town.
In my town, after five, most people have gone home,
But, around the streets of Edinburgh, folk still roam.
Emergency vehicles rush past with klaxons blazing;
The atmosphere here, in the city, is just so amazing.
In my town, it is often almost dead after five,
But the city of Edinburgh is still very much alive.
Of action, in my own town, there's a really big lack;
I don't want to leave here: I don't want to go back.
Edinburgh, at Festival time, is always such a blast;
Against my own town, it paints a very sharp contrast.
Street entertainers attract crowds along the Royal Mile;
Attracting many tourists, they're sure to raise a smile.
At the Military Tattoo, I saw many massed bands;
I saw performers who hailed from foreign lands.
For me, that really was such a memorable night;
It filled all my senses with such excited delight.
I really wish that I could stay here forever and ever;
Inside, my soul feels light, and it floats like a feather.
I don't want to go back home: I don't want to leave.
For this amazing city, my heart will soon grieve.
Here, in Edinburgh, I have had such a great time;
For this wonderful city, I know my heart will pine.
Come tomorrow morning, when I board my train,
The essence of Edinburgh, in my heart, will remain.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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In My City
In my city the sky can cry all night;
In my city the streets can whine all night;
In my city people die all the time;
In my city, boi, in my city...
In my city, boi, God is forgotten;
people follow religion, their minds are rotten.
People kill for money, die 'cause of money,
banks spend our money, and find it funny.
Kids drink till they forget, they forget till they drink;
it's Apocalypse now, we're way past the brink...
it's a theatrical city, everyone's an actor,
everyone's waitin for next great disaster.
'I would kill for a phone' ain't just an expression,
it's more of a statement - kids full of agression.
kids full of the city, like the city's full of kids,
but they're workin on it - they're killin all the kids...
In my city the sky can cry all night;
In my city the streets can whine all night;
In my city people die all the time;
In my city, boi, in my city...
I'm a Silesian boy who moved to Tottenham,
I'm a Tottenham boy who'll always love London,
I'm a London boy who's Silesia-born,
and my people will be free - so go on, sound the horn!
Exile like Chopin, likewise keeps hoping,
Exile from Home, but somehow I'm coping...
I wasn't bought or sold, jus brought and told
you're gonna study here, and live here - be bold!
so I let my heart turn cold, f- it, why care?
carin never really got us anywhere...
nothing's holdin me back, so come and hold me back,
I ain't no ref, but I change the rules like Shaq.
it's time to speak of feelin, son, you're insecure,
that's why you want the finest chic, but she ain't the cure,
you want the fastest cars, you want the longest chain,
but none of that bulls- will take away the pain...
poem by Patryk Krzywon
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Watching The World Go Past
I sit on the front step
Just watching the world go past
People walking
People talking
I see people running from themselves
People walking their best friends
Children playing with others hearts
Teenage girls crying over the past
I just and watch the sun set
Signalling that a new day will begin soon
I watch the rising of the moon
And the dots getting ever so brighter
Watch people fall in love
People smile as if nothings wrong
I watch all the people who have nothing to do
Watching people who have nothing to loose
I sit and watch the different lives form
Watching the new scene starting
The new lives beginning with a smile
The lives coming to and end
I sit on the front step
Just watching the world go past
People walking
People talking
poem by Lesley Bass
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Phat
The word 'fat' is a term,
That 'skinny people' use,
Because they don't know what else to say,
When they see a 'fat person.'
No one has to be so rude about it,
When they see a 'fat person' eating ice cream,
Or sitting around watching others,
But some 'skinny people' don't understand to just dropp a conversation.
The word 'rude' is what 'fat people' use when someone makes fun of them,
'Fat people' are all over the world,
And yet - 'skinny people' don't want to accept the fact that 'fat people' are in this cruel world,
So some 'skinny people' have to act like they're all that and be mean to others.
There are people in this world that are 'low class' and are different from the people in the 'higher class, '
Because some people in the 'lower class' goes into depression and eat,
Because of the events happening in their life,
And so they become 'fat.'
But what 'skinny people' explain,
Is that they are slobs and can't eat normal instead of shoving food down their throat,
But what 'fat people' explain,
Is that they try to lose weight, but some of them can't because it's hard.
'Skinny people' make fun of them and 'fat people' let them,
Because some 'skinny people' don't know how it feels like to be 'fat, '
And some 'skinny people' call 'fat people' ugly and of course 'fat, '
But what 'skinny people' don't know is that we all are phat.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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Fighting For Night
Sitting and watching the sun rise
knowing time is near
time to laugh
time to smile
time to cheer
Sitting and watching the sun rise
Lyeing and watching the sun sway
over the puffy white clouds
over the bright blue sky
over a home town
Lyeing watching the sun sway
Standing and watching the sun fall
down to the ground
down to the greenest of grass
down to meet your tears
Standing and watching the sun fall
Leaning and watching the moon climb
up past the stars
up past the sun's lost glem
up to where it shins too full
Leaning and watching the moon climb
Swaying
not watching
not breathing
not hearing
not frowning
Swaying
Laughing from below
watching your body away
watching the rope in the moon light
watching gathering people
watching them cut you down
Laughing from below
Sitting and watching the sun rise
Lyeing and watching the sun sway
Standing and watching the sun fall
Leaning and watching the moon climb
Swaying
Laughing from below
Laughing
from
below
poem by Kathlyn Grace
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Colourful Camden
Today, I found myself in Camden Town;
I had time to spare, so I looked around.
It was a place that I had not visited before,
But it's a part of London, I'd love to visit more.
That area of London has a great atmosphere;
It is packed full of fun and full of real cheer.
Everywhere I went, there were massive crowds;
The colours and the sounds were extremely loud.
There were stalls selling food from around the world;
Stalls that sold everything, from books to fake pearls.
There was furniture, footwear, and patterned throws,
Cards, collectables, candles, and all kinds of clothes.
I could have had almost any type of food that I desired;
My taste-buds were tingling, and were almost set on fire;
Of colour and smells and sounds, there was a total riot;
The atmosphere in the marketplace was anything but quiet.
In summer, to the canal-side, many people like to flock:
They love to watch canal boats going through the Lock.
There were people with colourful clothes and colourful hair;
If they looked a little bit different, they obviously didn't care.
The Marketplace itself, is most definitely a real trend-setter,
As you can eat lunch sat upon the seat of a real Lambretta!
The aromas of food and perfume, I really loved to breathe.
There was part of me which really did not want to leave.
In those surroundings, all my senses felt so very enlivened;
My experience has made my mind feel much more wizened.
Of life within Camden Town, there is certainly no lack;
I so loved it there, and, one day, I will definitely go back.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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London Town
I do believe
I must believe
I think I can begin again
Become again the man I was back when
So Im walking on your streets again
Feeling now as I did then
Ive since become a different man
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
I can remember lots of time and space
If I lose the name, still I know the faces
Time as come and left its traces
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
When I grew too old and dull to rock n roll
Like to hold on tight to you darling
And when my fires have all burned out
Id like to think I can still think about
The things I used to sing about
When I was spending all my time alone
By myself and on my own
Seldom seen and quite unknown
London town, turn be around
London town, carry me back
O london town, lost and found
And I feel like going back
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People Puttin People Down
People who are sad - sometimes they wear a frown
And people who are kings - sometimes they wear a crown
But all the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
People without love - sometimes build a fence around
The garden up above - that makes the whole world go round
But all the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
So cold, sometimes it gets so cold
You may love your wife - you may lose your family
You may lose you mind - just to keep your sanity
But the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
People that are glad - sometimes they wear a smile
And people without dreams they walk the extra mile
But all the people who dont fit
Get the only fun they get
From people puttin people down
People puttin people dwn
From people puttin people down
People puttin people down
So cold, sometimes it gets so cold
song performed by by John Prine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sitting In My Hotel
If my friends could see me now, driving round just like a film star,
In a chauffeur driven jam jar, they would laugh.
They would all be saying that its not really me,
They would all be asking who Im trying to be.
If my friends could see me now,
Looking out my hotel window,
Dressed in satin strides and two-tone daisy roots,
If my friends could see me now I know they would smile.
Sitting in my hotel, hiding from the dramas of this great big world,
Seven stories high, looking at the world go by-y.
Sitting in my hotel room, thinking about the countryside and sunny days in june.
Trying to hide the gloom, sitting in my hotel room.
If my friends could see me now, dressing up in my bow-tie,
Prancing round the room like some outrageous poove,
They would tell me that Im just being used
They would ask me what Im trying to prove.
They would see me in my hotel,
Watching late shows till the morning,
Writing songs for old time vaudeville revues.
All my friends would ask me what its all leading to.
Sitting in my hotel, looking through the window at the people in the street,
Seven stories high looking at the world go by,
Sitting in my hotel, looking at the world outside.
If my friends could see me now they would try to understand me,
They would ask me what on earth Im trying to prove.
All my friends would ask me what its all leading to.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1
We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?
There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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People In the City
… people eat junk food and curry
because they are always in a hurry
… people collide into each other
without saying sorry
… people talk on mobile phones
in high pitch tones
… people hardly ever smile
because they are paranoid or shy
… people suffer from obesity
because they drive everywhere
… people inhale polluted air
because of fumes in the atmosphere
… people litter the streets
because the penalty fines are too cheap
… people commit crimes in the streets
because there aren’t enough cops on the beat
… people are always late
because the railway tracks are out of date
… people live on credit
because they pay bills by direct debit
… people are unable to relax
because they pay high income tax
… people suffer from stress
because they never rest
poem by Margaret Aberdeen
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Small Town
Well I was born in a small town
And I live in a small town
Probly die in a small town
Oh, those small communities
All my friends are so small town
My parents live in the same small town
My job is so small town
Provides little opportunity
Educated in a small town
Taught the fear of jesus in a small town
Used to daydream in that small town
Another boring romantic thats me
But Ive seen it all in a small town
Had myself a ball in a small town
Married an l.a. doll and brought her to this small town
Now shes small town just like me
No I cannot forget where it is that I come from
I cannot forget the people who love me
Yeah, I can be myself here in this small town
And people let me be just what I want to be
Got nothing against a big town
Still hayseed enough to say
Look whos in the big town
But my bed is in a small town
Oh, and thats good enough for me
Well I was born in a small town
And I can breathe in a small town
Gonna die in this small town
And thats probly where theyll bury me
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London's Burning
His eyes reflect the golden fire, his pupils burning bright
As he turns away they feel a sudden, crying urge to fight
Big Old Ben has run away, they always thought it might
London's Burning
London's Burning
The chapels down in Kensington are bursting into flames
The children of the neighbourhood are dancing, gone insane
They hug their parent's knees and try to cry away the shame
London's Burning
London's Burning
Members of the royalty rush in to see the Queen
She's rushed off to a bunker, told to wait and not to scream
But all of London's gone aflame, her bunker traps her here
London's Burning
London's Burning
Teenage gangs are on the prowl, they go from place to place
They need no names or calls or shouts, don't need know their race
Just know that all who wear a hood are filled to burst with rage
London's Burning
London's Burning
2 weeks on, the smoke has gone and rebels rule the streets
No-one walks the road at all for fear of who they'll meet
The dead are marked with crosses red and hid with pale sheets
London's Burning
London's Burning
2 more weeks, rotting flesh is all that you can smell
Water's got infected, and the food's all gone as well
The only people left, they wander in a living hell
London's Burning
London's Burning
poem by Matt Pocock
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A Summer Shower
I'm standing here watching the rain
Running down my window pane.
For days now, there's been no rain in sight,
But when it does, couldn't it rain at night?
Every single plant and every single flower
Is extremely grateful for this summer shower.
I see people, who have been caught unaware,
Wet through with lank, bedraggled hair.
They quicken their pace and dash away,
Hoping that this weather isn't set for the day.
I, to, am hoping that it won't hang around,
As later, I was hoping to pop into town.
On the cars, the windscreen wipers swish to and fro.
Their tyres splashing through the puddles as they go.
The sky is grey, but I see a small chink of blue,
So maybe hopefully this rain will be over soon?
Returning to my chores, I hope with all my heart,
That the day will improve despite a dodgy start!
I return to the window. Half an hour has gone by
And I'm thrilled to see the sun is finally in the sky!
The wetness on the ground begins to evaporate,
So I dash into town before it gets too late.
The prolonged shower seems to have passed
And it's turned into a glorious day at last!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Smile
It will slowly creep upon your face
When you are sitting or thinking for a while
Frowns and smirks it will quickly replace
After a topic, or a moment, is not causing any bile,
You are joyous for that one brief minute
As though you have changed your current lifestyle
And of your happiness you want everyone to know it
So with an expression, you alter your attitude and profile,
It is known when you are elated and forgiving
Especially when you want to forget and reconcile
It shows that cheerfulness is part of your living
And showing love and delight is worthwhile,
It can and will convey a range of emotions
That can stretch from here to over a mile
Its appearance might occur by different notions
But it is never to be known as evil or hostile,
Some people will wear them everyday
While others will wear them once in a while
Some people sport them when they have nothing to say
While there are others who send them away to exile,
Some men will wear them when they receive a kiss
All women will wear them when they walk down the aisle
And some people wear them just because of that or this
And some people wear them because it is their style,
It is first given by a child the day they were born
To show the world that they are compassionate and gentile
And throughout their life hopefully again it will be worn
As all is the magic and wonders, of the simple smile.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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O, People
O, people
O, what are they living for?
They stay till midnight
Say there’s no enough time
And afraid what’ll happen tomorrow
O, people
How many faces they should wear
To show pride and to hide
Don’t reveal dark inside
Fake emotion, many crying are naught
So is this how the world’s spinning?
Ignore what we are feeling
Take you want, leave me none
Give me love then the pain
Never know when the truth is lie
O, people
Why are they hard to understand?
They argue long then they fight
Say they who should be right
Give me almighty reason to blame
O, people
When will they try to remember?
Want to learn from mistake
Listen what others said
So we could live in peace together
So how will this story be end?
Will I be trapped in another game?
Or like the moon can’t be full again
But somehow I just understand
That life always goes on circle
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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