King's Cross

Station of fire and steam, and last farewells.

Languages mill, crossroads traffic collides.

White bicycle memory of rider outside.

 

Record-breaking runs north.

Larkin’s stopping train plaque.

 

Dropped match on the escalator.

Beneath a platform, a buried Boudicca?

 

Platform nine and three-quarters.

Rucksack bombers arrived from Luton,

eyed each other, said goodbyes.

 

◄ Homecoming

Drought ►

Comments

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raypool

Wed 10th Aug 2022 23:04

On the nail, can see the night mail. Excellent verse Greg.

Ray

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John Botterill

Wed 10th Aug 2022 20:04

By the very nature of the place, its associations are good and bad. Fine poem, Greg.

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Greg Freeman

Tue 9th Aug 2022 09:09

Yes, an excellent place to lunch, Graham. And to launch poetry collections, too! Damn! I forgot to include that.

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Greg Freeman

Mon 8th Aug 2022 23:03

Thanks for your comments, Graham, Steve, and John. I've been going through a lot of old poems tonight. Found this one marked 'in progress', which read as notes, and perhaps still does. But encouraged by your comments. Thanks for the Likes, Nigel, Stephen, and Holden

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John F Keane

Mon 8th Aug 2022 21:59

Truly poetic vision, there.

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Stephen Gospage

Mon 8th Aug 2022 21:50

A lot packed in here, Greg. So many memories. The station is a slice of life, good and bad.

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Graham Sherwood

Mon 8th Aug 2022 21:49

Warmth of nostalgia then Boom! A killer last verse (literally if you will). How clever to secrete the terrorists with Harry Potter. Brilliant. Good memories for me too lunching there.

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