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. Dawlish 5/9/2011
3. Harrow-On-The-Hill 5/9/2011
4. In A Bath Teashop 5/9/2011
5. Mortality 5/9/2011
6. South London Sketch 5/9/2011
7. The Last Laugh 5/9/2011
8. Verses Turned... 5/9/2011
9. A Shropshire Lad 5/9/2011
10. Business Girls 5/9/2011
11. Christmas 5/9/2011
12. In Westminster Abbey 5/9/2011
13. Ireland With Emily 5/9/2011
14. Executive 5/9/2011
15. Upper Lambourne 5/9/2011
16. The Cottage Hospital 5/9/2011
17. The Hon. Sec. 5/9/2011
18. The Irish Unionist's Farewell To Greta Hellastrom In 1922 5/9/2011
19. Trebetherick 5/9/2011
20. I.M. Walter Ramsden Ob. March 26, 1947, Pembroke College, Oxford 5/9/2011
21. Guilt 5/9/2011
22. Diary Of A Church Mouse 5/9/2011
23. How To Get On In Society 5/9/2011
24. Cornish Cliffs 5/9/2011
25. Summoned By Bells (Excerpt) 5/9/2011
26. Loneliness 5/9/2011
27. The Lift Man 5/9/2011
28. The Planster's Vision 5/9/2011
29. Myfanwy 5/9/2011
30. Winter Seascape 5/9/2011
31. Dilton Marsh Halt 5/9/2011
32. Five O'Clock Shadow 5/9/2011
33. A Subaltern's Love Song 5/9/2011
34. East Anglian Bathe 5/9/2011
35. Westgate-On-Sea 5/9/2011
36. Death In Leamington 5/9/2011
37. Devonshire Street W.1 5/9/2011
38. Middlesex 8/15/2008
39. An Edwardian Sunday, Broomhill, Sheffield 5/9/2011
40. A Mind's Journey To Diss 5/9/2011
Best Poem of John Betjeman

Norfolk

How did the Devil come? When first attack?
These Norfolk lanes recall lost innocence,
The years fall off and find me walking back
Dragging a stick along the wooden fence
Down this same path, where, forty years ago,
My father strolled behind me, calm and slow.

I used to fill my hands with sorrel seeds
And shower him with them from the tops of the stiles,
I used to butt my head into his tweeds
To make him hurry down those languorous miles
Of ash and alder-shaded lanes, till here
Our moorings and the masthead would appear.

There ...

Read the full of Norfolk

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.

[Report Error]