John Betjeman Poems
|41.||Devonshire Street W.1||5/9/2011|
|42.||A Mind's Journey To Diss||5/9/2011|
|43.||A Bay In Anglesey||5/9/2011|
|44.||Felixstowe, Or The Last Of Her Order||5/9/2011|
|47.||An Edwardian Sunday, Broomhill, Sheffield||5/9/2011|
|48.||Back From Australia||5/9/2011|
|50.||Diary Of A Church Mouse||5/9/2011|
|51.||Meditation On The A30||4/19/2007|
|53.||A Subaltern's Love Song||5/9/2011|
Comments about John Betjeman
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 ...
Gaily into Ruislip Gardens
Runs the red electric train,
With a thousand Ta's and Pardon's
Daintily alights Elaine;
Hurries down the concrete station
With a frown of concentration,
Out into the outskirt's edges
Where a few surviving hedges
Keep alive our lost Elysium - rural Middlesex again.