Shadwell Stair

I have just been reminded by that excellent author Chris Hill that I love poetry. So here is the first of what may become a series of blog posts featuring my favourite poems ... with some kind of strange, weird or supernatural connection. I would love to hear about poems that are special to you.

This is Shadwell Stair, by Wilfred Owen.

I am the ghost of Shadwell Stair.
      Along the wharves by the water-house,
      And through the cavernous slaughter-house,
I am the shadow that walks there.


Yet I have flesh both firm and cool,
      And eyes tumultuous as the gems
      Of moons and lamps in the full Thames
When dusk sails wavering down the pool.


Shuddering the purple street-arc burns
      Where I watch always; from the banks
      Dolorously the shipping clanks
And after me a strange tide turns.


I walk till the stars of London wane
      And dawn creeps up the Shadwell Stair.
      But when the crowing syrens blare
I with another ghost am lain.