Feet in London

Crossing over marbled sentiments for the ancient dead in Westminster Abbey.

In search of tea at the Orangery.

Carrying me,
To every darkened pub and doorway.

Propelled to Covent Garden Market, the entertainer’s opened cage,
bearing witness to the bravado of an opera singer hoping for change.

Swelling into the pavement, a Piccadilly dalliance.

Poised in reverence, before the ringing steps to St. Paul’s entrance

State of rest in theater stalls,

Cross legged in the tube,

And dangling from the fountains of Trafalgar;
THERE they get to hover.

Tired, blistered, pulsating, yet they can’t stop moving to discover.

* I wrote this poem quite a few years ago, after a trip I took to England.


11 thoughts on “Feet in London

  1. makes sense after reading the last line. 😛

    Trafalgar is a funny name
    always reminds me of truffles

    in that way so are Orangery and Piccadilly…

  2. Ooooo… I’ve sat there on or by the lions in Trafalgar Square a few times. Visited the British Museum, the Palace, the Tower, This made me feel a little homesick.
    Lovely prose, captures London so well.

  3. Nice! But it made me wonder, are you the person William Blake was referring to when he wrote “And did those feet/in ancient time/ walk upon England’s mountain’s green?/

    Just kidding! Everyone knows he was referring to Joan Collins (rimshot)

  4. Pingback: A Ghost Hunt in York | unga bunga girl

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