Heavenly Father, who in Heaven must be:
for in Wren’s cathedral, though I do see
matchless splendour, there’s no divinity.
Those angels hovering in the air
are to my willful eye passing fair.
And it will not shut itself in prayer.
The feast is laid, and the senses will dine
Pardon me, for I must stray awhile
to return that darling cherub’s smile
and to admire old architectural style
At midnight sharp, by St Paul’s clock
I shall sit by the river on the sidewalk
And there, in silence, we shall talk
You in your Heaven, and me in mine
Sunday, October 30, 2005
Friday, October 28, 2005
making mischief
If no spectre of inspiration is haunting you
You can right a poem just by vaunting too
You can right a poem just by vaunting too
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
:'-( Part II
London by night is very grand;
but you are no longer mine.
So on Blackfriars bridge I stand
turning the Thames to brine.
but you are no longer mine.
So on Blackfriars bridge I stand
turning the Thames to brine.
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