Fair Welbeck Street

Fair Welbeck Street

FAIR WELBECK STREET, in all your brutalist majesty,

Balanced & bold against the massive London sky,

Teetering house of cards, it would be such a travesty

To bring the barrier down, and say goodbye.

In your storey-stacked style, you seem to call

To days when we were young, shook hands, dreamed dreams

Of progress, motion, of standing tall, a future fast and fine as jet streams.

These five-sided triangles, pointing down from above, certain in saying: YOU ARE HERE. You are loved.

And now your days are nearly gone, but turning off the thoroughfare

I find your striplights glaring on, the ever-widening dream, still there.

I know I shall pass by one morning, to find an absence in your place.

Let traffic dip its lights in mourning, for your cemented charm, your concrete grace.

Farewell, fair Welbeck Street, too beautiful to last

Once you were the future

Welcome to the past.


Oh, The Places You’ll Go

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself any direction you choose.
You’re on your own.  And you know what you know.
And you are the one who’ll decide where to go.

– Dr Seuss

The view from the top of Saana.


Lake District

Lake District, UK

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore,
There is society, where none intrudes,
By the deep sea, and music in its roar:
I love not man the less, but Nature more,
From these our interviews, in which I steal
From all I may be, or have been before,
To mingle with the Universe, and feel
What I can ne’er express, yet cannot all conceal
– Byron

Looking for more inspiration try HERE or HERE.

Hostel Life

I can take absolutely no credit for the following poem. I once read it in the book Kiwi Tracks and it has been with me ever since. Cathy does an excellent job of summarising the best and worst parts of staying in a hostel in a humorous way. I am sure some of you travellers out there will be able to associate with this poem in the same way I did.

Well, I have roamed the world, over many a day,
And a hostel’s the place I generally stay
Now there’s some things about them that’s always the same,
It’s a world-wide conspiracy, that’s what I claim.
‘Cause there’s always one who stays out till three,
Then turns on the lights ‘cause he cannot see.
He smells like a pub, and he’s usually drunk,
And he steps on your arm when he climbs in his bunk.
And there’s the one who leaves pots in the sink,
And when they run out, it’s your milk they drink.
They sprawl on the sofas so there’s nowhere to sit.
Consideration? Hell, they don’t give a … !
And the worst of all, they’re really a drag,
Keep every item in a different plastic bag.
Now I’ve spoken with the others, and they all feel the same,
We’re all considerate and we are not to blame.
So who is this group which disrupts hostel life?
Who stirs us from dreams and causes such strife?
Now I’m not paranoid, but it’s a thought that I’ve had,
They’re all on the payroll of our mums and dads.
They follow is around wherever we roam,
Making life miserable so we all go home,
But the last laugh’s on our  loved ones,
And that is for sure,
Because as for the travel bug,
There is no real cure.
They can torment us and tease us,
But when all’s said and done,
In spite of it all, we’re still having fun

Cathy ‘90
BC, Canada

Do you have any other travel poems or stories that you have read or heard during your travels that you would like to share?