John Betjeman Poems
|41.||A Bay In Anglesey||5/9/2011|
|42.||Felixstowe, Or The Last Of Her Order||5/9/2011|
|43.||Indoor Games Near Newbury||5/9/2011|
|45.||The Olympic Girl||5/9/2011|
|46.||The Licorice Fields At Pontefract||5/9/2011|
|47.||Lenten Thoughts Of A High Anglican||5/9/2011|
|50.||Meditation On The A30||4/19/2007|
|51.||Back From Australia||5/9/2011|
|53.||On A Portrait Of A Deaf Man||5/9/2011|
Comments about John Betjeman
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.
A Mind's Journey To Diss
Yes, it will be bliss
To go with you by train to Diss,
Your walking shoes upon your feet;
We'll meet, my sweet, at Liverpool Street.
That levellers we may be reckoned
Perhaps we'd better travel second;
Or, lest reporters on us burst,
Perhaps we'd better travel first.