Famous poems about london।Poems about london। Poetry By Timothee

London’s Golden !
Seven Love Poems

Timothee from France, Paris. 
*April 25.* 

 Love letter to a friend

On these banks by the Thames river, when tide is low…
There’s a strand of wet sands, dirty and abandoned,
To the nostalgia of dreamers in London,
For anyone could walk there…  Often I did so.
 
On a misty - foggy I would say - dawning hour,
Once I left a letter to you, Bobbie, my dear !
On a clutch. In a pouch. By the bank. As you near,
The point of view where you admire our great Tower.
 
Please, go pick my letter, in a crack in cement !
It has been here for years, waiting for you old friend…
When you climb at the scale, just above a garment.
 
Who knows ? Unless I do ! There are told our secrets…
When sun rises, a beam on metal, lets you find,
Our love letter - prudence, cherished ! Be delicate.
  

Timothee

Inner Temple, London

 
There’s an hidden lane yard in London, BlackFriars,
Where are the Courts of law, pleasant, of reds and greys...
If you reach the East exit, from Inner Templar,
You will see a basin, where I sat and I prayed…
 
Oh ! Lord ! I was saddened by these days in London…
When I was just a child, feeling sorrow and pain,
But when I walked this path to school, the horizon,
Of my thoughts, by magic, would clear, at this fountain.
 
London, Inner Temple courtyard, I remember !
An Angel came to me, once there I was crying.
She told me I would need to be strong, then yonder…
 
Further, my life would heal, I shall be happier.
I came back to France ! Healed…
                             And there are still lying,
The diamonds I left to you, Angel, lawyer !

 
London by Night
To a young foreigner…

 
 
 
Did you ever walk by London, at night, alone ?
Just walk, just contemplate the city, it’s magic !
You could wander forever, maybe, nostalgic.
Admire : the streets, the clouds, the jewels of the Crown…
 
They are all there before your feet, it’s infinite,
In that sense you could not, I believe, in your life,
See all of these, for sure… Be it haven, or strife,
Be it loom or a joy, a grey dusk, dark, or light…
 
Follow this way : you reach, out of Tate Modern,
By the waters, Southwark, the Globe, then Tower Bridge.
Cross to Saint Kathrine Docks, stay a while on a bench…
 
Walk backwards, reach Saint Paul, there’s a pub where to quench,
Meet an old mariner there, tell him you are lige,
To the blessed Kings of France !
                        Pay him, leave this tavern…
 

London, you can !

 
 
London, London by night, London at dusk, at dawn…
You would be forever in my heart with the psalms.
I heard your chants, Christians, with their Anglican charms,
In a church where I wept. Whilst Christmas had just shown…
 
You, English women and men, know the tales of Lore,
The ballads and the rhymes, and legends from old times.
I do believe in them, in their power, their prime !
I believe in the might from the mist at your shores…
 
London ! England ! You can make a young boy, a man.
Yes, I was on a thrive and sorrowful and lost,
Then I prayed ! I recall many nights if not most :
 
When I was in my room, puzzled, bent for mercy…
Thy o Lord delivered your child, for now I see,
Banks of Thames, twenty years later,
                                      By Easter’s shine.
 

 
A Little Greenery

 
When I was a young folk, at Elephant and Castle,
I met no elephant, no snake, beast, nor cattle,
I saw no fortress, nor a manor, no palace,
But I used to go down a pub, to drink a glass…
 
This pub was « The Green Elf » where Jamaicans drove,
A little enterprise, entertainment I prized !
There I would get easily, for a decent price,
Some of these small sachets, with clouds inside, of love…
 
It is so beautiful than this world, we live in,
Lets the seeds travel far, and their gardeners too !
 
You would find a secret life, only few have seen,
In London City yes, my dear, if you look well…
 
The Kings at Buckingham slept while I slipped into :
The clouds… Elvens and fays, liquors, through my heart dwelled.
 
 

 
Hush now, pretty French boy…

 
“Oh hip hip hip hooray, for Tim !” Chanted them all,
As we were at university, having lunch,
Joyful fellows, we were drinking, a beer, a punch,
It was about my eighteenth birthday… End of fall.
 
We were sat at the Peacock Pub, close from the Strand,
Where is the London School for the Economy !
They were partying there, happily, this for me !
Timothee the Second, Duke of Blue Magic Wands.
 
But I was desperate. At my sides two young girls,
Students like me, would cheer, even kiss on my cheeks…
I was a fortunate, glamorous, clever, “chic”…
 
And sad, pretty French boy, in England studying law.
Well, to my friends Angels, who I love, who I owe,
Thanks ! Joy has won. Praises still drift, to your robe curled.
 

 
United they stand…
 
 
There is something hidden in United Kingdom,
Would you spend some time there, you would guess, I believe,
Of how can these people assume the way the live ?
Half Lords and Peers, half punks, half bourgeois, scholars some…
 
An oddity appears in their History bookshelves :
They invaded every countries in our whole world,
Except Lesotho, then quickly came back to fold,
Their sails, and drink whisky, sleep tight, all by themselves…
 
There is more : it is a known fact, I have seen it,
When young folks in London, go for a party out,
They are all half naked, in the cold, with no coat,
 
They would explain : “We don’t want to pay a locker…”
Whilst, I don’t know how they could avoid the doctor ?
 
Mystery rule these lands. With magic, and some wit.
 
 

London’s Golden Seven…
25.IV.10.