Treasure Island

Luke Davies

(1962 - / Sydney / Australia)

London, Winter


Pass unseen through a godforsaken floodplain,
city of treachery, siege and publishers.
No backbone here at all, nothing to fight,
or with. All sunken in unmerciful decay.

Every girl who ever rode a pony
prostrate in the stables. The one thing
that would save us, that would clatter
through the galaxies, a chariot perhaps, evaporates.

Frost rime blackened on the ponds is left.
The ducks and swans have lice enough
for all of us. The publicists eat Spam;
manners holds the rest of it together.

Submitted: Thursday, May 03, 2012

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Comments about this poem (London, Winter by Luke Davies )

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  • Karen Sinclair (5/15/2013 3:16:00 AM)

    coming from just outside london made me squirm... i think you nailed the negative side perfectly...tyvm (Report) Reply

  • Elena Sandu (5/15/2012 4:44:00 AM)

    Great write, thank you for share, also true. Such are the great cities poluted by money's sour bitter putrid smell. As for the publicists, hahaha let them eat.. whatever they want, the smart ones would not spend a dime or one second of a precious time, why, when they can feed their souls with delicacies of own choice, for as long as hopefully we have the internet for free. (Report) Reply

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