John Betjeman

Rookie (28 August 1906 – 19 May 1984 / London, England)

John Betjeman Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. Lord Cozens Hardy 5/9/2011
2. Mortality 5/9/2011
3. Verses Turned... 5/9/2011
4. South London Sketch 5/9/2011
5. The Last Laugh 5/9/2011
6. The Cottage Hospital 5/9/2011
7. The Hon. Sec. 5/9/2011
8. Ireland With Emily 5/9/2011
9. The Irish Unionist's Farewell To Greta Hellastrom In 1922 5/9/2011
10. Trebetherick 5/9/2011
11. Summoned By Bells (Excerpt) 5/9/2011
12. Loneliness 5/9/2011
13. The Lift Man 5/9/2011
14. Myfanwy 5/9/2011
15. Winter Seascape 5/9/2011
16. Westgate-On-Sea 5/9/2011
17. Inexpensive Progress 5/9/2011
18. Lenten Thoughts Of A High Anglican 5/9/2011
19. The Licorice Fields At Pontefract 5/9/2011
20. Seaside Golf 5/9/2011
21. The Planster's Vision 5/9/2011
22. On A Portrait Of A Deaf Man 5/9/2011
23. Upper Lambourne 5/9/2011
24. Norfolk 5/9/2011
25. The Olympic Girl 5/9/2011
26. Indoor Games Near Newbury 5/9/2011
27. In A Bath Teashop 5/9/2011
28. Harrow-On-The-Hill 5/9/2011
29. Middlesex 8/15/2008
30. A Shropshire Lad 5/9/2011
31. Business Girls 5/9/2011
32. Christmas 5/9/2011
33. Executive 5/9/2011
34. In Westminster Abbey 5/9/2011
35. How To Get On In Society 5/9/2011
36. Guilt 5/9/2011
37. Dilton Marsh Halt 5/9/2011
38. Five O'Clock Shadow 5/9/2011
39. East Anglian Bathe 5/9/2011
40. Death In Leamington 5/9/2011
Best Poem of John Betjeman

Slough

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his ...

Read the full of Slough

Meditation On The A30

A man on his own in a car
Is revenging himself on his wife;
He open the throttle and bubbles with dottle
and puffs at his pitiful life

She's losing her looks very fast,
she loses her temper all day;
that lorry won't let me get past,
this Mini is blocking my way.

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