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. The Planster's Vision 5/9/2011
15. Myfanwy 5/9/2011
16. Winter Seascape 5/9/2011
17. Westgate-On-Sea 5/9/2011
18. The Olympic Girl 5/9/2011
19. Inexpensive Progress 5/9/2011
20. Lenten Thoughts Of A High Anglican 5/9/2011
21. The Licorice Fields At Pontefract 5/9/2011
22. Seaside Golf 5/9/2011
23. On A Portrait Of A Deaf Man 5/9/2011
24. Upper Lambourne 5/9/2011
25. Norfolk 5/9/2011
26. Indoor Games Near Newbury 5/9/2011
27. In A Bath Teashop 5/9/2011
28. Middlesex 8/15/2008
29. Christmas 5/9/2011
30. In Westminster Abbey 5/9/2011
31. Executive 5/9/2011
32. I.M. Walter Ramsden Ob. March 26, 1947, Pembroke College, Oxford 5/9/2011
33. How To Get On In Society 5/9/2011
34. Guilt 5/9/2011
35. Cornish Cliffs 5/9/2011
36. A Shropshire Lad 5/9/2011
37. Dilton Marsh Halt 5/9/2011
38. Five O'Clock Shadow 5/9/2011
39. Harrow-On-The-Hill 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

East Anglian Bathe

Oh when the early morning at the seaside
Took us with hurrying steps from Horsey Mere
To see the whistling bent-grass on the leeside
And then the tumbled breaker-line appear,
On high, the clouds with mighty adumbration
Sailed over us to seaward fast and clear
And jellyfish in quivering isolation
Lay silted in the dry sand of the breeze
And we, along the table-land of beach blown

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