The Imported Servant
The Blue Sky arches o’er mountain and valley,
The scene is as fair as a scene can be,
But I’m breaking my heart for a London alley,
And fogs that shall never come back to me.
I choke with tears when the day is dying—
The sunsets grand and the stars are bright;
But it’s O! for the smell of the fried fish frying
By the flaring stalls on a Saturday night.
And this, oh, this is the lonely sequel
Of all I pictured would come to pass!
They are treating me here as a friend and equal,
But they’d say in London that they’re no class.
When I think of their kindness my tears flow faster—
The girls are free and the chaps are grand:
It’s “the boss” and “the missus” for mistress and master,
And they may be right—But I don’t understand.
I see the air in its warm pulsation
On sandstone cliffs where the ocean dips,
But I’m miles and miles from the railway station
Where trains run down to the wharves and ships.
Those streets are dingy and dark and narrow,
The soot comes down with the rain and sleet;
But, O! for the sight of a coster’s barrow,
And Sunday morning in Chapel Street!
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Hope Hanging On At Heathrow
Like the last lonely leaf on the London plane,
I drive down, lonesome, up the long airport track,
Still hanging on, through the wind and the rain.
Will you still forgive me, if I just explain?
Will you come home to me? Will you fly back,
Like the last lonely leaf, on the London plane?
I never meant to cause you all that pain
That tears through your heart, bruising it black,
Still hanging on through the wind and the rain.
Do you believe, since my efforts are vain,
It is “THE END”, as in books, at the back
Like the last lonely leaf, on the London plane?
Though you ignore me, with haughty disdain,
You’ll find me waiting, despite your attack,
Still hanging on through the wind and the rain.
Half-hopes cling on; trust’s faint traces remain.
Determined, I stay, since I shall not crack,
Like the last lonely leaf on the London plane
Still hanging on through the wind and the rain.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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London Song
Theres a room in a house in a street in a manor in a borough
Thats part of a city that is generally referred to as london
Its a dark place, a mysterious place
And it is said that if youre born within the sound of bow-bells
You have the necessary qualifications to be christened a londoner
[its a cruel place, its a hard place]
But when you think back to all the great londoners
William blake, charles dickens, dick whittington,
Pearly kings, barrow boys, arthur daley, max wall
And dont forget the kray twins
But if youre ever up on highgate hill on a clear day
You can see right down to leicester square [london, london]
Crystal palace, clapham common, right down to streatham hill
North and south, I feel that Im a londoner still [london, london]
Chiswick bridge to newham and east ham
Churchbells ring out through the land
You were born in london, england
[london, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london]
And theres a tap by a reservoir, leading to a stream,
That turns into a river estuary that eventually opens to the sea
[london, london]
And theres a docker by a wharf, sending cargo overseas,
Unloading foreign trade from a large ocean vessel
In the mighty metropolitan port of london
[london, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london]
When I think of all the londoners still unsung
East-enders, west-enders, oriental-enders
Fu manchu, sherlock holmes, jack spock, henry cooper,
Thomas abecket, thomas moore, and dont forget the kray twins
Theres a part of me that says get out
Then one day Ill hear somebody shout
Sounds to me like you come from london town
But if youre ever up on highgate hill on a clear day,
Ill be there [Ill be there]
Yes I will be there [there]
Through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
London, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
London, london, through the dark alley-ways and passages of london, london
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London
New York winter
Traffic squeals
The city feels...so old
Late December
Taxi ride
Then run inside
It's cold
Got your letter Monday
I think
Or Tuesday
I lose track
Since then I've been thinking of you
And I've been
Looking back to
London
Can you believe it's
So many years since
London
Hitching a ride and
Carrying knapsacks
London
In the park
By the Thames
Drinking tea
London
Sitting in pubs and
Living in walk-ups
London
Learning the accent
Learnin' to love you
London
We were young
We we sure
We were...free
Was it really ages
Ago
The memories
Never fade
Can you hear Big Ben where
You are
And are you
Glad you stayed in
London
Dodging the rain with
Broken umbrellas
London
Reading the times
On Saturday picnics
London
Counting the stars,
'Till the stars
All were gone
London
So many plans and
Nothing but time in
London
Nothing to fear 'cause
Nothing could last in
London
We grew close
We grew scared
I moved on
Oh London
What were we scared of
Why did I run from
London
Part of me still has
Never come back from
London
Is it fair
That I miss
You so much
Take good care
All my love
Keep in touch
New York winter
Taxi ride
Then run inside
It's cold
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Two Station Masters
TWO STATION MASTERS
My friend is a station-master
at Hill Groove in
Nilgiri mountain section
33 years of railway service
fully spent in this sleepy station
hardly, two trains a day
in summer, say, one more
no goods traffic
nor frequent crossings
no revenue instead - ‘Safety' award
for ‘nil' accident record,
closed for rains and landslide,
station is locked up at 6 pm sharp
his gross earnings is forty thousand
for two or three man- hours spent
hill allowance, free warm clothing
no boss to obey, no risk to bother
happiest worker
does'nt want any change, either
look at his counter-part
positioned in a busiest double line,
handling 30-45 trains, within
a tight span of 8 hours
whole night, in full vigil
with all round tension
at times, an irate passenger
supervision of all kind
sucked out and exhausted
leaves for his home,
for the same pay - packet
is it an anomaly
or equity, parity, one cadre- one pay
equal pay for equal work
………………………..I have no answer.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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Saturday Night Sunday Morning
I knew you'd come back
We always do
Like thieves
Returning to the scene of the crime
But did they tell you
Everything has changed
Just everything
Oh, everything has changed
Just everything
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was something else I meant to say
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was so much more I meant to say to you
You know they still like to talk about you
But they don't want anything too real
So most of the conversation revolves around
Things that happened 20 years ago at least
They must have told you
Everything has changed everything
Oh, everything must change everything
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was something else I meant to say
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was so much more I meant to say to you
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was something else I meant to say
It's not Saturday Night Sunday Morning
There was so much more I meant to say to you
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh
oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Cliffs
They sing of the grandeur of cliffs inland,
But the cliffs of the ocean are truly grand;
And I long to wander and dream and doubt
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out and out.
To the northward far as the eye can reach
Are sandhill, boulder, and sandy beach;
But southward rises the track for me,
Where the cliffs by the ocean run out to sea.
Friends may be gone in the morning fair,
But the cliffs by the ocean are always there;
Lovers may leave when the wind is chill,
But the cliffs by the ocean are steadfast still.
They watch the sea and they ward the land,
And they warn the ships from the treacherous sand;
And I sadly think in the twilight hour
What I might have been had I known my power.
Where the smoke-cloud blurs and the white sails fill,
They point the ships to keep seaward still;
And I think—Ah, me!—and I think—Ah, me!
Of the wreck I’d saved had I kept to sea.
Oh! the cliffs are old and the cliffs are sad,
And they know me sane, while men deem me mad.
Oh! the cliffs are firm and the cliffs are strong,
And they know me right, while men deem me wrong.
And I sometimes think in the dawning gray,
I am old as they, I am old as they;
And I think, I think that in field and town
My spirit shall live till the cliffs come down.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Black Bordered Letter
An’ SO ’e’s dead in London,
An’ answered to the call,
An’ trotted through the Long Street,
With ’earse an’ plumes an’ all?
We was village boys an’ brothers—
We was warm as we could be,
In the milk-walk an’ the fried fish,
Up in London, ’im an’ me.
We was warm,
We was warm,
As we ’ad always been;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
I lived round Windsor Terrace,
An’ ’im across the wye,
An’ when I sailed a emigrant
We never said good-bye!
He wos better than a brother—
Wot you Bushmen call a mate.
(Did he reach the rylwye stytion,
As they told me, just too late!)
We was warm,
We was warm,
As pals was ever seen;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
I meant to go back ’ome again,
I meant to write to-night;
I meant to write by every mail,
But I thought ’e oughter write.
An’ now ’e’s left North London—
For a better place, perhaps—
She’s flauntin’ in ’er widder weeds,
With eyes on other chaps.
We was warm,
We was warm,
As we ’ad always been;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
Oh! tongues is bad in wimmin,
When wimmin’s tongues is bad!
For they’ll part men an’ brothers
World oceans wide, my lad!
There was seven years between us,
An’ fifteen thousand mile,
An’ now there’s death an’ sorrer
For ever an’ awhile.
We was warm,
We was warm,
As two was ever seen;
We never ’ad a dry word
Till she come between.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Homesick
I’ve lit the Christmas candle,
As we used to long ago
When it shone through cabin windows
On Holly-hedge and snow.
In this fine new house they’ve built me
That is furnished rich and fair-
But I’m hearing now the breakers rolling round the cliffs of Moher,
And my heart is aching, aching for a breath of Irish air.
The wren boys on St. Stephen’s Day.
Went singin’ up and down
With their poor dead wren and thorn bush,
I heard them through the town.
But to-night down lighted city streets,
I hear the distant band,
And when’er they play ‘our own’ hymns or tune of dear old Ireland,
The poor old foolish heart of me is in another land.
‘Twas a lonely hillside chapel,
Where we tramped to midnight Mass,
With the flaring lights we carried
Throwing shadows on the grass.
But to-night my boy will drive me
In his grand new limousine,
And he’ll wrap my furs around me, proudly caring for his Mother,
And I’ll ride to the Cathedral just as grand as any queen.
Ah! No, I’m not repinin’,
And I love this wide new land,
And I’m proud to see the childer
Growin’ prosperous and grand,
But roots strike deep in Irish soil,
Old memories are sweet,
And to-night my heart is yearnin’ for the cabin I was born in,
And I smell the reek of turf-smoke driftin’ up the city streets.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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London Pool
London Pool's in London town,
Ay, boys! O boys!
London Pool's in London town,
Where the great ships anchor down!
O to shake the canvas free,
Hear the cordage cheerily
Whistling to the open sea
Down from London Pool, O!
London Pool's a crowded place,
Ay, boys! O boys!
London Pool's a crowded place,
Crafts and crews of every race!
O to hear the clanking chain
Trail along the wharf again, -
Hear the tautening ropes astrain
Down from London Pool, O!
London Pool's a gallant sight,
Ay, boys! O boys!
London Pool's a gallant sight,
Toil by day and glare by night!
O to shake our heels and go, -
Feel the four free winds ablow,
Hail the lights of long ago
Down from London Pool, O!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Hot Coffee, Warm Smiles
We walked along many London streets;
We stopped at a pub for something to eat.
We walked around for miles and miles;
We saw a sign: ‘hot coffee, warm smiles.'
I stopped to listen to a brass band play:
My friend didn't realise and walked away.
It was in Oxford Street, that I lost my friend,
But we were happily reunited in the end.
Dark chocolate with chilli, by me, was savoured;
I bought a festive latte: gingerbread flavoured.
At festive shop windows, we stopped and stared;
We lost ourselves in the middle of Mayfair.
At the Christmas lights, we both loved to look;
I bought myself some Christmas themed books.
We battled our way through the dense crowds;
The noise from the traffic was extremely loud.
The South Bank Centre's towers shone pink and blue;
From Jubilee Bridge, there was a really nice view.
There was a cold nip in the air, but it didn't rain;
Back at Waterloo, tired out, we boarded a train.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Same In The End
Down in mississippi where the sun beats down from the sky
They give it up but they never ask why
Daddy was a rolling, rolling stone he rolled away one day
And he never came home
It aint hard to understand this aint hitlers master plan
What it takes to be a man in my mind and in my brain
I roll it over like a steamin freight train
It aint hard to ascertain
You only see what you want to believe
When you light in the back with those tricks up your sleeve
That dont mean I cant hang
But the day that I die will be the day I shut my mouth
And put down my guitar
Sunday morning hold church down at the bar
Get down on my knees and start to pray
Pray my itchy rash will go away
Back up yall it aint me
Kentucky fried chicken is all that I see
Its a hellified way to start your day
If I make you cry all night
Me and daddy are gonna have a fist fight
It aint personal it aint me
I only hear what you told me to be
Im a backward ass hillbilly
Im dick butkiss
You know I lie
I get me an Im a thief in the dark
Im a rain machine Im a triple rectified ass s.o.b
Rec-tite(tm) on my ass
And it makes me itch
I can see for miles and miles and miles
My broken heart makes me smile
In my mind in my brain I go back and go completely insane
It aint personal
It aint me
If I make you cry I might be your daddy at the end of the night
Take a loadfrom my big gun
You only see what you want to believe
When you creep from the back
You got tricks up my sleeve
24/7 the devils my best friend
Makes no difference its all the same in the end
song performed by by Sublime
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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2000 Miles
Theres something I need to say
Im not sad youre gone away no way
Wont be calling information
Or waiting at the railway station
You walked out of my front door
I wasnt then but now Im sure
I need to be at least 2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
Had to get me to the church on time
To say that silly I do I do nursery rhyme
Youve been bitching at me for awhile
Say hey now baby dont you cramp my style
Dont go beating me like that
Im glad I wont be coming back
I need to be at least 2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
2000 miles away from you
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The City Of London
Introduction:
I wrote this in the middle of the night, many years ago.
My mind went back to when I was a little girl
and my brother and I went to visit my Grandfather.
We stopped that day to walk through the City, there was a mist that morning and a fine rain, the sort that makes your hair frizz.
The tranquillity of the early morning streets was rudely broken
by people coming into the City to work and so here is my memory:
----
Early morning after a thunderous night
I can breathe easy.
If I'm quiet I may hear the sound of birdsong.
Sometimes there is a mist.
It hangs over London like a veil.
Soon dawn's empty streets
will heave with massing crowds.
but until then all London is at peace.
The gentle tinkling of milk bottles
breaks the quiet
and the smell of bacon and fried bread
waft through the chill morning air.
Sounds of sirens fill my head and
concrete rises heavenward, filling my eyes,
crushing their foundations through my soul.
A sickness seeps through me,
everything beautiful is gone.
'Morning paper, read all about it! '
Girls hurry buy in tight blue jeans,
men in suits, some in Mac's,
high-heeled ladies, clicky, click, clack.
Poor old tramp, fingernails black,
stirs on the floor beside a closed door,
‘Got the price of a cuppa luv', he calls.
The girl quickens her pace.
A couple kiss in tender bliss
A young man sighs, a baby cries,
an old lady dies on the streets of London.
Early morning after a thunderous night
you can breathe easy.
You may hear the sound of birdsong
Sometimes there is a mist.
It hangs over London like a veil
poem by Ruth Walters
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Morning Cormorant
A sudden sight, a wonder in the humdrum
Among the thronging streets of run-down London
Upon the river bank, crammed in by traffic
A perched, black bird, though nothing as dramatic
As flocks of squawking seagulls on the common
But this sole, common shag won't be forgotten:
Uncommon cormorant, a seaside fisher
Who chose to catch his fish in my New River,
A morning miracle of inspiration
That brightened my dull bus-ride to the station.
poem by C. Richard Miles
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Raining Tears
out my eyes,
from the clouds
they fall
tears of rain,
tears of all.
down my cheeks,
from which i fall,
they rain,
on
and on.
across my lips,
down the rivers,
tears of rain,
just go
on
and on.
down my chin,
down the plateau,
lonely river
just flows
on
and on
on and on.
drops to the chest,
across my heart,
raining tears,
into a ocean
deep in blue,
on
and on
on and on
the ocean goes
lonely ocean of tears.
poem by Darlene Belcher
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Unchained Melody (Parody on 'The Streets of London)
(John London’s Radio Talk Show when he was
accidentally locked in the toilet)
Did you hear the shrieks fo London
From the toilet in the station
Calling for Jon-Jon
To come and set him free.
Armine let forth a sigh
Should it be one or two-ply
Nobody worried
The show must go on.
So how can you say
You were lonely
…and things about
where the sun don’t shine…..
So Jon-Jon took you by the hand
And quelled indeed the
shrieks of London
Back to the station….
Unchained melody.
poem by Margaret Kollmer
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From The Edge Of The Deep Green Sea
Every time we do this
I fall for her
Wave after wave after wave
It's all for her
I know this can't be wrong i say
(and i'll lie to keep her happy)
As long as i know that you know
That today i belong
Right here with you
Right here with you...
And so we watch the sun come up
From the edge of the deep green sea
And she listens like her head's on fire
Like she wants to believe in me
So i try
Put your hands in the sky
Surrender
Remember
We'll be here forever
And we'll never say goodbye...
I've never been so
Colourfully-see-through-head before
I've never been so
Wonderfully-me-you-want-some-more
And all i want is to keep it like this
You and me alone
A secret kiss
And don't go home
Don't go away
Don't let this end
Please stay
Not just for today
Never never never never never let me go she says
Hold me like this for a hundred thousand million days
But suddenly she slows
And looks down at my breaking face
Why do you cry? what did i say?
But it's just rain i smile
Brushing my tears away...
I wish i could just stop
I know another moment will break my heart
Too many tears
Too many times
Too many years i've cried over you
How much more can we use it up?
Drink it dry?
Take this drug?
Looking for something forever gone
But something
We will always want?
Why why why are you letting me go? she says
I feel you pulling back
I feel you changing shape...
And just as i'm breaking free
She hangs herself in front of me
Slips her dress like a flag to the floor
And hands in the sky
Surrenders it all...
I wish i could just stop
I know another moment will break my heart
Too many tears
Too many times
Too many years i've cried for you
It's always the same
Wake up in the rain
Head in pain
Hung in shame
A different name
Same old game
Love in vain
And miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Away from home again...
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Can See For Miles
I know youve deceived me, now heres a surprise
I know that you have cause theres magic in my eyes
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Oh yeah
If you think that I dont know about the little tricks youve played
And never see you when deliberately you put things in my way
Well, heres a poke at you
Youre gonna choke on it too
Youre gonna lose that smile
Beacuse all the while
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Oh yeah
You took advantage of my trust in you when I was so far away
I saw you holding lots of other guys and now youve got the nerve to say
That you still want me
Well, thats as may be
But you gotta stand trial
Because all the while
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Oh yeah
I know youve deceived me, now heres a surprise
I know that you have cause theres magic in my eyes
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
Oh yeah
The eiffel tower and the taj mahal are mine to see on clear days
You thought that I would need a crystal ball to see right through the haze
Well, heres a poke at you
Youre gonna choke on it too
Youre gonna lose that smile
Beacuse all the while
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles
And miles and miles and miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
I can see for miles and miles
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rain Tears
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Melding in torrential fears:
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Married under sceptic jeers:
‘They'll never last.' Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Simple love with lacy cares,
Their intercourse will ne'er refrain
From rain and tears and tears and rain.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears
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rs: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears
ears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears
: tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears
n: : tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears: : rain tears
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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It's Grand
It's grand to be a squatter
And sit upon a post,
And watch your little ewes and lambs
A-giving up the ghost.
It's grand to be a "cockie"
With wife and kids to keep,
And find an all-wise Providence
Has mustered all your sheep.
It's grand to be a Western man,
With shovel in your hand,
To dig your little homestead out
From underneath the sand.
It's grand to be a shearer
Along the Darling-side,
And pluck the wool from stinking sheep
That some days since have died.
It's grand to be a rabbit
And breed till all is blue,
And then to die in heaps because
There's nothing left to chew.
It's grand to be a Minister
And travel like a swell,
And tell the Central District folk
To go to -- Inverell.
It's grand to be a socialist
And lead the bold array
That marches to prosperity
At seven bob a day.
It's grand to be unemployed
And lie in the Domain,
And wake up every second day --
And go to sleep again.
It's grand to borrow English tin
To pay for wharves and docks
And then to find it isn't in
The little money-box.
It's grand to be a democrat
And toady to the mob,
For fear that if you told the truth
They'd hunt you from your job.
It's grand to be a lot of things
In this fair Southern land,
But if the Lord would send us rain,
That would, indeed, be grand!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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