Poetry

The Great City

The stench of the city is a tangible whiff

cutting into nostrils, goatees, wigs and quiffs.

The factories as they churn out smoke

Make the ladies clutch their handkerchiefs and the gentlemen choke.

The procession of children from the workhouse in boxes

Goes unnoticed by the gentry as they hide in shadow with doxies.

No, not doxies, my mistake –¬†unfortunate women¬†

as if anyone cares to give them safer work for more than a shilling.

 

Poetry

The King’s Observations

The king sits at the edge of the road

dressed in beggar’s clothes

to behold all those who nearly ride him down

without a thought or care for his woes.

 

The king sits at the edge of the road

his finery all to be seen

and notes as his subjects come scurrying by

to ask how best he can be pleased.