My face in the crowd

Published on by Laura Bloomsbury 
They often ask  if I miss you
subsisting now in the hush of a country lane.
No, I say, not that magnificent metropolis
which sprawls like a soft, ripe cheese
concrete ever-crusting over London clay. 
Those pavements packed with footsteps
fast food, fracas, and harried faces
hurrying, every hurrying to a happening, elsewhere.
Entertainment, events, club, café and restaurant
city of consumption; consuming itself piece-meal
to trade the prostrate past for futures in the sky.
A honey-pot for visitor and youth, energized
and charging up on street lamps, traffic lights
store front sparkle, the spicy life of the night

My London is another sort of place;
weekend city streets when commuters
are dozing in their dormitory towns
and the tour bus rarely comes
The medieval rubbing shoulders with modernity 
unshakable, unshockable,
Churches, guilds, the antiquarian 
standing their ground, as they've stood for centuries
dripping rich with tales and histories
of Kings and Romans, fire and plague
ships in docks, palaces, rookeries 1 and prison.
And always the Thames, an old brown river god
our constant companion, meandering miles
to the quiet shires or ebbing to the wide-mouthed sea
where my long-gone London-born love
left his ashes on an outbound wave.
  1. Rookeries – congested slums of the 18th century onwards

For her poetics prompt “City Love” Punam invites us to write a poem of a city we live(d) in and/or love(d)

49 thoughts on “My face in the crowd”

  1. I love that second London you describe, not that intense melting pot of the first stanza, but one that still is rich in history with that river… I have only visited London a few times, but as a tourist it was probably a third city.

  2. That’s a great title, Laura, with which I can identify, and I have been asked that question so many times. I love the description of London as a ‘magnificent metropolis / which sprawls like a soft, ripe cheese / concrete ever-crusting over London clay’, and I remember a like yours. The description of the Thames as an old brown river god and a constant companion is perfect.

      1. We don’t, and I often get a pang when passing through on my way to visit my daughter in Hampshire. I used to love visiting her in her Clapham flat, still close enough to my old stomping grounds.

  3. “the Thames, an old brown river God” — phrases and descriptions like these capture so well the London you knew! A pleasure to read, Laura.

  4. What a pleasure to read the two contrasting yet complementing poetic views of your beloved city! London sounds like a young woman in the first stanza and a matriarch in the second one.
    Thanks for joining in with lovely poem, Laura.

  6. You’ve captured well the contrast between the business city of commuters and tourists and the structure that holds the core: the neighborhoods and history unnoticed by that always changing superficial layer of life. (K)

    1. yes there is a still a layer of life on top of all the layers of lives before – that’s what draws the visitor too once the entertainments are exhausted!

  7. The second stanza, that is what the essence of life in a city is; not visiting and just having food or shopping; but actually feeling like you lived the life there. Absolutely gorgeous writing, and the ending is a good, swift kick in the heart.

  9. Laura, your poem gracefully contrasts the bustling, consuming side of London with the quieter, timeless charm that emerges in its absence. The personal touch of your long-gone love adds a poignant depth to the narrative… Very touching…

    ~David

  11. The ripe cheese, and the concrete crusting over the clay beneath are images that ring true to me. I only lived in London as a student and for a few years it was all-absorbing, but the thought of it gives me the shudders now. Even the leafy suburbs. It’s too big, too full. Your final two lines give a reason for your continuing love affair with the place.

  13. A metropolis sprawling like soft, ripe, cheese…wonderful description. Such a heartfelt poem about London, it’s contrasts of old world and modern and the emotions held in the heart. Beautifully written.

  14. Beautiful work written with the embodiment of place that’s only conveyed by a local. There’s power in the places where we lay loved ones to rest. The knowledge that their story joins all the lives the river has witnessed throughout history adds a gentle postlude to your poignant end.

    1. thank you Yvonne – to me the Thames is the heart and soul of London (but some bias since my husband and I walked the 250 miles it back to its source)

  16. concrete ever-crusting over London clay
    those pavements packed with footsteps

    Loved this poem Laura… 🙂✌🏼🫶🏼

  19. Yes, this reads like “place”, granted a place foreign to me, but I can see the engagement, the belonging, and there is something attractive that way. Nice work Laura.

  20. “And always the Thames, an old brown river god
    our constant companion, meandering miles
    to the quiet shires or ebbing to the wide-mouthed sea
    where my long-gone London-born love
    left his ashes on an outbound wave.”

    This is so beautifully said.

  21. I especially like these lines

    “Those pavements packed with footsteps
    fast food, fracas, and harried faces
    hurrying, every hurrying to a happening, elsewhere.”

    That’s what cities do.❤️🙏🏻

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