World Poetry Day 2025

I Sing of Change Niyi Osundare I sing of the beauty of Athens without its slaves Of a world free of kings and queens and other remnants of an arbitrary past

I Sing of Change read by Niyi Osundare

Poems on the Underground Celebrating World Poetry Day 2025

We celebrate World Poetry Day with recordings by Poets Niyi Osundare, Valerie Bloom, Niall Campbell, Merle Collins, Dawn Sands, Cyril Wong, Ian Duhig, John Glenday, Helen Ivory, Kerry Shawn Keys, Marjorie Lotfi, Jason Salkey, Connie Bensley, Danielle Hope, Ruth Padel, Brian O’ Connor and Nick Makoha

Listen to all the World Poetry Day recordings

Poetry speaks to our common humanity and our shared values, transforming the simplest of poems into a powerful catalyst for dialogue, thought and peace.

Since 1986, Poems on the Underground has brought more than 600 poems, old and new, familiar and unfamiliar, to all who travel on London Underground. Poets who have featured on the Underground have recorded some of their favourite Poems on the Underground for World Poetry Day

Sun a-shine, rain a-fall, Valerie Bloom 'Sun a-shine, rain a-fall, The Devil an' him wife cyan 'gree at all, The two o'them want one fish-head, The Devil call him wife bonehead, She hiss her teeth, call him cock-eye, Greedy, worthless an 'workshy, While them busy callin' name, The puss walk in, sey is a shame To see a nice fish go to was'e, Lef' with a big grin pon him face.'

Sun A-Shine, Rain A- Fall read by Valerie Bloom

Guinep, Olive Senior 'Our mothers have a thing about guinep: Mind you don't eat guinep in your good clothes. It will stain them.'

Guinep by Olive Senior read by Valerie Bloom

A dream of leavin, James Berry ' Man, so used to notn, this is a dream I couldn't dream of dreamin so - I scare I might wake up. One day I would be Englan bound! A travel would have me on sea not chained down below, every tick of clock, but free, man! Free like tourist! Never see me coulda touch world of Englan - when from all accounts I hear that is where all we prosperity end up. I was always in a dream of leavin. My half-finished house was on land where work-laden ancestors' bones lay. The old plantation land still stretch-out down to the sea, giving grazing to cattle.'

A Dream of Leavin by James Berry read by Valerie Bloom

Naima for John Coltrane, Kamau Brathwaite 'Propped against the crowded bar he pours into the curved and silver horn his old unhappy longing for a home'

Naima by Kamau Brathwaite read by Valerie Bloom

Ibadan J.P. Clark-Bekederemo ' Ibadan, running splash of rust and gold - flung and scattered among seven hills like broken china in the sun.'

Ibadan by J P Clark Bekederemo read by Valerie Bloom

February Morning The winter light was still to hit the window, and all my other selves were still asleep, when, standing with this child in all our bareness, I found that I was a ruined bridge, or one that stood so long half-built and incomplete; at other times I’d been a swinging gate, a freed skiff – then his head dropped in the groove of my neck, true as a keystone, and I fixed: all stone and good use, two shores with one crossing. The morning broke, I kissed his head, and stood. Niall Campbell Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Noctuary (2019)

February Morning read by Niall Campbell

Had I not been awake, Seamus Heaney ' Had I not been awake I would have missed it, A wind that rose and whirled off the roof Pattered with quick leaves off the sycamore'

Had I not Been Awake by Seamus Heaney read by Niall Campbell

Map of the New World: Archipelagoes , Derek Walcott ' At the end of this sentence, rain will begin. At the rain's edge, a sail. Slowly the sail will lose sight of islands; into a mist will go the belief in harbours of an entire race. The ten-years war is finished. Helen's hair, a grey cloud. Troy, a white ashpit by the drizzling sea. The drizzle tightens like the strings of a harp. A man with clouded eyes picks up the rain and plucks the first line of the Odyssey.'

Archipelagoes by Derek Walcott read by Niall Campbell

Memory of my Father, Patrick Kavanagh 'Every old man I see Reminds me of my father When he had fallen in love with death One time when sheaves were gathered.'

Memory of My Father by Patrick Kavanagh read by Brian O’Connor

Spooner Goes Under, Brian O’Connor ‘Stamp Head Wedge Air Stooge Greet Shammer Myth Flak Briars Straker Beat’

Spooner Goes Under read by Brian O’Connor

Encounter at St. Martin's, Ken Smith 'I tell a wanderer's tale, the same I began long ago, a boy in a barn, I am always lost in it. The place is always strange to me. In my pocket the wrong money or none, the wrong paper maps of another town, the phrase book for yesterday's language, just a ticket to the next station, and my instructions. In the lobby of the Banco Bilbao a dark woman will slip me a key, a package, the name of a hotel, a numbered account, the first letters of an unknown alphabet.'

Encounter at St Martin’s by Ken Smith read by George Szirtes

Much Madness is Divinest Sense, Emily Dickinson, Much Madness is divinest Sense- To a discerning Eye- Much Sense- the starkest Madness- 'Tis the Majority In this, as All, Prevail- Assent- and you are sane- Demur- you're straightway dangerous- And handled with a Chain-''

Much Madness is Divinest Sense by Emily Dickinson read by George Szirtes

At Lord’s, Francis Thompson Poems on the Underground 1986 poster ‘It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though my own red roses there may blow; It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk, Though the red roses crest the caps, I know. For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast, And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost, And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host As the run-stealers flicker to and fro, To and fro: - O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!'

At Lord’s by Francis Thompson read by George Szirtes

Epilogue by Dawn Sands But the purest memory is the storybook moment when we stood there, rain-drenched girls, elbow-high, and for once we became the characters we pencilled to paper like prayers as she asked the question every ten-year-old soul wants to hold in her heartbeat forever: can we be best friends? No popularity contest, no magic wish. Just two clouds of loneliness converging in a clap of thunderlight, a starlit dream to cradle us till next winter. Young Poets on the Underground

Epilogue read by Dawn Sands

Dragonfly by Fleur Adcock In the next life I should like to be for one perpetual day a dragonfly: a series of blue-green flashes over Lily Tarn, a contraption of steel and cellophane whose only verbs are dart, skim, hover. One day is enough to remember. Reprinted by permission of Bloodaxe Books from Collected Poems (2024)

Dragonfly by Fleur Adcock read by Cyril Wong

The Sunburst by Michael Longley (b.1939) ' Her first memory is of light all around her As she sits among pillows on a patchwork quilt Made out of uniforms, coat linings, petticoats, Waistcoats, flannel shirts, ball gowns, by Mother Or Grandmother, twenty stitches to very inch, A flawless version of World without End or Cathedral Window or a diamond pattern That radiates from the smallest grey square Until the sunburst fades into the calico. 'Michal Longley (b.1939) Reprinted by permission of Random House from The Weather in Japan (Cape 2000) Poems on the Underground

The Sunburst by Michael Longley read by Ian Duhig

The Sonnets, Michael Longley 'The soldier-poet packed into his kitbag His spine-protector, socks, soap, latherbrush (Though he was not then a regular shaver)'

The Sonnets by Michael Longley read by Ian Duhig

Harmonica by Michael Longley read by Ian Duhig

Free, Merle Collins 'Born free to be caught and fashioned and shaped and freed to wander within a caged dream of tears'

Free read by Merle Collins

Like A Beacon, Grace Nichols 2009 Poster 'In London every now and then I get this craving for my mother’s food I leave art galleries in search of plantains saltfish/sweet potatoes I need this link I need this touch of home swinging my bag like a beacon against the cold'

Like a Beacon by Grace Nichols read by Merle Collins

History and Away, Andrew Salkey 'What we do with time and what time does with us is the way of history, spun down around our feet. So we say today, that we meet our Caribbean shadow just as it follows the sun, away into the curve of tomorrow. In fact our sickle of islands and continental strips are mainlands of time with our own marks on them, yesterday, today and tomorrow.'

History and Away by Andrew Salkey read by Jason Salkey

A song for England, Andrew Salkey. Poems on the Underground poster 1991 'An' a so de rain a-fall An' a so de snow a-rain An' a so de fog a-fall An' a so de sun a-fail An' a so de seasons mix An' a so de bag-o'-tricks But a so me understan' De misery o' de Englishman.

A Song for England by Andrew Salkey read by Jason Salkey

Connie Bensley, Shopper I am spending my way out of a recession. The road chokes on delivery vans. I used to be Just Looking Round, I used to be How Much, and Have You Got It In Beige. Now I devour whole stores— high speed spin; giant size; chunky gold; de luxe springing. Things. I drag them around me into a stockade. It is dark inside; but my credit cards are incandescent.'

Shopper read by Connie Bensley

Stations, Connie Bensley ‘As he travels home on the Northern Line he is reviewing his marriage.’

Stations read by Connie Bensley

The Thunderbolt’s Training Manual, Danielle Hope ‘Choose a soporific afternoon. As sunbathers doze, saturday papers abandoned.’

The Thunderbolt’s Training Manual read by Danielle Hope

Mysteries by Dannie Abse, Poems on the Underground 1994 ‘At night, I do not know who I am when I dream, when I am sleeping. Awakened, I hold my breath and listen: a thumbnail scratches the other side of the wall. At midday, I enter a sunlit room to observe the lamplight on for no reason. I should know by now that few octaves can be heard, that a vision dies from being too long stared at; that the whole of recorded history even is but a little gossip in a great silence; that a magnesium flash cannot illumine, for one single moment, the invisible. I do not complain. I start with the visible and am startled by the visible.'’

Mysteries by Dannie Abse read by Danielle Hope

Misty by Ruth Padel ' How I love The darkwave music Of a sun's eclipse You can't see for cloud The saxophonist playing 'Misty' In the High Street outside Barclays Accompanied by mating-calls Sparked off In a Jaguar alarm The way you're always there Where I'm thinking Or several beats ahead.'

Misty written and read by Ruth Padel

So We'll Go No More A-Roving by Lord Byron Poems on the Underground 1996 'So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving, And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And Love itself have rest. Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.'

So we’ll go no more a roving by Lord Byron read by Ruth Padel

The Lake Isle of Innisfree by W.B.Yeats 'I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core.'

The Lake Isle of Innisfree by W B Yeats read by Kerry Shawn Keys

The World by Henry Vaughan (1621-95) ' I saw Eternity the other night Like a great Ring of pure and endless light, All calm, as it was bright, And round beneath it, Time in hours, days, years Driv'n by the spheres Like a vast shadow mov'd, in which the world And all her train were hurl'd... '

The World by Henry Vaughan read by Kerry Shawn Keys

For My Wife, Reading in Bed by John Glenday ' I know we’re living through all the dark we can afford. Thank goodness, then, for this moment’s light and you, holding the night at bay—a hint of frown, those focussed hands, that open book. I’ll match your inward quiet, breath for breath. What else do we have but words and their absences to bind and unfasten the knotwork of the heart; to remind us how mutual and alone we are, how tiny and significant? Whatever it is you are reading now my love, read on. Our lives depend on it.' John Glenday Reprinted by permission of Picador from Selected Poems (2020)

For My Wife, Reading in Bed read by John Glenday

This Moment, Eavan Boland 'A neighbourhood. At dusk. Things are getting ready to happen out of sight. Stars and moths. And rinds slanting around fruit. But not yet. One tree is black. One window is yellow as butter. A woman leans down to catch a child who has run into her arms this moment. Stars rise. Moths flutter. Apples sweeten in the dark.''

This Moment by Eavan Boland read by John Glenday

From March ’79, Tomas Tranströmer, tr. John F. Deane 'Tired of all who come with words, words but no language I went to the snow-covered island'

from March ’79 by Tomas Transtromer read by John Glenday

A Private Life by John Burnside ' I want to drive home in the dusk of some late afternoon, the journey slow, the tractors spilling hay, the land immense and bright, like memory, the pit towns smudges of graphite, their names scratched out for good: Lumphinnans; Kelty. I want to see the darkened rooms, the cups and wireless sets, the crimson lamps across the playing fields, the soft men walking home through streets and parks, and quiet women, coming to their doors, then turning away, their struck lives gathered around them.'

A Private Life by John Burnside read by John Glenday

1915 I Know the Truth - Give up All Other Truths! , Marina Tsvetayeva (1892-1941) translated by Elaine Feinstein 'I know the truth - give up all other truths! No need for people anywhere on earth to struggle. Look - it is evening, look, it is nearly night: what do you speak of, poets, lovers, generals? The wind is level now, the earth is wet with dew, the storm of stars in the sky will turn to quiet. And soon all of us will sleep under the earth, we who never let each other sleep above it. '

I Know The Truth by Marina Tsvetayeva read by John Glenday

Packing for America My Father in Tabriz , 1960 by Marjorie Lotfi He cannot take his mother in the suitcase, the smell of khorest in the air, her spice box too tall to fit. Nor will it close when he folds her sajadah into its cornered edges. He cannot bring the way she rose and blew out the candles at supper’s end, rolled the oilcloth off the carpet to mark the laying out of beds, the beginning of night. He knows the sound of the slap of her sandals across the kitchen tiles will fade. He tosses the framed photographs into the case, though not one shows her eyes; instead, she covers her mouth with her hand as taught, looks away. He considers strapping the samovar to his back like a child’s bag; a lifetime measured by pouring tea from its belly. Finally, he takes the tulip tea glass from her bedside table, winds her chador around its body, leaves the gold rim peeking out like a mouth that might tell him where to go, what is coming next.

Packing for America read by Marjorie Lotfi

Ther is No Rose of Swych Virtu Ther is no rose of swych virtu as is the rose that bar Jhesu -- 15th century, anon. An old gardener plants a rosary of garlic around the rosebushes. And the sun on the high windows makes the song softer, softer – a hum in his ears: ther is no rose of swych virtu . . . while the odours from the dug up earth cling to the air – and the wind leaves no boundaries between the scent of roses and the scent of garlic. Sujata Bhatt Reprinted by permission of Carcanet from Collected Poems (2013)

Ther is No Rose of Swych Virtu read by Marjorie Lotfi

Love after Love by Derek Walcott ' The time will come when, with elation, you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror, and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life.' Reprinted by permission of Faber from Collected Poems (1986)

Love after Love by Derek Walcott read by Marjorie Lotfi

Come. and be my baby ,Maya Angelou 'The highway is full of big cars going nowhere fast And folks is smoking anything that'll burn Some people wrap their lives around a cocktail glass And you sit wondering where you're going to turn. I got it. Come. And be my baby. Some prophets say the world is gonna end tomorrow But others say we've got a week or two The paper is full of every kind of blooming horror And you sit wondering what you're gonna do. I got it. Come. And be my baby.'

Come. and be my baby by Maya Angelou read by Marjorie Lotfi

The Square of the Clockmaker by Helen Ivory When the last train left, the tunnel rolled the train track back into its mouth and slept. Clocks unhitched themselves from the made-up world of timetables and opened wide their arms. And in the square of the clockmaker a century of clocks turned their faces to the sun. Helen Ivory Reprinted by permission of SurVision Books From Maps of the Abandoned City (2019)

The Square of the Clockmaker read by Helen Ivory

Empires by Charles Simic My grandmother prophesied the end Of your empires, O fools! She was ironing. The radio was on. The earth trembled beneath our feet. One of your heroes was giving a speech. ‘Monster,’ she called him. There were cheers and gun salutes for the monster. ‘I could kill him with my bare hands,’ She announced to me. There was no need to. They were all Going to the devil any day now. ‘Don’t go blabbering about this to anyone,’ She warned me. And pulled my ear to make sure I understood. Charles Simic Reprinted by permission of Faber from Selected Poems 1963-2003 (2004)

Empires by Charles Simic read by Helen Ivory

Prayer, Carol Ann Duffy 1999 poster, Poems on the Underground 1,000 Years of Poetry in English 'Some days, although we cannot pray, a prayer utters itself. So, a woman will lift her head from the sieve of her hands and stare at the minims sung by a tree, a sudden gift. Some nights, although we are faithless, the truth enters our hearts, that small familiar pain; then a man will stand stock-still, hearing his youth in the distant Latin chanting of a train. ​Pray for us now. Grade 1 piano scales console the lodger looking out across a Midlands town. Then dusk, and someone calls a child's name as though they named their loss. Darkness outside. Inside, the radio's prayer - Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre.' ​

Prayer by Carol Ann Duffy read by Helen Ivory

BOM Mumbai Airport, Nick Makoha 'This far East your thoughts are the edge of the world. It will not be the last time that you walk through a door hoping to return'

BOM Mumbai Airport read by Nick Makoha

King James Bible Ecclesiastes 1 iii-vii 'What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun? One generation passeth away, and another generation cometh: but the earth abideth for ever. The sun also ariseth, and the sun goeth down, and hasteth to his place where he arose. The wind goeth toward the south, and turneth about unto the north; it whirleth about continually, and the wind returneth again according to his circuits. All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.'

From Ecclesiastes 1. iii-vii, The King James Bible read by Nick Makoha

Wedding by Alice Oswald 'From time to time our love is like a sail and when the sail begins to alternate from tack to tack, it’s like a swallowtail and when the swallow flies it’s like a coat; and if the coat is yours, it has a tear like a wide mouth and when the mouth begins to draw the wind, it’s like a trumpeter and when the trumpet blows, it blows like millions… and this, my love, when millions come and go beyond the need of us, is like a trick; and when the trick begins, it’s like a toe tip-toeing on a rope, which is like luck; and when the luck begins, it’s like a wedding, which is like love, which is like everything.'

Wedding by Alice Oswald read by Nick Makoha

Rain Travel by W.S. Merwin ' I wake in the dark and remember it is the morning when I must start by myself on the journey I lie listening to the black hour before dawn and you are still asleep beside me while around us the trees full of night lean hushed in their dream that bears us up asleep and awake then I hear drops falling one by one into the sightless leaves and I do not know when they began but all at once there is no sound but rain and the stream below us roaring away into the rushing darkness'

Rain Travel by W. S. Merwin read by Nick Makoha

Mmenson, Kamau Brathwaite 'Summon now the kings of the forest, horn of the elephant, mournful call of the elephant;'

Mmenson by Kamau Brathwaite read by Nick Makoha