Concordance

This concordance provides an index to every word in the poems, excluding a list of common "stopwords". It may be useful in finding a half-remembered poem, and perhaps in looking at the usage of words in the poems as a whole. It will be readable only on a large screen.

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

F

F .B.L // // london clay, blackened, arsenic // // railings, pointing

f iron plate glue east // // Grow face

fa -cai thick soup. // // XO sauce explodes to grow the fragile bone.

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ers of iron plate glue east // // Grow

face fa-cai thick soup. // // XO sauce explodes to grow the fragile b

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ty vintage, the house is flat // // in

face , no sign of the deep bay windows that // // adorn most later Lon

Peckham 1969—1991

get sunburnt on the right side of your

face only. As Judith had broken in a new pair of boots, we buried the

Fragments of a life

// straining at their lines. The bows

face seaward // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // against the cu

Hear the marsh-birds calling // // to

face the town, runs headlong for the bar, // // Breath the scents the

ll know // // exactly when to show her

face , // // the world just so. // // A wingéd dragon, flying low, //

The world just so

o // // and dangers great will bravely

face , // // the world just so. // // True love will germinate and gr

The world just so

ven now, // // I feel the heat upon my

face . // // Twenty three years later, when my mother died // // we h

int of a sigh // // is to show him his

face , warts and all. // //

wn too // // down, not up—as in // //

facing down the crisis // // pinning down the problem // // throwing

Locking down too

// on the very edge of Sheffield // //

facing the Derbyshire moors. // // But the next war comes, and D is n

Ninety-six and counting

London // // // After that single

fact of life, a death, // // what was left was not so much a void //

that this equation also needs some zeta

factor // // and my clear beta, gamma, delta connection // // is scr

nnection // // is screwed up by a zeta

factor // // in ways that I can neither // // control nor understand

etting of the moon, // // or any other

facts you want to know— // // scientific, social, economic— // // or

Hard to tell, now, // // which failing

faculties to place // // at its door. Rage too against // // the ce

s-cross, revolutions // // blossom and

fade , movements // // are born, copulate and die. // // But for the

January Nineteen Hundred and One

n forever? // // Softness grows still,

fades away. // // Empty spiral hardness rests // // on the sea-bed.

mages last. // // But now the light is

fading // // as the day slides into the mist. // // Morning is alway

a throng // // moves north against the

fading evening light. // // Slanting lines are forming, breaking, for

Wells in winter

ompleted day. // // Not until light is

fading // // has the interval passed by. // // An uncompleted day //

// last glow // // tiny light // //

fading now // // dark night // //

// last glow // // embers warm // //

fading now // // last glow // // tiny light // // fading now // //

nd flood the plain. // // The light is

fading now. // // Politicians on the stump // // make promises-to-go

hings. Hard to tell, now, // // which

failing faculties to place // // at its door. Rage too against // /

by our local Trump. // // The light is

failing now. // // The surgeons trying to cut us off // // from cont

/ resonates on though the print becomes

faint ; // // just as each new generation soon finds itself // // ric

// dark night // // dream deep // //

faint light // // bird sings // // growing bright // // gadget ping

// in the light of a fire, // // and

faint starlight from space // // reflected in inky water, // // the

e beach. We hear // // the gulls, and

faintly , far away, the churn // // of waves upon the sand. Eastwards

Wells in winter

oves make the world go round, and all’s

fair in gloves and war, though the course of true gloves never did run

Vagrant monosyllables

d one bell.) // // we there did espy a

fair pretty maid // // with a comb and a glass in her hand. // // Se

All done with mirrors

t she painted // // the walls?” // //

Fair question. // //

// // tendering process was not at all

fair . // // The pledges from business are far from what’s needed. Th

Troubled waters

hat hangs on the wall // // who is the

fairest of all?’ // // The mirror’s reply // // with no hint of a si

or mirror on the wall // // who is the

fairest of them all? // // (The cruel looking-glass that will never s

All done with mirrors

// // far away and long ago. // // A

fairy , good or bad, will know // // exactly when to show her face, //

The world just so

est. // // In the creek tides rise and

fall // // a little later each passing day. // //

ten thousand different species rise and

fall // // and rise again. Great populations press // // against the

y by day // // time flies // // tides

fall and rise // // waves scatter spray // // under changing skies /

Mediterranean, // // empires rise and

fall . Battles are fought, // // wars are lost and won. Did they rag

mptom, not a cause. // // A // // The

fall drew blood. // // No such obvious culprit here, // // except fo

ing into every word-filled well, // //

fall , fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // //

Jump willing in

a voyage through deepest space: // //

fall , fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // And now, this boo

Jump willing in

makes your languid pulses race: // //

fall , fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // That book will se

Jump willing in

hould suck you into its embrace. // //

Fall , fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // That book will ta

Jump willing in

not paying attention, I // // stumble,

fall heavily forward and land with my // // shin on a knife-edge of r

checks? // // Will it rise or rapidly

fall ? // // If I find it squared will it deviously split // // the s

The truth about x

to every word-filled well, // // fall,

fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // //

Jump willing in

age through deepest space: // // fall,

fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // And now, this book, the

Jump willing in

your languid pulses race: // // fall,

fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // That book will set you

Jump willing in

suck you into its embrace. // // Fall,

fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // That book will take you

Jump willing in

no drink involved. // // P // // The

fall is denied. // // Anyway, the cancer can be blamed // // for man

// wrestling figures, clinched before a

fall ; // // Lutteurs—they are two, and now are one: // // no perfect

Sculpting the vortex

We // // As for us, the bits begin to

fall off. // // We are not so far behind. // // Old age ain’t no pla

get rolled over by an avalanche, // //

fall through a wormhole, or cross a mountain range? // // Did I march

Capricorn suite

fall // // West wind // // Autumn wind is bowling on, // // trees b

hen they come to Paris // // Manuel de

Falla and Igor Stravinsky. // // A turn, a period of change? // // W

January Nineteen Hundred and One

suddenly vanish? // // It hasn’t just

fallen behind. // // Two of our cushions are missing // // from the

One of our cushions

rovides a bridge. The trunks // // of

fallen trees, fresh from the winter’s storms // // or long since stri

arrow sandy beach past which // // the

falling tide reveals the deep black mud // // which oozes softly up b

// // under changing skies // // rain

falls and dries // // storms roll away // // as time flies // // wi

ielding // // rocks and stones, // //

falls back under my feet. // // No time, no time. // // Already I am

drink himself to death. But for these

falls , // // no drink involved. // // P // // The fall is denied. /

sand three hundred and sixty: Truro and

Falmouth // // Mevagissey; Mingoose; Mabe Burnthouse // // footpaths

er, in a two-up-two-down // // full of

family and lodgers. Daughter born // // at the height of the Luftwaf

Ninety-six and counting

later, I limp into harbour. My // //

family playing, completely oblivious. // //

ow the fragile bone. // // The peasant

family stir-fries four // // Butterfish cooked to no sauce. // // Yo

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

, the edge of the Lake District— // //

family wanting to rest and recuperate. // // Skiddaw is looming, invi

m a washing machine. // // An electric

fan . The dial of a clock. Another dial, // // from a stand-on weigh

llow who swallowed his hat. // // Just

fancy that—swallowed his hat! // // He swallowed his hat to fend off

Fancy that // // There was an old fellow who swallowed his hat. // /

eir // // was Tony Blair. // // Nigel

Farrage // // has a mouth like a garage— // // he opens it ever so w

Square mile // //

Farringdon Without (north side) // //

plummett // // Note: Fifty colours of

Farrow & Ball // //

the number, // // best expressed Roman

fashion : // // CII. // // We // // As for us, the bits begin to fal

western spiral arm (which will never be

fashionable ). // // See the slime on it? // // Wonder if I can get i

roach. We turn tail and flee // // as

fast as breath allows us, not to feel safe // // until inside the hou

Fast asleep // // dark night // // dream deep // // faint light //

ill last and last, // // the future is

fast disappearing. // //

way // // But we are bound for nowhere

fast // // Give me some wind to blow us away // // No wind! we wall

// Where are we going, so fierce and so

fast ? // // I know only the wind and the rain // // the sun and the

// // just in case we were driving too

fast . // // I was probably driving too fast // // to see the flowers

fast. // // I was probably driving too

fast // // to see the flowers in the hedgerows. // // We love the fl

passed. The winter’s chill // // Lies

fast upon the land so ill. // // Seldom now the skylark’s trill; //

The Lady’s Maid

but with sharp claws and barbs, // //

fastens itself inside. // // Movement is faster, edgier, rougher. //

stens itself inside. // // Movement is

faster , edgier, rougher. // // Rough softness grows // // but hardne

never left the womb // // That was the

fastness of her room. // // Only through the mirror’s gloam // // Da

The Lady’s Maid

e brown. // // Autumn fruit is growing

fat , // // trees bending, boughs reaching // // for the ground, crea

what re-imagine? Not to rave // // at

fate , at chance, at // // what has come about, but to close // // an

in range? // // Did I march towards my

fate , // // or did I merely hang on by my fingernails // // while th

Capricorn suite

e look to Camelot. // // Not until the

fateful day // // When, gleaming in his knight’s array // // And gai

The Lady’s Maid

n. // // The author, he whose life the

fates would squander— // // such richness in his music did he render

s a multitude of zens. The zens of the

fathers are visited on the sons, even if living in zen. // // Gloves

Vagrant monosyllables

wear but wear itself. Without wear or

favour , fools rush in, where angels wear to tread. I’ll wear not what

Vagrant monosyllables

t lays down the other, // // switching

favours at each turn. // // (Stay close to the carved bank // // for

jackets // // Shapeless, navy blue or

fawn , // // three-quarter length, or maybe short, // // patch pocket

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

offering to the gods? // // After the

feast , perhaps they throw it out. // // Could they just dump an offer

On offerings to the gods

aze. Then late into the night // // I

fed it all the bits that it had missed: // // fragments around the ed

stream-floor ridges // // Now a bottom-

feeder dredges // // Through the silt of Camelot. // // But what is

The Lady’s Maid

on their twice-a-day migration between

feeding grounds // // in lop-sided vees and slanting lines, // // da

we march in formation. // // The wind

feeds us, makes us strong. // // Occasionally, I catch glimpses // /

// as fast as breath allows us, not to

feel safe // // until inside the house.) // // The bracken spreads a

/ // is bottomless no longer. // // I

feel something // // never felt before— // // something solid undern

// Chair with pile of clothes. // //

Feel something… // // Shit! The wrong trousers! // // “Was it there

Another senior moment

// // and hide a secret inside. // //

Feel the air. Turn in the four winds. Broadcast the secret // // to e

e some wind to blow us away // // Just

feel the breathless sun beat down // // Way-hay, blow us away // //

/ Saying “Now that I’m old, // // I do

feel the cold— // // and my breathing is rather uncertain.” // //

/ // into the encroaching dark. // //

Feel the earth. Feel the water return // // to the dry ground. Let th

come in // // the roaming bees. // //

Feel the fire. Spread out a green canopy // // in the warming sunligh

time for a gentler stream. // // Now I

feel the flood’s return // // push against my trickle home, // // to

of the blaze. // // Even now, // // I

feel the heat upon my face. // // Twenty three years later, when my m

the earth, // // smell the air, // //

feel the warmth of the fire, // // listen to the lapping of the water

Epicycle // // Wake. // //

Feel the water. Push out below, // // tendrils into the dark and damp

ncroaching dark. // // Feel the earth.

Feel the water return // // to the dry ground. Let the cooling dark /

nother day // // Another day // // to

feel your ever-present absence, still // // to find a way. // // I h

er the door the glow is peeking, // //

feeling its way across the floor. // // From the lamp on the landing

morning glow // // time to rise // //

feeling slow // // rub eyes // // yawn and stretch // // blue skies

tense, alert and staring. A few // //

feet away, a sheep, cowering // // —and a lamb, sensing danger // //

South London standoff

n get along just fine. // // But seven

feet ! I must admit that seems exceeding wide, // // as if to start o

t effort at defence // // drops thirty

feet into a hole. // // Cambridge, circa 1966 // // One cold winter’

Walking in winter

We take our boots off, // // dip our

feet into water clear and achingly cold, // // and dry them on warm r

swindle… // // [One iamb, two anapest]

feet // // [make up an eight-syllable] beat. // // Selec- // // tio

Fibonacci series

and stones, // // falls back under my

feet . // // No time, no time. // // Already I am toppling over him /

t come June // // it turns out she has

feet of clay. // // On the continent // // My control is as strong a

This may be the end

for immunity— // // To indulge in the

felicity // // Of unbounded domesticity. // // (not the Pirates of P

pass // // destined for Harwich or for

Felixstowe . // //

days were short, // // and dark night

fell as we built and lit the fire // // on the dark stones, and plant

// // Out of the pastures and onto the

fell side, still // // climbing the contours and catching my breath a

/ That book will take you o’er a stormy

fell // // with her who to her lover’s side makes haste: // // jump

Jump willing in

Limerick // // There was an old

Fellow of Girton // // who always made love with his shirt on. // //

inderscout. // // Meet a dashing young

fellow rambler. // // Marry, find a home // // on the very edge of S

Ninety-six and counting

s past. // // It can’t be a student or

fellow — // // the thief’s much too cunning for that. // // There’s o

One of our cushions

ms // // perverse—the more because the

fellow // // was not wearing glasses. // //

Fancy that // // There was an old

fellow who swallowed his hat. // // Just fancy that—swallowed his hat

gate, on her way to // // recognition,

fellowships // // (Linnean Society 1904, // // Girton College 1913).

There must be moonshine

etitive games // // in the vast (as it

felt ) asphalt playground // // just across the road // // from the V

r. // // I feel something // // never

felt before— // // something solid underneath us // // churning the

o the house. // // I always regretted,

felt cheated by // // that twenty-minute hiatus. // // But the fire

environmentally friendly of us, but it

felt right. // // Many art galleries in many places. Thre

Fragments of a life

but to small // // effect. At last we

felt we had to call // // a halt to worry, and agreed to sell // //

Peckham 1969—1991

(useless for cold hands), // // thick

felted wool, a monk-like hood— // // and with (the most important thi

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

ng gave me sight // // of an acacia, a

fence and many // // trees around the edges of a field. // // Our fi

Beds and trees and windows

ken // // has been ploughed, the edges

fenced , the house // // demolished and rebuilt. The trees remain. //

estwick; Woodbastwick; Winterton // //

fences ; marshes; footbridges // // One to ten thousand: Cambridge //

his hat! // // He swallowed his hat to

fend off the rain. // // What an odd game—to swallow the rain! // //

hes, shrubs and flowers, mosses, // //

ferns and grasses waving under the sky. // // Islands, beaches, cliff

from the beaches of Dunkirk // // and

ferry them to safety // // at ten I would climb // // onto her stand

but rife // // with memory and desire,

fertile earth // // beneath, a place where something would unfold, //

people walk the brambled way // // And

fewer still will pause or stay // // To gaze down on the ruins gray /

The Lady’s Maid

orner box. // // I love you. // // Wi-

fi café. Send a letter. // // Laptop, plug in power socket. // // Cl

o look at the case. // // “It’s been a

fiasco , a drain on our taxes. The // // tendering process was not at

Troubled waters

Fibonacci series // // // Elemental

fib … // // Earth, // // air, // // fire, // // and water. // // N

Fibonacci series

that good night. // // … and one true

fib // // Here, // // now, // // in this // // extended // // cod

Fibonacci series

// achievement, but got // // only a

fib on a cheap pun // // … a swindle… // // [One iamb, two anapest]

Fibonacci series

ed // // hard // // to write // // a

fib on // // achievement, but got // // only a fib on a cheap pun //

Fibonacci series

// // “Fibonacci”’s four— // // not a

Fibonacci number. // // Time? // // No! // // No time // // for th

Fibonacci series

Fibonacci series // // // Elemental fib… // // Earth, // // air, /

Fibonacci series

three, // // five, eight. But // // “

Fibonacci ”’s four— // // not a Fibonacci number. // // Time? // //

Fibonacci series

l screws, // // rubber tap washers and

fibre sealing rings. // // The jars hang from their lids, nailed to /

dding space, time, love? // // … three

fibs about fibs… // // One, // // one, // // two, three, // // fiv

Fibonacci series

, time, love? // // … three fibs about

fibs … // // One, // // one, // // two, three, // // five, eight.

Fibonacci series

and of course // // extracted from my

fickle memory— // // elusive and illusive treasure, she. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

argument of any kind— // // political,

fictitious , mythologic // // or legal. Just come seek, and you shall

gain. // // Beards are good for finger-

fiddling // // stroking, tickling, searching in—but // // there was

oss the river // // lies the lagoon, a

field flooded and then left // // to the encroaching mud. On the far

I’m to be the battle ground. // // The

field is ready now, the lines are drawn. // // Whichever wins, whiche

Capricorn suite

many // // trees around the edges of a

field . // // Our first double bedsitter // // was on the first floor

Beds and trees and windows

n and the air? // // The hedgerow, the

field , the rapeseed and the corn. // // The five-bar gate, the muddy

The rain and the air

uare // // trees around the edges of a

field // // the trees in the front garden // // a triangle of back g

Beds and trees and windows

rt the edge of Malham Cove, // // with

fields below and limestone crags above; // // descend the steps to re

Daydream Dale Journey

Bar // // courts; staircases; playing

fields // // One to five hundred: Block plan // // Sherlock Road; Sh

nder a gray and lowering sky // // The

fields that by the river lie // // Are rough and unkempt. Buzzards f

The Lady’s Maid

r onward. // // Where are we going, so

fierce and so fast? // // I know only the wind and the rain // // th

, archive // // plummett // // Note:

Fifty colours of Farrow & Ball // //

// houses; yards; curbs // // One to

fifty : Ground floor // // Bedroom 2; Bathroom; Bicycle shed // // wa

// One to one million two hundred and

fifty thousand: Low Countries // // Gelderland; Glabbeek; Gramsberge

, circa 1958 // // After the floods of

fifty -three // // they raised the ramparts: giant concrete blocks //

Walking in winter

e start of the first world war). // //

Fifty yards across the park at the back // // a low embankment carrie

Peckham 1969—1991

rattle round, and link, and split, and

fight . // // No voices in the almost-silence that I hear, // // the

meets defeat, // // the relict of the

fight will be my wound. // // The goat // // // I am transfixed as

Capricorn suite

ng back towards their bases, // // and

fighters too. The siren call // // is in reverse, a brief release— /

Capricorn suite

as my muse and inspiration // // This

figment of my own imagination // // is the space in which I must surv

has come, it does not pass, // // this

figment of my own imagination. // // Maybe I should write it in a ver

relief is on the wall, // // wrestling

figures , clinched before a fall; // // Lutteurs—they are two, and now

Sculpting the vortex

, formulated forty years ago // // and

filed in the middens of my mind. // // And in my mind it conjures up

rip. // // I’ll need a ton of words to

fill each line from side to side, // // verbosely quite enough to flo

rk on the outside of the kettle. Never

fill the kettle above the MAX level and ensure that it is always above

Using your Kettle

. // // Where ever possible

fill the kettle through the spout as this will help to reduce the amou

Using your Kettle

e the MIN level. // // Only

fill the kettle with the amount of water you need as this will save el

Using your Kettle

s trill; // // No longer do the people

fill // // The wharfs and ways of Camelot. // // Only one remains to

The Lady’s Maid

// that it can make itself again, and

fill // // the world with dittoed offspring. Yet it will // // occas

, it had been once— // // but they had

filled the gap to make a join // // with the neighbouring block, leav

Peckham 1969—1991

in // // Jump willing into every word-

filled well; // // a book should suck you into its embrace. // // Fa

Jump willing in

ce. // // Jump willing into every word-

filled well, // // fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. //

Jump willing in

te: // // jump willing into every word-

filled well. // // That book will hold against your ear a shell // /

Jump willing in

se: // // jump willing into every word-

filled well. // // That book will tales of distant countries tell //

Jump willing in

in darker wood. Clear morning sunlight

fills // // the room we glimpse inside. A woman leans // // upon a

Cape Cod Morning

or the ones from Kings. // // If I can

filter out the rest, the aural grime, // // even I, atheist, find som

ount of limescale that builds up on the

filter . // // The amount of water can be measured by the l

Using your Kettle

ess crawls over sand and rock // // in

filtered blue light, // // carrying hardness with it. // // Sometime

There must be moonshine // //

Fin de siècle. // // Ethel Sargant, botanist // // (Girton student 1

There must be moonshine

t // // (well, really, just around the

final bend) // // this craven kraken creeps, and slumbers not: // //

Capricorn suite

ist from locomotion, // // this is our

final destination. // // These are the buffers, this is the end of th

y will // // to find a way. // // The

final fray // // remains in memory, for good or ill, // // another d

y taste; // // rather, look forward to

final oblivion— // // when the time comes, I might add, not just yet.

en one stormy night // // it pulls the

final prop. A hundred yards // // of man’s best effort at defence //

Walking in winter

of the Little Man precipice, // // one

final push up the ridge to the pinnacle. // // Now to descend, an alt

en it runs // // down the next groove,

finally // // dropping into the bottom tray. // // Of course you try

rder to show me the way? // // Will it

finally grow to be too tall? // // Will it wilt or last all day? //

The truth about x

// We also need money—of course private

finance will // // jump to join in, but needs time to come through. /

Troubled waters

// Cash m/c // // Washing // // Plan

finances —get advisor? G’s contact maybe // // Ring M about Xmas // /

Notes to a life

ing young fellow rambler. // // Marry,

find a home // // on the very edge of Sheffield // // facing the Der

Ninety-six and counting

// Pad of paper, ballpoint pen. // //

Find a stamp, street-corner box. // // I love you. // // Wi-fi café.

ow’s still // // another day // // to

find a way. // //

er I have the necessary skill // // to

find a way. // // And now today // // is ending. I suppose tomorrow

r ever-present absence, still // // to

find a way. // // I hear you say, // // “But life is for the living,

y head, and take away my will // // to

find a way. // // The final fray // // remains in memory, for good o

all the words their spiders’ crawls can

find . // // — // // A writer read, a speaker heard, // // at every

s away // // And we can some direction

find // // Give me some wind to blow us away // //

/ // I’m sure that there’s one I can’t

find . // // How could it suddenly vanish? // // It hasn’t just falle

One of our cushions

I think the gods themselves // // will

find in all the books that line the shelves, // // and close to home

orning I came down, // // expecting to

find it cold, but every day // // the embers beneath the ash were dar

ll it rise or rapidly fall? // // If I

find it squared will it deviously split // // the solution into two?

The truth about x

how it goes. // // It flows. // // To

find its end, where must it flee? // // To the sea. // // Tumbling t

inds something to patch? // // Will it

find I’ve a yen to make audiences laugh, // // so my name should be w

The truth about x

dale and moor to skip across // // and

find myself in wooded Janet’s Foss. // // Upstream again to clamber G

Daydream Dale Journey

// A line // // to show // // can’t

find , // // no. // //

This poem eludes me

ould reach this perfect knot // // and

find ourselves at home. // //

ont page // // is no longer the way we

find out // // what’s happening in the world. // // Nevertheless, I

December sounds // // Even I, atheist,

find some of them sublime— // // Britten’s Ceremony or the ones from

y which stings. // // Even I, atheist,

find some of them sublime, // // Britten’s Ceremony or the ones from

he aural grime, // // even I, atheist,

find some of them sublime. // // Must just ignore the shop-committed

what’s to do? // // Can we not // //

find some way to move, to go, // // to travel in the mind, some gentl

ne // // for any other choice. You’ll

find // // that every single play is here // // a new production for

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

ut the mushy core. // // Mango: // //

find the flat sides of the stone // // slice alongside // // almost

write their notes, interpret what they

find . // // The possibility of peace is now long gone. // // In just

Capricorn suite

e year tale to tell // // —could I but

find the words to make it plain. // // Two book-ends bracket our shar

both good and poor // // I’ll help you

find the words you’re looking for, // // to fit the rhyme and rhythm

ing to discover their relations, // //

find their denotations, connotations. // // Roget charted their assoc

t // // tried to climb // // tried to

find // // tried to forget // // tried to hear // // tried to ignor

r legal. Just come seek, and you shall

find . // // Who am I? // //

water’s edge, the birds are searching,

finding . // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // //

g, I must have mislaid them when // //

finding my way through the scree so much earlier. // // Later, much l

eting point under the bridge // // and

finding you, my lover and my friend. // //

ep // // along the beach. Each // //

finds its own reach up the foreshore, // // the banked sand and shing

Covehithe, Suffolk

// // just as each new generation soon

finds itself // // rich rediscovering Bach’s counterpoint— // // fre

yed on the screen, // // so the doctor

finds something to patch? // // Will it find I’ve a yen to make audie

The truth about x

il // // an accidental spiral sequence

finds // // that it can make itself again, and fill // // the world

he next two months // // are clear and

fine and bitter cold. // // Every step, // // your foot upon the cru

Walking in winter

o. Ah, I have a whim // // to build a

fine bridge clear across a great river, where // // trees, grass and

Troubled waters

m, you see, // // I can get along just

fine . // // But seven feet! I must admit that seems exceeding wide,

// // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a

fine plan. // // We also need money—of course private finance will //

Troubled waters

se again // // You say they choose the

finest of the herd // // and how it’s killed, prepared, and cooked an

On offerings to the gods

em in again. // // Beards are good for

finger -fiddling // // stroking, tickling, searching in—but // // the

must release them // // by poking your

finger // // into the hole. // // The run was already old, dark gree

e, // // or did I merely hang on by my

fingernails // // while the tornado raged around me? // // Or was it

Capricorn suite

// to the stains already covering your

fingers // // and your palms. Sometimes you must stop // // to dise

paint slowly decaying // // under the

fingers of the six of us. // // Sometimes more damage— // // break a

I am lost. The one behind // // will

finish me completely // // and for ever. // //

unconstrained. // // Unused parts from

finished or abandoned projects, // // pieces half-constructed or half

hen it began rolling out its own // //

finite but unbounded space-time continuum // // —cool! // // There a

// there was an old man called Michael

Finnegan — // // crowds stopped by his strange shenanigan // // calle

Liffey whose recirculation keeps // //

Finnegan going (despite it’s his wake)— // // Beethoven’s music is ju

// There was an old man called Michael

Finnegan . // // He grew whiskers on his chin—but // // the wind came

// there was an old man called Michael

Finnegan . // // The wind came up and blew him in again. // //

// there was an old man called Michael

Finnegan — // // thought his profile needed broadening // // thought

// We take the path beside the wood—the

fir // // and silver birch along the dunes that run // // between th

Wells in winter

we sometimes venture. // // Beyond the

fir -trees lies // // a bracken-covered heath. The summer fronds //

ur teeth // // into the maelstrom, the

fire and brimstone // // that will be the twentieth century— // // f

January Nineteen Hundred and One

of the earth, // // in the light of a

fire , // // and faint starlight from space // // reflected in inky w

y and earth // // and rock and air; no

fire and no gold, // // no gems nor coins nor jewels; just the old //

Daydream Dale Journey

Periodical // // Earth, air, // //

fire and water: just the four— // // but the chemists need many more

l fib… // // Earth, // // air, // //

fire , // // and water. // // Need just a few more. // // How about

Fibonacci series

at twenty-minute hiatus. // // But the

fire bore us no grudge, // // and welcomed us back into its glow. //

the spring rain. Throw open // // the

fire -coloured temptations, welcome in // // the roaming bees. // //

// Evening. A great dark cloud // //

fire -edged, blots out the setting sun. // // Later, the clouds amass:

eded a lavatory, and I had to leave the

fire for a while // // to take him to the house. // // I always regr

lace until at home // // the small gas

fire has warmed the room // // against the cold outside. // // (But

Walking in winter

You’d think he’d expire from swallowing

fire . // // He swallowed the fire to burn the string. // // What a s

others too I love—Earth, Water, Air—but

Fire // // is something else again. // // A memory // // (nineteen-

pace is the earth, // // time lives in

fire , // // leaving us the water and the air. // //

the air, // // feel the warmth of the

fire , // // listen to the lapping of the water, // // and gaze into

Fire // // My sign is Aries. Though it seems a poor // // fit for m

// // the sky is dark, but the raging

fire // // of the sun marks passing time. // // Far down below, the

dark night fell as we built and lit the

fire // // on the dark stones, and planted fireworks // // in the da

slowly, // // will burn for ever. The

fire once begun // // would last for days and days. Each morning I c

, a candle: // // heat till it catches

fire , // // pour out the blue flame. // // After lunch, a walk // /

Light and shadow

; // // strangely, though, not sex but

fire ). // // See this: // // the large, dilapidated country house //

/ // the roaming bees. // // Feel the

fire . Spread out a green canopy // // in the warming sunlight. Soak u

oor // // fit for me, it is at least a

Fire . // // The others too I love—Earth, Water, Air—but Fire // // i

wallowing fire. // // He swallowed the

fire to burn the string. // // What a strange thing, to swallow some

chopped and sawed and dug and then set

fire to // // the produce of our labours. // // A box or holly root,

// He swallowed the rain to put out the

fire . // // You’d think he’d expire from swallowing fire. // // He s

ation fires. // // Pots are thrown and

fired , // // crops are watered. // // Seasons and years are counted

plore the earth, // // and send signal

fires // // blazing into the air. // // Our space is the earth, //

e banks is marked // // with smears of

fires , burnt and black. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack

e are times // // when the imagination

fires . // // Pots are thrown and fired, // // crops are watered. //

house was lit // // by gas, with open

fires the only heat. // // The lino on the hall floor had been laid /

Peckham 1969—1991

// // on the dark stones, and planted

fireworks // // in the dark edges beyond the flickering light. // //

Place the cordless base on a level

firm surface. // // Where ever possible fill the kettle th

Using your Kettle

ways make sure that the lid is properly

firmly closed. // // Place the kettle on the cordless base

Using your Kettle

/ against the sky, a line of those same

firs // // looks vaguely oriental. // // Since then, of course, the

// // Towards the river is a group of

firs // // —the kind you sometimes see in lines across // // the Suf

ined road into the distance. // // The

first bedroom I had to myself // // had windows on two sides. // //

Beds and trees and windows

lic slices the beef granule. // // The

first boilers of iron plate glue east // // Grow face fa-cai thick so

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

or kitchen lights—CS 60W screw???—check

first // // Cash m/c // // Washing // // Plan finances—get advisor?

Notes to a life

around the edges of a field. // // Our

first double bedsitter // // was on the first floor front // // with

Beds and trees and windows

e together // // the bedroom was again

first floor front. // // Across the tiny front garden and the street

Beds and trees and windows

irst double bedsitter // // was on the

first floor front // // with a large window. From our bed // // we

Beds and trees and windows

il seven years later, the year that her

first // // grandchild arrived? I can’t quite recall. Nor can I now

Good vibrations

k gardens, full of trees. // // In our

first house together // // the bedroom was again first floor front. /

Beds and trees and windows

First I carefully let go // // just as far as I can reach // // the

Chatterley ban // // and the Beatles’

first LP; // // strangely, though, not sex but fire). // // See this

almost a half-century ago // // when I

first met your daughter // // I have known fragments, snatches— // /

Ninety-six and counting

// // At the end of summer, and in the

first mists // // or wild winds of autumn, on the wild Suffolk heath,

Lockdown // // Here’s a

first -rate opportunity— // // Isolation for immunity— // // To indul

// legs itch // // must get on // //

first scratch // // clothes on // // spell broken // // sleep gone

// Too bad. // // Polarity // // //

First the bad news, then the good: // // it's cancer; but it hasn’t s

Capricorn suite

r comes, and D is now called up. // //

First to Hunmanby on the north-east Yorkshire coast // // for the req

Ninety-six and counting

he beginning was the third. // // (The

first two were duds; the bits // // are somewhere back there, along w

st. // // Forty-some years ago, when I

first walked // // this path, it would have been // // a little scar

ys go: click-clack click-clack. // //

First we go to the front to see // // the engine, wheels bigger than

re // // (well before the start of the

first world war). // // Fifty yards across the park at the back // /

Peckham 1969—1991

rn nineteen-seventeen (dark days of the

first world war) // // in Sheffield, steel town. // // Mother once r

Ninety-six and counting

imal, machine. // // An owl, a leaping

fish , a fox afar— // // night-time noises permeate the air. // // So

d, steel town. // // Mother once ran a

fish -and-chip shop. // // A young rambler, you take part // // in th

Ninety-six and counting

nd whole, netsuke-like. // // Bird and

fish are two, and now are one: // // no perfectability except our own

Sculpting the vortex

. // // The impregnable fortress makes

fish cake. // // Fried kind’s of seafood in monolith // // Do the cr

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

he genes around. // // The plants, the

fish , the dinosaurs, the apes // // advance across the generations. E

/ Generations and generations // // of

fishermen and trading sailors // // ply back and forth overhead. Was

s Aries. Though it seems a poor // //

fit for me, it is at least a Fire. // // The others too I love—Earth,

// if I squeeze it hard can I make it

fit // // into, out or through? // // Is it saying there may be some

The truth about x

the words you’re looking for, // // to

fit the rhyme and rhythm that you choose, // // expressions either co

, the rapeseed and the corn. // // The

five -bar gate, the muddy track on the tarmac road. // // The walled p

The rain and the air

n suite // // In other news // // //

Five days after Charlie Hebdo, I learn // // that something is growin

Capricorn suite

, // // one, // // two, three, // //

five , eight. But // // “Fibonacci”’s four— // // not a Fibonacci nu

Fibonacci series

un. // // A post at either end, // //

five grooved sloping rails, // // a tray at the base. // // You put

taircases; playing fields // // One to

five hundred: Block plan // // Sherlock Road; Sherlock Court; Sherloc

ailways; borders; deserts // // One to

five million: Gulf of St Lawrence // // Shickshock Mountains; Shippe

Upscale down // // One to forty-

five million: Pacific Ocean // // Marianas Trench, Macquarie Ridge,

// as stealing a library book. // //

Five of our cushions are missing. // // How can we counter-attack? //

One of our cushions

s ugly. No such thought would cross my

five - // // or eight- or ten-year-old imagination. // // It stands w

he merry wives of windsor, four; // //

five othello; six for king lear; // // seven hamlet; eight macbeth; n

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

/ see its secret: // // the apple is a

five -pointed fruit. // //

Clerihews // //

Five politicians… // // Margaret Thatcher // // observed that her na

phone boxes; inns // // One to twenty

five thousand: The Broads // // Westwick; Woodbastwick; Winterton //

Selec- // // tions will do // // for

five , three and two. // // But for the two ones I must cheat. // //

Fibonacci series

ond the flickering light. // // Nearly-

five -year-old Colin // // needed a lavatory, and I had to leave the f

of May // // she says “Now’s the time—

fix the day. // // You dance to my tune, // // I’ll lead.” But come

This may be the end

r, but it’s cracked // // And won’t be

fixed and always did refract // // The one before it into at least tw

All done with mirrors

uncompleted day // // is not yet to be

fixed — // // but each interval passing by // // may be notched on a

otched on a stick. // // Not yet to be

fixed // // while the long night’s images last, // // but notched on

l translation is not raisins // // but

flagons . Flagons might indeed // // distract me, or Suliman, from hi

The well of love

tay me not with raisins nor // // with

flagons , for I am well of love. // // Apples may perhaps be comfortin

The well of love

ion is not raisins // // but flagons.

Flagons might indeed // // distract me, or Suliman, from his pilaf. /

The well of love

Mad. // // He’d adore such a grand and

flamboyant adventure—to // // jump on the bandwagon he’ll be glad.” /

Troubled waters

catches fire, // // pour out the blue

flame . // // After lunch, a walk // // through the summer’s brown br

Light and shadow

/ twigs catch // // smoke curls // //

flame unfurls // // smoke grows // // smoke curls // // smoke billo

twigs catch // // strike match // //

flame unfurls // // twigs catch // // smoke curls // // flame unfur

// move apart // // flames leap // //

flames creep // // growing bright // // flames leap // // sparks ta

// move apart // // eyes smart // //

flames creep // // move apart // // flames leap // // flames creep

otatoes roast // // embers warm // //

flames gone // // last glow // // embers warm // // fading now //

atoes roast // // warm as toast // //

flames gone // // potatoes roast // // embers warm // // flames gon

um— // // and see her consigned to the

flames . // // (I completely understand why people have // // funeral

/ flames creep // // move apart // //

flames leap // // flames creep // // growing bright // // flames le

ames creep // // growing bright // //

flames leap // // sparks take flight // // growing bright // // thr

e awake by what the thunder said // //

flashes silhouette the trees against the blind. // // A storm is ragi

awake by what the thunder said, // //

flashes silhouette the trees against the blind. // // Under canvas //

oast to coast // // dark forest // //

flashing stream // // bright sea // // rugged moor // // sharp moun

sky. // // Ahead, another line, // //

flat and sharp and natural too: // // pale sky encounters dark sea. /

k and forth and to and fro, // // in a

flat calm air. A winter storm // // brings wild mountains of water c

orian terrace house // // stuccoed and

flat -fronted. // // No electricity— // // gas lighting from the thir

Of eighteen sixty vintage, the house is

flat // // in face, no sign of the deep bay windows that // // adorn

Peckham 1969—1991

shy core. // // Mango: // // find the

flat sides of the stone // // slice alongside // // almost pole to a

ndulating, the path // // well-marked,

flat wet stones // // set into wet turf. // // Beside the path, ever

e needed broadening // // thought he’d

flaunt a bushy grin—but // // the wind came up and blew it in again.

time, the bug’s not spread by rats and

fleas // // but by their piss and snot and sweat and spittle. // //

// at our approach. We turn tail and

flee // // as fast as breath allows us, not to feel safe // // until

. // // To find its end, where must it

flee ? // // To the sea. // // Tumbling through rocks with rainbow sp

fore Columbus. // // He is a leader of

Flemish weavers, pointing the rest // // towards their major source o

A poem for free

sform the coloured flower into coloured

flesh // // and hide a secret inside. // // Feel the air. Turn in th

replaced, // // the soft and sensuous

flesh joins love’s embrace. // // Mother and child are two, and now a

Sculpting the vortex

coat, // // and sometimes at the bare

flesh of // // the back of your hand as you reach past to pilfer //

e made // // in twenty-ten, of all the

flesh reviewed // // in magazines, on billboards high displayed, //

For Robert Graves

is that doesn’t love a wall. // // Out

flew the web and floated wide; // // The mirror crack’d from side to

All done with mirrors

ond, // // and Barden Bridge—and now I

flick my wand // // some miles of dale and moor to skip across // //

Daydream Dale Journey

istory museum. // // You take turns to

flick your marble // // across the asphalt. // // If you hit your fr

/ // the trout that dart and pause and

flicker under // // the bubbling brooks, that chatter and meander; //

rks // // in the dark edges beyond the

flickering light. // // Nearly-five-year-old Colin // // needed a la

changing skies // // or the time that

flies // //

ise // // come what may // // as time

flies // // foolish or wise // // I cannot stay // // the changing

/ // the Prince of Crim Tartary // //

flies into the night. // // The paraffin stove // // casts patterns

Light and shadow

ing skies // // day by day // // time

flies // // tides fall and rise // // waves scatter spray // // und

// // storms roll away // // as time

flies // // wind blows and dies // // clouds pass or stay // // in

tle snore // // puts all the ghosts to

flight . // //

// throw on timber // // sparks take

flight // // glowing embers // // throw on timber // // let it burn

t // // flames leap // // sparks take

flight // // growing bright // // throw on timber // // sparks take

the bay // // a seal watches us, then

flips away, // // dives deep, leaving behind a swirling wake. // //

side, // // verbosely quite enough to

float or sink a battle-ship. // // But perhaps instead I will go the

off by a mile. // // Tony Blair // //

floated on air // // when Maggie’s encomium // // came to be known t

ove a wall. // // Out flew the web and

floated wide; // // The mirror crack’d from side to side. // // I lo

All done with mirrors

/ // On a spring high tide, I would be

floating // // at the height of the marsh, or maybe over it. // // B

rs // // cutting down the roses // //

floating down the river // // whistling down the wind // // not as i

Locking down too

r I’m lying awake or sleeping // // or

floating half in half out, I’m sure // // it’ll last forever, the lig

owing river, meandering across // // a

flood plain, excavates one bank // // as it lays down the other, //

gh to overflow // // the river Don and

flood the plain. // // The light is fading now. // // Politicians on

e river // // lies the lagoon, a field

flooded and then left // // to the encroaching mud. On the far bank

// Suffolk, circa 1958 // // After the

floods of fifty-three // // they raised the ramparts: giant concrete

Walking in winter

a gentler stream. // // Now I feel the

flood’s return // // push against my trickle home, // // to creep ba

ards; curbs // // One to fifty: Ground

floor // // Bedroom 2; Bathroom; Bicycle shed // // walls; doors; dr

I want some more! // // A spoon to the

floor — // // clatter! // // No! Another more! // // This stuff to

They should have given me a plastic plate

king, // // feeling its way across the

floor . // // From the lamp on the landing it’s spilling, seeping //

ther // // the bedroom was again first

floor front. // // Across the tiny front garden and the street // //

Beds and trees and windows

ouble bedsitter // // was on the first

floor front // // with a large window. From our bed // // we could

Beds and trees and windows

only heat. // // The lino on the hall

floor had been laid // // in nineteen thirty three, the newsprint sai

Peckham 1969—1991

ledges, // // While between the stream-

floor ridges // // Now a bottom-feeder dredges // // Through the sil

The Lady’s Maid

re! More! More! // // A plate to the

floor — // // shatter! // //

They should have given me a plastic plate

Another more! // // This stuff to the

floor — // // splatter! // // I said more! More! More! // // A pla

They should have given me a plastic plate

of bark, criss-cross // // the forest

floor , streams and all. // // A seven-mile climb // // brings us to

/ descend the steps to reach the valley

floor — // // to leave behind, for now, the wilder moor. // // The tr

Daydream Dale Journey

it had to be bolted // // down to the

floor , to prevent it going walkabout, // // a perambulation whenever

Good vibrations

rger bolts and nuts and washers, // //

flooring nails, staples, cuphooks, clouts // // masonry nails, screw-

ay? // // Across what carpets, rugs or

floors ? // // I cannot say. // // The houses, and their rooms and ha

The dream I dreamt

/ paint from woodwork, // // lino from

floors . // // (Under the lino, newspaper // // dated 1933 // // the

ces. Three solid days in the Uffizi in

Florence . Walking in the drizzle the long approach road to the Krölle

Fragments of a life

l chicken, // // Olive dish dried meat

floss stir fries a leaf mustard. // // The small bowl of wedding rece

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

/ just as far as I can reach // // the

flotsam brought in on the flow: // // time to mark the beach. // //

day // // throw half away // // more

flour , water, mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // put in po

Ode to the yeast wind

Ode to the yeast wind // //

flour , water, mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // throw hal

Ode to the yeast wind

day // // throw half away // // more

flour , water, mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // throw hal

Ode to the yeast wind

day // // throw half away // // more

flour , water, mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // throw hal

Ode to the yeast wind

// I cannot now recall. // // Cities

flourish and decay. In forgotten corners, // // artists create and s

erfish cooked to no sauce. // // Young

flourishing bowl bowl shrimp // // Do a boiler burn the duck head. //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

lt, // // form and reform each ebb and

flow , each moonphase // // and each season (the navigation buoys must

oem eludes me // // No time // // for

flow // // or rhyme, // // no. // // Words go // // from mind //

This poem eludes me

g to cut us off // // from continental

flow // // seem more like butchers working rough. // // The light is

ch // // the flotsam brought in on the

flow : // // time to mark the beach. // // Now I start to trickle bac

ed for the occasion, // // we read the

flower -borne messages // // and talked to relatives not seen for year

the air. // // Transform the coloured

flower into coloured flesh // // and hide a secret inside. // // Fee

tingling, too. // // Around them, the

flowers bloom and wither // // and bloom again. They’ve been there /

South London standoff

at river, where // // trees, grass and

flowers can stretch shore to shore. // // Of bridges traversing the T

Troubled waters

rs in the hedgerows. // // We love the

flowers in the hedgerows // // no matter what the season of the year.

ably driving too fast // // to see the

flowers in the hedgerows. // // We love the flowers in the hedgerows

ky. // // Trees and bushes, shrubs and

flowers , mosses, // // ferns and grasses waving under the sky. // //

to messenger. // // I love you. // //

Flowing Nile. Send a letter. // // New papyrus, brush and ink. // //

/ // will exchange character. // // A

flowing river, meandering across // // a flood plain, excavates one b

orrents, // // tarns, and streams slow-

flowing , under the sky. // // Trees and bushes, shrubs and flowers, m

. // // Objective // // Yellow liquid

flows . // // Subjective/objective // // Tap left open. // // Oh bug

Capricorn suite

me, if you will, how it goes. // // It

flows . // // To find its end, where must it flee? // // To the sea.

across meadows, // // from a spring it

flows to the sea. // //

// // Are rough and unkempt. Buzzards

fly // // Above the weedy hedgerows, by // // The once-proud towers

The Lady’s Maid

// some cryptic rune. // // The senses

fly . // // It’s Jan, not June. // // Back home soon // // warm and

The moon in June

ucous song: // // A thousand geese are

flying into night. // //

Wells in winter

world just so. // // A wingéd dragon,

flying low, // // will seek a human sacrifice, // // far away and lo

The world just so

nes // // High overhead, the geese are

flying out // // on their twice-a-day migration between feeding groun

ck-clack. // // At night, the glow and

flying sparks. // // Grass on the lineside banks is marked // // wit

e, below, // // left and right. // //

Focus in, // // each ray // // trapped on its way // // from the su

// above, below, left and right, // //

focus in each ray. // // Trapped on its way from the sun, // // brig

s cut us off from looking at // // the

focus of her gaze: does he not want // // to tell? // // This painti

Cape Cod Morning

the engine’s noisy roar, // // coaches

follow along the track: // // the bogeys go: click-clack click-clack

— // // there was no chance for her to

follow him. // // There was a week of waiting while they fought it ou

Black September

overs wait a little longer, // // then

follow suit; the oystercatcher // // busily foraging across the bank

o beta using this equation, // // then

follow that suggestion // // to make the beta, gamma, delta link. //

We walked across England, once. If you

follow the west-to-east coast-to-coast walk devised by Wainwright, you

Fragments of a life

and Wensleydale // // they passed the

following day. // // Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, // // and s

// Most of the steps are small, // //

following , if not a line, // // at least some vague direction. // //

erse, a brief release— // // until the

following night at least. // // Odysseus' sirens, of course // // ca

Capricorn suite

tilla CD* // // Please choose from the

following nine // // options: if you want the tempest // // please

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

mud // // As I drift on mirror water,

following the bend, // // the curlew rises suddenly, // // screechin

a healthy handle on the case. // // *

following the example of the chemists and their sort // // ** becaus

Suliman’s pilaf // // is real comfort

food . But comfort me not // // with apples, nor with pilaf. I can’t

The well of love

me what may // // as time flies // //

foolish or wise // // I cannot stay // // the changing skies // //

t wear itself. Without wear or favour,

fools rush in, where angels wear to tread. I’ll wear not what men say

Vagrant monosyllables

ts? // // Is it merely the line at the

foot of the graph, // // so that y can now scale the heights? // //

The truth about x

er cold. // // Every step, // // your

foot upon the crust, you think // // ‘This time, it will hold my weig

Walking in winter

wick; Winterton // // fences; marshes;

footbridges // // One to ten thousand: Cambridge // // Petty Cury; P

ough passages or corridors // // light-

footed did I make my way? // // Across what carpets, rugs or floors?

The dream I dreamt

ear that the hour // // for soft pussy-

footing is past. // // It can’t be a student or fellow— // // the th

One of our cushions

ontal space, // // we must** resort to

footnotes just to keep a healthy handle on the case. // // * followin

issey; Mingoose; Mabe Burnthouse // //

footpaths ; phone boxes; inns // // One to twenty five thousand: The B

—needs emptying. // // That knocking?

Footsteps in the next room? // // Don’t be silly, that’s just the plu

rling wake. // // Nearer, the lapwings

forage up the beach. // // At water’s edge the oyster-catchers, gulls

suit; the oystercatcher // // busily

foraging across the bank // // lets me get much closer // // before

ng me an earful. // // To my left, the

foraging ground: a smooth bank of mud // // slopes up from the creek.

once was, the waders team, // // rich

foraging is in their sights— // // time for a gentler stream. // //

// and weathered hills, created by some

force // // beyond imagination; and of course // // extracted from m

Daydream Dale Journey

d or pushed? // // Did I leap a chasm,

ford a raging torrent, // // get rolled over by an avalanche, // //

Capricorn suite

Each // // finds its own reach up the

foreshore , // // the banked sand and shingle, perhaps // // (when th

Covehithe, Suffolk

on, but of, // // sand. All along the

foreshore , // // the remains of trees // // that once grew on the hi

Covehithe, Suffolk

facts. // // Geological time // // is

foreshortened . This is now, here, // // real human time. // //

Covehithe, Suffolk

llen with spring melt. But an old pine

forest // // always provides a bridge. The trunks // // of fallen t

est // // by lake and stream // // by

forest and moor // // from sea to mountain to sea // //

h mountain // // wide sea // // close

forest // // by lake and stream // // by forest and moor // // from

er lake // // purple moor // // green

forest // // clear stream // // grey mountain // // jagged mountain

Coast to coast // // dark

forest // // flashing stream // // bright sea // // rugged moor //

tripped of bark, criss-cross // // the

forest floor, streams and all. // // A seven-mile climb // // brings

llion-year mountain // // hundred-year

forest // // hundred-million-year sea // // ten-thousand-year lake /

stream // // smooth lake // // dense

forest // // rough moor // // million-year moor // // ten-million-y

d crown—quite unlike // // the planted

forest , serried ranks of Christmas pine // // which begins a mile dow

ake // // resting lake // // rustling

forest // // tumbling mountain // // running stream // // rambling

ing the many-coloured earths. // // In

forests and in open spaces // // there are times // // when the imag

/ // The winding trails // // through

forests waking to the spring // // intersect or fork. Some of these

hardness rests // // on the sea-bed.

Forever ? // // Another, rougher softness, // // but with sharp claws

nence the rule. // // Change will last

forever . // // At intervals along the south horizon // // container

you ate straight off the bush are saved

forever ). // // At the end of summer, and in the first mists // // o

/ // For sure my laws must // // have

forever been lost // // if the apple had chosen a dunce. // // //

Newton’s counterfactuals

r rough softness. // // Can this go on

forever ? // // Empty again, in harsher light. // // Another softness

ckberries // // of my childhood remain

forever perfect, // // forever simultaneously sweet and tart, // //

hildhood remain forever perfect, // //

forever simultaneously sweet and tart, // // sharp on my mind’s tongu

lf, trumpet-like. // // Can this go on

forever ? // // Softness grows still, fades away. // // Empty spiral

river, // // Tending her cabbage patch

forever , // // The hermit of Shalott. // //

The Lady’s Maid

in half out, I’m sure // // it’ll last

forever , the light that’s leaking // // under the door. // //

Build speed. // // Build power. // //

Forge ahead. // // Spread. // // Reach. // // Slacken. // // Settl

mb // // tried to find // // tried to

forget // // tried to hear // // tried to ignore // // tried to lea

me now half-remembered, some long since

forgotten — // // but nothing that resembles a narrative. // // Born

Ninety-six and counting

. // // Cities flourish and decay. In

forgotten corners, // // artists create and sometimes destroy. Did I

l or mechanical purpose // // now half-

forgotten . Electrical components. // // A pair of cast-iron supports

1 back: frustration // // Damn—I had

forgotten // // that this equation also needs some zeta factor // //

aking to the spring // // intersect or

fork . Some of these meeting-points // // are signposted with names a

banks of shingle shift and melt, // //

form and reform each ebb and flow, each moonphase // // and each seas

small and great, // // examples of the

form both good and poor // // I’ll help you find the words you’re loo

in bag for Mon // // Did I submit tax

form ?? // // Check L’s dob—70 next b/day? // // Dentist appointment—

Notes to a life

grows steady and purposeful. // // We

form into rows and columns across the deep. // // Without knowing wha

winds // // a billion random patterns

form —until // // an accidental spiral sequence finds // // that it c

for any line. // // With a terse verse

form , you see, // // I can get along just fine. // // But seven feet

my mother died // // we had the proper

formal funeral. // // (She had chosen the music for the ceremony //

purpose of the wind; // // we march in

formation . // // The wind feeds us, makes us strong. // // Occasiona

vening light. // // Slanting lines are

forming , breaking, forming // // ordered chaos with a raucous song: /

Wells in winter

/ Slanting lines are forming, breaking,

forming // // ordered chaos with a raucous song: // // A thousand ge

Wells in winter

d it starts to snow. // // A snowdrift

forms against the wire brush // // of David’s thick black hair, // /

Walking in winter

gh glasses, darkly. // // —A fragment,

formulated forty years ago // // and filed in the middens of my mind.

, delta. // // The way is clear. This

formulation // // both lays the problem out and then reveals // // t

// grow beard // // brave again // //

forsake train // //

/ for all of us, such beauty brought he

forth ; // // and at the end, almost with dying breath, // // a swan-

ft, // // pushing the shingle back and

forth and to and fro, // // in a flat calm air. A winter storm // /

// // Where tender shoots may venture

forth // // On weed-o’er-run Shalott? // // She who hath this garden

The Lady’s Maid

and trading sailors // // ply back and

forth overhead. Was I carried for trade? // // Or in payment of taxe

s up an incense. // // The impregnable

fortress makes fish cake. // // Fried kind’s of seafood in monolith /

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

wered Camelot. // // Then, as winds of

fortune blow, // // It was arranged that she should go // // And tak

The Lady’s Maid

Upscale down // // One to

forty -five million: Pacific Ocean // // Marianas Trench, Macquarie R

entury ago and // // three hundred and

forty miles // // to the south-west: // // marked by a bolt embedded

Interval // // There is a

forty -one year tale to tell // // —could I but find the words to make

ed, invisible, lost in the mist. // //

Forty -some years ago, when I first walked // // this path, it would h

small ships // // sent out in nineteen

forty // // to pick up soldiers // // from the beaches of Dunkirk //

darkly. // // —A fragment, formulated

forty years ago // // and filed in the middens of my mind. // // And

eckham house // // that we bought some

forty years ago. // // One of the legs had rotted half away. // // B

the cold outside. // // (But that was

forty years ago // // —these days his hair is white all through.) //

Walking in winter

tention, I // // stumble, fall heavily

forward and land with my // // shin on a knife-edge of rock that prot

// // Probe. // // Grow. // // Push

forward . // // Build speed. // // Build power. // // Forge ahead. /

forward : inspiration // // Alpha, beta, gamma, delta. // // The way

not be to my taste; // // rather, look

forward to final oblivion— // // when the time comes, I might add, no

/ // and find myself in wooded Janet’s

Foss . // // Upstream again to clamber Gordale Scar // // and rest, a

Daydream Dale Journey

le(with double cream) // // // // Dr

Foster went to Gloucester // // for a summer spin— // // and liked a

There was a week of waiting while they

fought it out. // // There was a lull— // // But he was dead: // //

Black September

// empires rise and fall. Battles are

fought , // // wars are lost and won. Did they rage around me // //

wilder moor. // // The treasures to be

found along my path // // are elemental: water, sky and earth // //

Daydream Dale Journey

itself and four-inch rings surely to be

found // // elsewhere in the garage). // // The bench was once // /

// expresses change. Some variant has

found // // how good sex is—to mix the genes around. // // The plant

As I have visited other places, I have

found other treasures, and regret not having had the chance to show so

Fragments of a life

Colourless green ideas

found sleeping furiously // // // The garlic slices the beef granule

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

wn tangled thread, // // would we have

found some common course, // // or bend or hitch or bead? // // Some

ered on the ground // // waiting to be

found . // // Waiting for declension, conjugation, // // other morpho

, air, // // fire and water: just the

four — // // but the chemists need many more. // // The top of the ta

e. // // The peasant family stir-fries

four // // Butterfish cooked to no sauce. // // Young flourishing bo

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ed half away. // // But a new piece of

four by two turned it into // // a perfect workbench—the cuts and hol

hful— // // The eye of the little god,

four cornered. // // Something there is that doesn’t love a wall. //

All done with mirrors

ine; // // the merry wives of windsor,

four ; // // five othello; six for king lear; // // seven hamlet; eig

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

g Shakespeareline. // // * pronounced ’

four hundred’ // //

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

in diameter (the pole // // itself and

four -inch rings surely to be found // // elsewhere in the garage). //

rraced fronts. // // One of a block of

four , it had been once— // // but they had filled the gap to make a j

Peckham 1969—1991

five, eight. But // // “Fibonacci”’s

four — // // not a Fibonacci number. // // Time? // // No! // // No

Fibonacci series

who’s sneaking our cushions away // //

Four of our cushions are missing. // // It’s getting beyond a bad jok

One of our cushions

ived) I divided each drawer // // into

four or more sections, with plywood strips // // carefully cut and gl

nside. // // Feel the air. Turn in the

four winds. Broadcast the secret // // to earth, as far away as it wi

m will // // simply erase them. // //

Four years ago a storm demolished // // the dunes on the beach across

chine. // // An owl, a leaping fish, a

fox afar— // // night-time noises permeate the air. // // Someone sn

Type right // // The quick brown

fox jumps over the lazy dog // //

p. // // XO sauce explodes to grow the

fragile bone. // // The peasant family stir-fries four // // Butterf

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

Bach’s counterpoint— // // frescos are

fragile , but Piero’s perspective will // // live on long after his co

a little croaker with no result. // //

Fragile crab of incense taste mushroom // // Do the black boiler hair

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ed bed next door: // // someone else’s

fragile life is there. // //

ed bed next door: // // someone else’s

fragile life is there. // // Each new doctor asks the same once more,

// through glasses, darkly. // // —A

fragment , formulated forty years ago // // and filed in the middens o

Fragment // // I could not see what he saw; but I saw him see // //

h the rest of that // // ink-spattered

fragment of // // dead tree. // //

all the bits that it had missed: // //

fragments around the edges of the blaze. // // Even now, // // I fee

Fragments of a life // // We walked across England, once. If y

Fragments of a life

t met your daughter // // I have known

fragments , snatches— // // some now half-remembered, some long since

Ninety-six and counting

—does he know what it is she sees? The

frame // // he chose has cut us off from looking at // // the focus

Cape Cod Morning

some distant point outside the picture

frame . // // What does she see? Is there something there? // // Som

Cape Cod Morning

// // under the channel and then from

France to Belgium. // // But we don’t notice them at all: the journey

A poem for free

ke in 1896, in order to make proper San

Francisco bread, prospectors would carry with them their sourdough sta

Ode to the yeast wind

ine years long.) // // Béla Bartók and

Frank Bridge // // are still at college // // Sergei Prokofiev and C

January Nineteen Hundred and One

// // to find a way. // // The final

fray // // remains in memory, for good or ill, // // another day. //

e way we came. // // All verse is born

free . // //

A poem for free

free // // The night mail rattles north to the border // // (bringin

A poem for free

discovering Bach’s counterpoint— // //

frescos are fragile, but Piero’s perspective will // // live on long

/ Hanging garden. Send a letter. // //

Fresh clay tablet, stylus, scribe. // // Entrust to messenger. // //

ge. The trunks // // of fallen trees,

fresh from the winter’s storms // // or long since stripped of bark,

ce in which I must survive, // // with

Frida as my muse and inspiration— // // that reality in which I live.

should write it in a verse // // with

Frida as my muse and inspiration // // This figment of my own imagina

ut Aix was as far as he went. // // In

Friday Market square // // Jacob van Artevelde makes an expansive ges

A poem for free

All done with mirrors // // One

Friday morning when we set sail // // and our ship not far from land

All done with mirrors

gnable fortress makes fish cake. // //

Fried kind’s of seafood in monolith // // Do the crispy bean curd of

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

// // and finding you, my lover and my

friend . // //

one more. // // Now it happens my old

friend is crowned mayor of London, he // // goes by the rubrik of Bor

Troubled waters

orland. It wasn’t very environmentally

friendly of us, but it felt right. // // Many art gallerie

Fragments of a life

mpanions, pray? // // Old friends, new

friends did I meet? // // I cannot say. // // And when we parted, di

The dream I dreamt

ack to Sheffield again. // // How many

friends have you outlived? Eventually // // the Sheffield ties becom

Ninety-six and counting

ing cloud // // more meetings with old

friends // // more talks, more silences // // more sleeps, more slee

ho were my companions, pray? // // Old

friends , new friends did I meet? // // I cannot say. // // And when

The dream I dreamt

oss the asphalt. // // If you hit your

friend’s marble // // it’s yours to keep. // // But long before that

// // Olive dish dried meat floss stir

fries a leaf mustard. // // The small bowl of wedding reception stews

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

le bone. // // The peasant family stir-

fries four // // Butterfish cooked to no sauce. // // Young flourish

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

nky darkness, keeping // // at bay the

frights night has in store. // // Whether I’m lying awake or sleeping

g the shingle back and forth and to and

fro , // // in a flat calm air. A winter storm // // brings wild mou

// a bracken-covered heath. The summer

fronds // // rise far above our heads. In this bright green // // w

/ // the bedroom was again first floor

front . // // Across the tiny front garden and the street // // a tee

Beds and trees and windows

dges of a field // // the trees in the

front garden // // a triangle of back gardens, full of trees // // a

Beds and trees and windows

rst floor front. // // Across the tiny

front garden and the street // // a tee-junction, and a line of sight

Beds and trees and windows

see the tops of // // the trees in the

front garden. // // The second was at the back // // of a London ter

Beds and trees and windows

efully cut and glued. And labelled the

front — // // Nails: tacks, panel pins, ovals and round; // // Screws

on occasion at least // // to hold the

front page // // along with the rest of that // // ink-spattered fra

News // // They used to say “hold the

front page” // // but the front page // // is no longer the way we f

ay “hold the front page” // // but the

front page // // is no longer the way we find out // // what’s happe

e back // // of the one immediately in

front . // // The wind is angry, howling and shrieking. // // It push

click-clack. // // First we go to the

front to see // // the engine, wheels bigger than me— // // a great

bedsitter // // was on the first floor

front // // with a large window. From our bed // // we could see th

Beds and trees and windows

terrace house // // stuccoed and flat-

fronted . // // No electricity— // // gas lighting from the thirties;

// // adorn most later London terraced

fronts . // // One of a block of four, it had been once— // // but th

Peckham 1969—1991

to melt // // the topmost layer. The

frost returns // // to make a crust. The next two months // // are

Walking in winter

// // Gordon Brown // // replaced his

frown // // with a one-sided smile // // that was off by a mile. //

ret: // // the apple is a five-pointed

fruit . // //

that it’s // // protocanonical // //

fruit —as you cuss. // //

// at war with the bracken. // // No

fruit here—the thorns will catch // // at your sleeve, at the tails o

// // towards the brown. // // Autumn

fruit is growing fat, // // trees bending, boughs reaching // // for

// stands out, a clump of pears whose

fruit // // is hard as stone. (But when stewed overnight // // in t

// Winds bowling through trees // //

fruit -laden boughs bent to earth // // apples in the grass // //

rannigan— // // is the Tomato a // //

fruit or a vegetable?— // // test for it thus: // // bite it—the see

chops // // Veg—broccoli? // // Some

fruit // // Present for C—book? // // Coat to cleaners // // Pay ne

Notes to a life

Why is it that // // this latter-day

fruit so often disappoints? // // Did I just dream the taste? // //

may perhaps be comforting // // as any

fruit , though Suliman’s pilaf // // is real comfort food. But comfor

The well of love

eta, gamma, delta link. // // 1 back:

frustration // // Damn—I had forgotten // // that this equation also

ury and a bit. There is an area about 2

ft square of brush marks in a darker paint, made by a house-painter cl

Fragments of a life

t on, // // we generated quantities of

fuel // // and built a roaring blaze. Then late into the night // /

ere, with my eyesight? // // Yes, with

fuel to burn. // // If the lines be blurred just right, // // You ma

Babylon by candlelight

zac, and called “Post-Balzac”. It is a

full -length bronze cape, upright and rounded as if on the shoulders of

Fragments of a life

r // // through box and holly grown to

full maturity // // to an iron-gated pointed arch // // piercing the

ps instead I will go the whole hog, the

full nine yards: turn the paper onto its side and write each line //

to mother, in a two-up-two-down // //

full of family and lodgers. Daughter born // // at the height of the

Ninety-six and counting

eart aglow // // will sit and spin, so

full of grace, // // far away and long ago. // // A fairy, good or b

The world just so

ast hall // // of city station, noisy,

full // // of people rushing there and back. // // The bogeys go: c

we have to guess. // // The woods are

full of streams, // // swollen with spring melt. But an old pine for

rden // // a triangle of back gardens,

full of trees // // along a tree-lined road into the distance. // //

Beds and trees and windows

see // // a triangle of back gardens,

full of trees. // // In our first house together // // the bedroom w

Beds and trees and windows

because the margin is too narrow for a

full report // // Turns out† that the seventh layer consists mostly o

/ // as if to start out on a voyage, a

full round-Britain trip. // // I’ll need a ton of words to fill each

d boat runs a wake: // // time to gush

full spate. // // Now my headlong dash abates— // // where I once wa

for hidden treasure, long beaks buried

full // // to probe deep down beneath the shining mud. // //

ple spread! Quick, guys, an ecstasy of

fumbling , // // building the clumsy barriers just in time // // to k

ough. // // I’ll give it some taxpayer

funding , and get old saint // // George of the Chancel to throw in so

Troubled waters

etely understand why people have // //

funeral pyres.) Later we scatter the ashes // // in a wild part of t

er died // // we had the proper formal

funeral . // // (She had chosen the music for the ceremony // // —a S

Colourless green ideas found sleeping

furiously // // // The garlic slices the beef granule. // // The fi

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

efunct household gadgets, // // broken

furniture , shelves no longer // // serving any useful purpose. // //

nd fuzzy // // igloo-tent-cocoon, both

future and past // // veiled, invisible, lost in the mist. // // For

the now, and traces // // of past and

future both. // //

t is not so. // // Seen from here, the

future is changed // // utterly. And I have the scars // // to prov

Capricorn suite

t // // will last and last, // // the

future is fast disappearing. // //

to wander into // // a better place, a

future that // // revives, replenishes, makes good // // the damaged

mbling in places, // // crested by the

fuzz of last year’s growth, // // looks like a great sea-crag in mini

. // // Nothing remains // // but the

fuzzy end of the lollipop and the squeezed out tube of toothpaste //

We walk // // in a bubble, a damp and

fuzzy // // igloo-tent-cocoon, both future and past // // veiled, in