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Poem of the Week - William Butler Smith

Apologies for the lack of recent posts, it’s been a very busy time of late. As I suggested earlier my project was fat at one end, did get thinner for a while and then got very fat at the other. Then it was finished and I was moved to another customer site and I have the whole fat at one end thing all over again except this time I am managing a program as well (first world problems I know!). At the same time I embarked on a very exciting publishing project of which there is more news to come very soon.

In the meantime it has been a long while since we have had a Poem of the Week here so here is a quick post. My wife found this poem by William Butler Smith on the back of a jar of Pic’s Peanut Butter (see images below). I don’t know the story behind Pic’s publishing peanut butter poems or the story behind the poem but I love the idea and the poem, I hope you do too.


Right down the end of Lonely Street
You’ll find the Stone Hotel
One punter watching rugby on TV

No one to hear you crying
no one to call your name
Out loud, falling down, out loud

No room here called Self-pity
No room called Desire
And no name to be mentioned in your grief

Your love affair is dead and gone
Your deal has been done
Your tears are falling fast and falling free

You took a walk down Lonely Street
You booked yourself a room
And now it’s loss you’re keeping company

No one to hear you crying
No one to call your name
Out loud, falling down, out loud.

William Butler Smith

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