Competition | 4 July 2009

In Competition No. 2602 you were invited to submit a poem in praise of urban living.

The countryside’s praises have been well sung by poets; cities’ less so, although Wordsworth had his head turned by the early-morning view from Westminster Bridge. There are seven winners this week so I’ll pause only to offer warm commendations to Martin Elster, G. McIlraith and David Mackie. The magnificent seven, printed below, get £20 each. Shirley Curran nabs £25.

Say not commuting naught availeth,
That bendy buses are in vain,
The traffic jam yields not, nor faileth,
And misery packs the morning train.
For first impressions may be liars;
It may be, in yon fog concealed,
Are gleaming now the city spires
And, will, by noon, possess the field.
For while in tower blocks, vainly grubbing,
You seem, no painful inch to gain,
Below, your mates make plans for clubbing,
Fine wine and five star meals, again.
And not through double-glazing only,
When daylight comes, comes in the light,
In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly,
And downward look, the Thames is bright.
Shirley Curran

Only a fool would live in the country,
Hard by the shadows of copses and woods:
Better by far to live where there’s one tree,
And access to stores full of well-prepared goods.
Finer the whine of a wheel than a hoof-clop,
Warmer the press of a crowd in a street.
A garden appeals if it’s laid on a roof-top,
Ordered and tame, and its borders kept neat.
Imagine the racket if hearing the volume meant
Animals bleating at random all week:
Nature smells rancid, and brings no emolument.
You can coin it in cities, and join in their shriek.
Why brave the adder’s sting? Why brave the
    wasp-spittle?
Who wants to die in a cold country cot?
In cities, a cab whisks you quick to the hospital:
Speed’s what you need, not the country’s slow rot.
Bill Greenwell

 Muse, please instruct my spaniel not to bark
And see me safely through St James’s Park.