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

M

advisor? G’s contact maybe // // Ring

M about Xmas // // Ring Tony D about works in basement // // Tickets

Notes to a life

CS 60W screw???—check first // // Cash

m /c // // Washing // // Plan finances—get advisor? G’s contact maybe

Notes to a life

ion to the rocks. // // But me, now, I'

m just lucky. // //

Capricorn suite

d Falmouth // // Mevagissey; Mingoose;

Mabe Burnthouse // // footpaths; phone boxes; inns // // One to twen

r king lear; // // seven hamlet; eight

macbeth ; nine // // for any other choice. You’ll find // // that ev

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

nate. A pump and valves from a washing

machine . // // An electric fan. The dial of a clock. Another dial,

e air // // with voices human, animal,

machine . // // An owl, a leaping fish, a fox afar— // // night-time

e air // // with voices human, animal,

machine . // // In hospital // // Voices from the curtained bed next

od vibrations // // The Bendix washing

machine was already elderly // // when my mother, acquiring a newer m

Good vibrations

nder bent to work; // // chrome coffee

machines . // // At the bar three people sit // // all six eyes lower

Pacific Ocean // // Marianas Trench,

Macquarie Ridge, Mendocino Seascarp // // the shape of the world //

// // goes by the rubrik of Boris the

Mad . // // He’d adore such a grand and flamboyant adventure—to // //

Troubled waters

e. The other, the noise // // that it

made as it spun, a rhythmic staccato juddering // // with a touch of

Good vibrations

quare of brush marks in a darker paint,

made by a house-painter cleaning his brush after painting some woodwor

Fragments of a life

er uses. The plastic boxes // // were

made for slides or toothpowder, tins // // for cocoa or throat lozeng

chalk and cheese; so what would he have

made // // in twenty-ten, of all the flesh reviewed // // in magazin

For Robert Graves

old Fellow of Girton // // who always

made love with his shirt on. // // Saying “Now that I’m old, // // I

eard, // // at every word a choice has

made . // // Those that they choose to use // // to inform or confuse

and gnashing our teeth // // into the

maelstrom , the fire and brimstone // // that will be the twentieth ce

January Nineteen Hundred and One

en, of all the flesh reviewed // // in

magazines , on billboards high displayed, // // each model posed in la

For Robert Graves

Blair // // floated on air // // when

Maggie’s encomium // // came to be known to ’im. // // … and one poe

// // that covers the heath. // // On

magic carpet // // the Prince of Crim Tartary // // flies into the n

Light and shadow

e. // // The box and holly // // were

magnificent , but could not be allowed // // to remain in occupation o

mpse, mizzle, skylight // // ammonite,

mahogany , archive // // plummett // // Note: Fifty colours of Farro

bbage-bed— // // She was once a lady’s

maid // // In gracious, towered Camelot. // // Then, as winds of for

The Lady’s Maid

Maid // // Under a gray and lowering sky // // The fields that by th

The Lady’s Maid

// // we there did espy a fair pretty

maid // // with a comb and a glass in her hand. // // See the pretty

All done with mirrors

// the world just so, // // a pretty

maiden , heart aglow // // will sit and spin, so full of grace, // //

The world just so

h, // // the mill-girl’s beauty or the

maiden’s death, // // the trout that dart and pause and flicker under

A poem for free // // The night

mail rattles north to the border // // (bringing the cheque and the p

A poem for free

pointing the rest // // towards their

major source of trade: // // England. // // Back the way we came. //

A poem for free

e all the junk inside. // // grey John

Major // // surely had a wager // // that he could without worry //

ost layer. The frost returns // // to

make a crust. The next two months // // are clear and fine and bitte

Walking in winter

— // // but they had filled the gap to

make a join // // with the neighbouring block, leaving a row of nine.

Peckham 1969—1991

ng on a hidden hollow which // // will

make a temporary home, until // // the next adventure. // // (One ti

atch? // // Will it find I’ve a yen to

make audiences laugh, // // so my name should be written in lights? /

The truth about x

a solution. // // All we need to do is

make connection // // alpha to beta using this equation, // // then

g as can be // // and stable—they will

make for me. // // But when my support // // is caught badly short /

This may be the end

two? // // if I squeeze it hard can I

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

The truth about x

l // // —could I but find the words to

make it plain. // // Two book-ends bracket our shared domain: // //

piral sequence finds // // that it can

make itself again, and fill // // the world with dittoed offspring. Y

ndane scene // // so briefly glimpsed,

make my muse suggest // // just three alliterative lines—at best //

or corridors // // light-footed did I

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

The dream I dreamt

// // Politicians on the stump // //

make promises-to-go // // inspired by our local Trump. // // The lig

in in the Klondike in 1896, in order to

make proper San Francisco bread, prospectors would carry with them the

Ode to the yeast wind

e electricity. // // Always

make sure that the lid is properly firmly closed. // // Pl

Using your Kettle

/ then follow that suggestion // // to

make the beta, gamma, delta link. // // 1 back: frustration // // D

s are a many-splendoured thing. Gloves

make the world go round, and all’s fair in gloves and war, though the

Vagrant monosyllables

ve // // tried to love // // tried to

make // // tried to mend // // tried to reach // // tried to recall

// [One iamb, two anapest] feet // // [

make up an eight-syllable] beat. // // Selec- // // tions will do //

Fibonacci series

// maybe catch // // close enough to

make you jump, or far away, // // the thud as one more apple hits the

he says, // // through these ideas he

makes a worthy guide; // // his voice is lively, gestures wide. // /

arket square // // Jacob van Artevelde

makes an expansive gesture // // towards the setting sun. // // Go w

A poem for free

h the scents the sea-winds bring // //

makes another lingering turn, begins // // Hear the marsh-birds calli

, busily, without rising from her seat,

makes everyone shuffle up in order to allow Judith to sit down. They

Fragments of a life

ncense. // // The impregnable fortress

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

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

uture that // // revives, replenishes,

makes good // // the damaged present, this dark night? // // Not to

// // with her who to her lover’s side

makes haste: // // jump willing into every word-filled well. // // T

Jump willing in

s lesson, the great Michelangelo // //

makes his work lasting by carving in stone— // // me, I’m not looking

the shapes, and using a charcoal stick,

makes some small additions. And it becomes a scene, a group of people

Fragments of a life

ing. // // It pushes us harder, // //

makes us grow broader and taller, // // sweeps spray from our tops, /

in formation. // // The wind feeds us,

makes us strong. // // Occasionally, I catch glimpses // // of the r

n wild boar’s head. // // If Aristotle

makes you choke // // eat me instead. // // My ancestor caused Eve t

nst your ear a shell // // whose music

makes your languid pulses race: // // fall, fall into the writer’s we

Jump willing in

ing gamma from consideration // // and

making an approximate relation // // by tying beta up with mu and lam

// // is just the egg’s // // way of

making // // another egg // // then what I should // // not be doin

Don’t count your chickens

Place the kettle on the cordless base

making sure it is positioned correctly. // // Plug in and

Using your Kettle

man. // // That is now my role— // //

making the necessary repairs // // for a generation of grandchildren.

he turn on the zero, not the one // //

making the twentieth century only // // ninety-nine years long.) //

January Nineteen Hundred and One

date it and route it just right— // //

making use of a network that spreads country-wide— // // from depot t

usband transforms into // // Yorkshire

male , expecting // // tea on the table when he returns from work //

Ninety-six and counting

. // // Then back to skirt the edge of

Malham Cove, // // with fields below and limestone crags above; // /

Daydream Dale Journey

n, // // a gentler walk, to bare bleak

Malham Tarn. // // Then back to skirt the edge of Malham Cove, // //

Daydream Dale Journey

e tail end of my colon: // // probably

malignant . // // ‘Malignant’ seems too strong a word. // // I’m sure

Capricorn suite

lon: // // probably malignant. // // ‘

Malignant ’ seems too strong a word. // // I’m sure it doesn’t really

Capricorn suite

e window. // // That waft of scent? A

malodourous revenant? // // Don’t be silly, that’s just the bin—needs

splits apart Edwardian disdain. // //

Man and drill are two, and now are one: // // no perfectability excep

Sculpting the vortex

easily win—but // // there was an old

man called Michael Finnegan— // // crowds stopped by his strange shen

Beginagain // // There was an old

man called Michael Finnegan. // // He grew whiskers on his chin—but /

comfort in—but // // there was an old

man called Michael Finnegan. // // The wind came up and blew him in a

earching in—but // // there was an old

man called Michael Finnegan— // // thought his profile needed broaden

g into // // one window; but one young

man half-turned // // across the rest, looking with unfocussed eyes /

// boldness and vision—I know just the

man . // // He has built me some buses which boosted my ego—the // //

Troubled waters

the setting sun. // // Go west, young

man ? No, this is about // // a century and a half before Columbus. /

A poem for free

// // Skirting the back of the Little

Man precipice, // // one final push up the ridge to the pinnacle. //

ondeau // // In any season, some young

man will wander // // along the byways, thoughts tragic or tender— //

bullet, stray. // // There was a young

man writhing in the splinters of the shattered window pane. // // The

Black September

e’s Yard in Cambridge when it was still

managed by Jim Ede (he would pick up a Brancusi stone head, or a small

Fragments of a life

// // scoop out the mushy core. // //

Mango : // // find the flat sides of the stone // // slice alongside

ically. The kettle can be switched off

manually by putting the switch to the ‘OFF’ position. // //

Using your Kettle

o enrol, when they come to Paris // //

Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky. // // A turn, a period of change

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ace we know but little // // across so

many alien lands and seas // // some people have some nasty new disea

s, but it felt right. // //

Many art galleries in many places. Three solid days in the Uffizi in

Fragments of a life

to our hands). She introduced me to so

many artists. As I have visited other places, I have found other trea

Fragments of a life

e evanescent airs // // moistening the

many -coloured earths. // // In forests and in open spaces // // ther

// // Between the endpoints there were

many days // // —or should have been—for many kinds of loving. // //

for wind: we care not a tittle. // //

Many die—thus limiting their needs. // // This time, the bug’s not sp

o. Back to Sheffield again. // // How

many friends have you outlived? Eventually // // the Sheffield ties

Ninety-six and counting

ny days // // —or should have been—for

many kinds of loving. // // Did I love enough? use every day? // //

m tray. // // Of course you try // //

many marbles at a time. // // Sometimes they jam // // and you must

Babylon by candlelight // // How

many miles to Barnard Castle? // // Three score, out/return // // Ca

Babylon by candlelight

eeding into seasons. // // Just not so

many more. // //

the four— // // but the chemists need

many more. // // The top of the table is sparse, but every second per

ces, ipods, phones speak out. // // So

many people talking: can we doubt // // that somewhere herein lies s

// // Many art galleries in

many places. Three solid days in the Uffizi in Florence. Walking in

Fragments of a life

will both inspire and destroy // // so

many poets and other artists // // which will drag us // // kicking

January Nineteen Hundred and One

et me be your open door // // to visit

many poets small and great, // // examples of the form both good and

// // To the sharp senses, nature has

many sharp lines. // //

much weight, too much rattle // // too

many small coins. // // Must get rid of the pennies // // (the pound

n if living in zen. // // Gloves are a

many -splendoured thing. Gloves make the world go round, and all’s fai

Vagrant monosyllables

ay, the cancer can be blamed // // for

many things. Hard to tell, now, // // which failing faculties to pla

sight // // of an acacia, a fence and

many // // trees around the edges of a field. // // Our first double

Beds and trees and windows

urd. // // In the beginning there were

many words: // // sitting, lying all around // // in bags or scatter

Mediterranean waves roll on. // // How

many years, decades, centuries // // have I lain upon this sandy seaf

final prop. A hundred yards // // of

man’s best effort at defence // // drops thirty feet into a hole. //

Walking in winter

hidden gold // // on the secret island

map ? // // (Am I now getting warm or am I quite cold— // // should I

The truth about x

nces // // that only roughly match the

map . At others, though, // // we have to guess. // // The woods are

aided—I // // just have to check on my

map for the best way back. // // Reading a map now, I have to use spe

for the best way back. // // Reading a

map now, I have to use spectacles. // // Carry them with me wherever

should turn. // // Now, on the glowing

map , the glowing // // blue dot reveals the now, and traces // // of

Pribble and prabble: as // // Nigel’s

marauding and // // taking two toeholds in // // Essex and Kent, //

Unnatural disasters

um. // // You take turns to flick your

marble // // across the asphalt. // // If you hit your friend’s marb

a tray at the base. // // You put the

marble in at the top; // // it runs down the groove // // into a hol

sphalt. // // If you hit your friend’s

marble // // it’s yours to keep. // // But long before that // // t

y. // // Of course you try // // many

marbles at a time. // // Sometimes they jam // // and you must relea

e on the purpose of the wind; // // we

march in formation. // // The wind feeds us, makes us strong. // //

or cross a mountain range? // // Did I

march towards my fate, // // or did I merely hang on by my fingernail

Capricorn suite

erihews // // Five politicians… // //

Margaret Thatcher // // observed that her natu- // // ral son and he

ses poor Boris, and // // gets the Red

Margaret to look at the case. // // “It’s been a fiasco, a drain on o

Troubled waters

ts and their sort // // ** because the

margin is too narrow for a full report // // Turns out† that the seve

towards the sea. // // Along the muddy

margins , in the lee // // of the sea-wall, around the bladder-wrack,

back towards the sea. // // Along the

margins waders // // scutter, scavenge—redshank, // // godwit, curle

rty-five million: Pacific Ocean // //

Marianas Trench, Macquarie Ridge, Mendocino Seascarp // // the shape

ut much attention to metre, until I can

mark its end with such a strong and obvious rhyme // // that even if

t of water can be measured by the level

mark on the outside of the kettle. Never fill the kettle above the MA

Using your Kettle

ough, and can be climbed // // inside)

mark out the sandy/grassy bank that is // // the cliff. A narrow san

brought in on the flow: // // time to

mark the beach. // // Now I start to trickle back // // over wet gro

it wilt or last all day? // // Does it

mark the site of the hidden gold // // on the secret island map? //

The truth about x

miles // // to the south-west: // //

marked by a bolt embedded in // // the Newlyn harbour wall. // // On

gently undulating, the path // // well-

marked , flat wet stones // // set into wet turf. // // Beside the pa

. // // Grass on the lineside banks is

marked // // with smears of fires, burnt and black. // // The bogeys

was as far as he went. // // In Friday

Market square // // Jacob van Artevelde makes an expansive gesture //

A poem for free

alls stripped and undecorated, but with

marks and signs accumulated over a century and a bit. There is an are

Fragments of a life

re is an area about 2ft square of brush

marks in a darker paint, made by a house-painter cleaning his brush af

Fragments of a life

, but the raging fire // // of the sun

marks passing time. // // Far down below, the earth // // is mostly

/ // was no great shakes // // in the

marriage stakes. // //

a dashing young fellow rambler. // //

Marry , find a home // // on the very edge of Sheffield // // facing

Ninety-six and counting

moves away to teach, and then // // to

marry me. Son develops // // schizophrenia. // // After G’s death,

Ninety-six and counting

The bows face seaward // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // against the current pushing strongly townwa

changes in the harbour; // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // at the bar the waves are washing over. //

the sandbanks. Listing // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // boats are stranded at their stations, waiti

ers reach and lift them // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // echoes of the distant sea-swell rock them /

steady, slow accretion // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // in places it has lost, reoccupation // //

lingering turn, begins // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // retreating back the way it came, regains //

creek a gentle trickle // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // the drying sand with muddy spots bespeckled

boats around once more // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // to face the town, runs headlong for the bar

sh channels water rises // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // to the edges of the sea-grass—pauses, // /

On the soft, receding // // Hear the

marsh -birds calling // // water’s edge, the birds are searching, find

al creeks // // meandering through the

marsh // // carve out sections of bank // // leaving sharp cliffs of

s // // above my head, the rest of the

marsh // // is out of sight. // //

over wet ground, under sky, // // from

marsh just covered in the slack: // // time to let it dry. // // Now

be floating // // at the height of the

marsh , or maybe over it. // // But today we are in the neaps: // //

listing on the mudflat. // // The salt-

marsh , the sedge and the samphire, // // the oyster-catcher, the egre

The rain and the air

// a calmer green oasis, band of salt-

marsh // // where barn-owls hunt their prey. But not for long // //

g the dunes that run // // between the

marshes and the sea. The sun // // is low ahead of us, the sky is cl

Wells in winter

Woodbastwick; Winterton // // fences;

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

gle beach. // // The mile south to the

Martello tower, // // we walk along the banked-up track // // behind

Walking in winter

// // Beethoven’s music is just bloody

marvellous , // // resonates on though the print becomes faint; // //

nails, staples, cuphooks, clouts // //

masonry nails, screw-eyes, picture hooks // // wallplugs, rivets, sel

ng rambler, you take part // // in the

mass trespass on Kinderscout. // // Meet a dashing young fellow rambl

Ninety-six and counting

ecalmed // // Run all the sails up the

mast // // Way-hay, blow us away // // But we are bound for nowhere

light // // twigs catch // // strike

match // // flame unfurls // // twigs catch // // smoke curls // /

and distances // // that only roughly

match the map. At others, though, // // we have to guess. // // The

Bonfire // // Dark night // // strike

match // // tiny light // // twigs catch // // strike match // //

h, setting plaster // // string, cord,

matchstick , tallow, vardo // // cromarty, ringwold or savage ground /

? // // I cannot now recall. // // No

matter ! Now, in a stranger place, a colder clime, // // with no arms

the flowers in the hedgerows // // no

matter what the season of the year. // // At any time or season of th

me in the morning if you will // // it

matters not what time of day or night // // there’s no diurnal rhythm

// through box and holly grown to full

maturity // // to an iron-gated pointed arch // // piercing the wall

William Walton not yet born. // // But

Maurice Ravel has just joined // // the Société des Apaches // // (o

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ettle. Never fill the kettle above the

MAX level and ensure that it is always above the MIN level. // /

Using your Kettle

// the sun will rise // // come what

may // // as time flies // // foolish or wise // // I cannot stay /

// but each interval passing by // //

may be notched on a stick. // // Not yet to be fixed // // while the

When the kettle has boiled the water

may be poured out through the spout. // //

Using your Kettle

t or through? // // Is it saying there

may be some shocking scenes, // // just so that I’m tempted to watch?

The truth about x

may be the end // // The dance // // In her very own month of May //

This may be the end

lines be blurred just right, // // You

may go there with your eyesight. // //

Babylon by candlelight

the appliance has just switched off you

may have to wait a few minutes before switching back on. // //

Using your Kettle

up and blew it in again. // // Beards

may need some clipping, shortening // // left alone they easily win—b

s, for I am well of love. // // Apples

may perhaps be comforting // // as any fruit, though Suliman’s pilaf

The well of love

e dance // // In her very own month of

May // // she says “Now’s the time—fix the day. // // You dance to m

This may be the end

-raked earth // // Where tender shoots

may venture forth // // On weed-o’er-run Shalott? // // She who hath

The Lady’s Maid

e us out in // // ten or a thousand or

maybe a million years, // // it seems to be acting // // not in its

Capricorn suite

king and screaming of course // // but

maybe also wailing and gnashing our teeth // // into the maelstrom, t

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ay, // // the clouds scud past, // //

maybe catch // // close enough to make you jump, or far away, // //

our paths, or creeping through, // //

maybe chancing on a hidden hollow which // // will make a temporary h

their place // // —in muesli, say, or

maybe Christmas cake, // // or more appropriately, Suliman’s pilaf. /

The well of love

Childsplay // // Later, age

maybe eight or ten, // // I would play competitive games // // in th

me seconds. // // No, more than that.

Maybe for a day— // // even more maybe—for a year and a day // // in

hat. Maybe for a day— // // even more

maybe —for a year and a day // // in Norfolk where the sign reads slow

// // // // // // // // // //

Maybe , for some, the resolution lies // // in their cups. Thomas cer

tion // // Yet here’s a thought. Just

maybe I can // // circle round the tentacles of zeta // // by striki

it for you if I had the art, // // Or

maybe I should write it in a verse. // // But now the dawn has come,

s figment of my own imagination. // //

Maybe I should write it in a verse // // with Frida as my muse and in

// // a tumbling precipice of rock—or

maybe ice // // from a dying glacier. // // On the next bend, the ba

Other pocket? // // No. // // Jacket,

maybe ? // // No. // // But which jacket yesterday? Ah, that one. //

Another senior moment

window, warming // // in the sun? Or

maybe nothing—maybe she // // is pensive, dreaming, lost in reverie.

Cape Cod Morning

g // // at the height of the marsh, or

maybe over it. // // But today we are in the neaps: // // even at hi

Plan finances—get advisor? G’s contact

maybe // // Ring M about Xmas // // Ring Tony D about works in basem

Notes to a life

ng // // in the sun? Or maybe nothing—

maybe she // // is pensive, dreaming, lost in reverie. // // And the

Cape Cod Morning

r fawn, // // three-quarter length, or

maybe short, // // patch pockets (useless for cold hands), // // thi

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

ong ago, that icon of // // a time and

maybe social group // // —and then, when that one died, one more. //

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

did we say // // our last goodbyes, or

maybe they // // just slipped away— // // I cannot say. // //

The dream I dreamt

walled garden, left untended // // for

maybe thirty years. A winding path // // leads from the glazed back

Hills // // Hills? Well, dunes // //

maybe two or three metres above // // mean sea level. // // And wher

Now it happens my old friend is crowned

mayor of London, he // // goes by the rubrik of Boris the Mad. // //

Troubled waters

// the sky behind the trees beyond the

meadow , // // tall grasses glowing in the morning sun // // below an

Cape Cod Morning

d the hollows, // // meandering across

meadows , // // from a spring it flows to the sea. // //

// Mountains, valleys, moors and dales,

meadows , // // hills, ravines descending, under the sky. // // Ocean

and on // // the mile across the river

meadows // // to Grantchester. As we walk back // // against the wi

Walking in winter

. // // The prefecture of river drives

meal chicken, // // Olive dish dried meat floss stir fries a leaf mus

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

maybe two or three metres above // //

mean sea level. // // And where’s that, when it’s at home? // // It’

to spill // // your precious hoard (I

mean the ones you will deliver // // for tomorrow’s blackberry-and-ap

/ the bubbling brooks, that chatter and

meander ; // // of Ellen, Norna, or of Rosamunde. // // Sorrow, longi

ange character. // // A flowing river,

meandering across // // a flood plain, excavates one bank // // as i

ing the straits and the hollows, // //

meandering across meadows, // // from a spring it flows to the sea. /

Across the channel, tidal creeks // //

meandering through the marsh // // carve out sections of bank // //

a nap?) // // Relate to me now how its

meaning has grown // // from the glyph in the tail of sex // // to i

The truth about x

arred list of the actinoids // // ‡ by

means of reactors or colliders or other toys // //

d away. // // What it said, or what it

meant // // I cannot say. // // Rainbow-bright, or black and white,

The dream I dreamt

// on its way down. // // It’s a level

measured // // a century ago and // // three hundred and forty miles

// // The amount of water can be

measured by the level mark on the outside of the kettle. Never fill t

Using your Kettle

// Perhaps they eat it with the other

meat . // // But could they eat an offering to the gods? // // After

On offerings to the gods

s meal chicken, // // Olive dish dried

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

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ucted, // // for some architectural or

mechanical purpose // // now half-forgotten. Electrical components.

ut not to be churches. // // Wonderful

mechanisms in the civic belltower— // // a giant musical box. // //

A poem for free

call. // // On the lands bordering the

Mediterranean , // // empires rise and fall. Battles are fought, //

e or more // // straight up // // the

Mediterranean waves roll on. // // How many years, decades, centuries

he mass trespass on Kinderscout. // //

Meet a dashing young fellow rambler. // // Marry, find a home // //

Ninety-six and counting

n just a few days’ time, these two will

meet // // and clash — and I’m to be the battle ground. // // The fi

Capricorn suite

to cast? // // No, I’m glad we did not

meet // // before the alotted time: // // that we could reach this p

? // // Old friends, new friends did I

meet ? // // I cannot say. // // And when we parted, did we say // /

The dream I dreamt

anding still—and I, // // reaching the

meeting point under the bridge // // and finding you, my lover and my

/ // intersect or fork. Some of these

meeting -points // // are signposted with names and distances // // t

ng up the pieces // // wrapping up the

meeting // // shutting up shop // //

Locking down too

nmeasured angle. // // Last September,

meeting you. // // The world looks different now. // //

un or rain or passing cloud // // more

meetings with old friends // // more talks, more silences // // more

drawn. // // Whichever wins, whichever

meets defeat, // // the relict of the fight will be my wound. // //

Capricorn suite

leave the pith and pips. // // Papaya,

melon : // // pole-to-pole // // scoop out the mushy core. // // Man

of streams, // // swollen with spring

melt . But an old pine forest // // always provides a bridge. The tr

Channels and banks of shingle shift and

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

f hour // // the air is warm enough to

melt // // the topmost layer. The frost returns // // to make a cru

Walking in winter

ed, still half-covered // // in slowly

melting ice. On the far side // // the steep snow-covered slopes ris

bombsite—desolate but rife // // with

memory and desire, fertile earth // // beneath, a place where somethi

course // // extracted from my fickle

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

Daydream Dale Journey

// // The final fray // // remains in

memory , for good or ill, // // another day. // // I cannot say // /

/ // is something else again. // // A

memory // // (nineteen-sixty-one or so—my teens—already // // betwee

journeys by rail come back // // to my

memory , patterns of clickety-clack. // // But that was then. Now the

A poem for free

es of New Yorkers, like lambs. It is a

memory that Judith treasures for the rest of her life. // //

Fragments of a life

// // It had to be, but it was not the

memory we needed. // // So three months later, we met again // // on

gels wear to tread. I’ll wear not what

men say. // //

Vagrant monosyllables

around me // // where I stood for all

men to see? // // I cannot now recall. // // Cities flourish and dec

ve // // tried to make // // tried to

mend // // tried to reach // // tried to recall // // tried to see

/ // Marianas Trench, Macquarie Ridge,

Mendocino Seascarp // // the shape of the world // // One to thirty

march towards my fate, // // or did I

merely hang on by my fingernails // // while the tornado raged around

Capricorn suite

ould be written in lights? // // Is it

merely the line at the foot of the graph, // // so that y can now sca

The truth about x

// Build power. // // Pull in. // //

Merge . // // Retract. // // Slacken. // // Settle. // // Pause. //

active girl be? // // I have heard the

mermaids singing, each to each. // // I do not think that they will s

All done with mirrors

wo; or three for cymbelline; // // the

merry wives of windsor, four; // // five othello; six for king lear;

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

ens, of course // // can offer no such

message . Theirs // // is a one-way invitation to the rocks. // // B

Capricorn suite

casion, // // we read the flower-borne

messages // // and talked to relatives not seen for years. // // It

new quill pen, and ink. // // Employ a

messenger . // // I love you. // // Curtained parlour. Send a letter.

apyrus, brush and ink. // // Command a

messenger . // // I love you. // // Draughty hall. Now send a letter.

blet, stylus, scribe. // // Entrust to

messenger . // // I love you. // // Flowing Nile. Send a letter. //

eeded. // // So three months later, we

met again // // on a Suffolk shingle beach. // // In November the da

Greek hotel // // in summer, where we

met and all was well; // // the end, the moment life just seemed to d

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

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

Ninety-six and counting

// // for cocoa or throat lozenges or

metal polish, // // jars for all sorts of jams and pickles. Washers

// // wallplugs, rivets, self-tapping

metal screws, // // rubber tap washers and fibre sealing rings. // /

hammers and screwed-on wood- // // and

metal -working vices added to those // // caused by generations of kit

and carry on without much attention to

metre , until I can mark its end with such a strong and obvious rhyme /

Well, dunes // // maybe two or three

metres above // // mean sea level. // // And where’s that, when it’s

ed and sixty: Truro and Falmouth // //

Mevagissey ; Mingoose; Mabe Burnthouse // // footpaths; phone boxes; i

—but // // there was an old man called

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

gain // // There was an old man called

Michael Finnegan. // // He grew whiskers on his chin—but // // the w

—but // // there was an old man called

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

—but // // there was an old man called

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

; // // learning his lesson, the great

Michelangelo // // makes his work lasting by carving in stone— // //

forty years ago // // and filed in the

middens of my mind. // // And in my mind it conjures up a vision //

5 months pregnant at the time. A tiny

middle -aged New York woman, sitting on a bench seat, observes the situ

Fragments of a life

tries; seas // // One to ten million:

Middle East // // Bam Posht; Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railwa

the beginning and // // the bit in the

middle is // // as long as a piece of string. // //

A short treatise on string theory

wind to blow us away // // Adrift the

middle of the sea // // Way-hay, blow us away // // And there is not

oblivion— // // when the time comes, I

might add, not just yet. // //

ave put them. // // Move anything they

might be behind or under. // // Look inside anything they might be in

Another senior moment

under. // // Look inside anything they

might be in. // // Turn the place upside down. // // Bedroom again,

Another senior moment

// the sun will rise, and if the clouds

might go, // // the phase and time of setting of the moon, // // or

crossed, // // some passing chance of

might -have-been, // // a different stitch to cast? // // No, I’m gla

ot raisins // // but flagons. Flagons

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

The well of love

th, a chance // // for something new:

migrate south // // to London, two grandchildren, // // and a world

Ninety-six and counting

flying out // // on their twice-a-day

migration between feeding grounds // // in lop-sided vees and slantin

k to the edge of town and on // // the

mile across the river meadows // // to Grantchester. As we walk back

Walking in winter

floor, streams and all. // // A seven-

mile climb // // brings us to a hidden jewel lake, // // soup-spoon-

of Christmas pine // // which begins a

mile down the road // // and into whose dense interior // // we some

mile // // Farringdon Without (north side) // //

its just right // // the spray rises a

mile into the air // // (or so it seems to me), to crash back down— /

Walking in winter

ir is white all through.) // // ‘Every

mile is two’? no, hardly thus. // // Some miles are ten, while other

Walking in winter

Dance // // // A quarter of a

mile or more // // straight up // // the Mediterranean waves roll on

the tops // // of your gumboots. The

mile or two // // to the village shop to seek supplies // // becomes

Walking in winter

all along the shingle beach. // // The

mile south to the Martello tower, // // we walk along the banked-up t

Walking in winter

ne-sided smile // // that was off by a

mile . // // Tony Blair // // floated on air // // when Maggie’s enc

stance chart // // Cambridge–Camden 59

miles // //

is two’? no, hardly thus. // // Some

miles are ten, while others swiftly pass. // //

Walking in winter

/ she has a new home // // some eighty

miles north-west // // moored on a pontoon // // in a tidal Norfolk

dge—and now I flick my wand // // some

miles of dale and moor to skip across // // and find myself in wooded

Daydream Dale Journey

ome. // // Should I start crawling the

miles remaining, or // // should I stay put in the hope of a rescuer?

Babylon by candlelight // // How many

miles to Barnard Castle? // // Three score, out/return // // Can I g

Babylon by candlelight

ago and // // three hundred and forty

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

Notes to a life // //

Milk // // Sausages or chops // // Veg—broccoli? // // Some fruit /

Notes to a life

liked a lass from Lancashire; // // so

milk -white was her skin. // // In Cheddar Gorge the chaffinches // /

s from work // // in a Sheffield steel

mill . // // Daughter moves away to teach, and then // // to marry me

Ninety-six and counting

nished or of peaceful earth, // // the

mill -girl’s beauty or the maiden’s death, // // the trout that dart a

er’s edge, // // with crowds of people

milling all around, // // walking and talking and standing still—and

shape of the world // // One to thirty

million : Eurasia // // Kuril’skiye Ostrova; Kirgiz Step; Karakoram R

ys; borders; deserts // // One to five

million : Gulf of St Lawrence // // Shickshock Mountains; Shippegan I

/ // countries; seas // // One to ten

million : Middle East // // Bam Posht; Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin //

Upscale down // // One to forty-five

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

// // bays; harbours // // One to one

million two hundred and fifty thousand: Low Countries // // Gelderla

/ dense forest // // rough moor // //

million -year moor // // ten-million-year mountain // // hundred-year

oor // // million-year moor // // ten-

million -year mountain // // hundred-year forest // // hundred-millio

// hundred-year forest // // hundred-

million -year sea // // ten-thousand-year lake // // thousand-year st

in // // ten or a thousand or maybe a

million years, // // it seems to be acting // // not in its own best

Capricorn suite

and ensure that it is always above the

MIN level. // // Only fill the kettle with the amount of w

Using your Kettle

it clearly. So why does it come to my

mind ? // // A couple of reasons. One, that it had to be bolted // /

Good vibrations

o // // and filed in the middens of my

mind . // // And in my mind it conjures up a vision // // of the imag

he middens of my mind. // // And in my

mind it conjures up a vision // // of the image that inspired it: a s

// // no. // // Words go // // from

mind // // like snow. // // A line // // to show // // can’t find,

This poem eludes me

to move, to go, // // to travel in the

mind , some gentle // // way to wander into // // a better place, a f

Objective // // In my groin and in my

mind’s eye: // // A tube inside a tube inside a tube // // —only the

Capricorn suite

usly sweet and tart, // // sharp on my

mind’s tongue. Why is it that // // this latter-day fruit so often d

c’s head. // // His inspiration is not

mine // // (the apple said). // //

: Truro and Falmouth // // Mevagissey;

Mingoose ; Mabe Burnthouse // // footpaths; phone boxes; inns // // O

, // // looks like a great sea-crag in

miniature , // // a tumbling precipice of rock—or maybe ice // // fro

f the bench in the garage sits // // a

miniature wooden eight-drawered chest // // given to me (budding carp

ariations, // // awaiting Dr Johnson’s

ministrations , // // waiting to discover their relations, // // find

// It changes direction from minute to

minute ; // // gives me siblings to chase or criss-cross // // over a

ted, felt cheated by // // that twenty-

minute hiatus. // // But the fire bore us no grudge, // // and welco

wind. // // It changes direction from

minute to minute; // // gives me siblings to chase or criss-cross //

switched off you may have to wait a few

minutes before switching back on. // // When the kettle ha

Using your Kettle

om side to side. // // I look into the

mirror , but it’s cracked // // And won’t be fixed and always did refr

All done with mirrors

ew the web and floated wide; // // The

mirror crack’d from side to side. // // I look into the mirror, but i

All done with mirrors

think that they will sing to me. // //

Mirror mirror on the wall // // who is the fairest of them all? // /

All done with mirrors

hat they will sing to me. // // Mirror

mirror on the wall // // who is the fairest of them all? // // (The

All done with mirrors

Post truth // // // ‘Oh

Mirror that hangs on the wall // // who is the fairest of all?’ // /

and. // // See the pretty girl in that

mirror there— // // Who can that attactive girl be? // // I have hea

All done with mirrors

Creek mud // // As I drift on

mirror water, following the bend, // // the curlew rises suddenly, //

mirrors // // One Friday morning when we set sail // // and our ship

All done with mirrors

ss of her room. // // Only through the

mirror’s gloam // // Dared she look to Camelot. // // Not until the

The Lady’s Maid

who is the fairest of all?’ // // The

mirror’s reply // // with no hint of a sigh // // is to show him his

ir belly. // // The day boiler duck is

miscellaneous . // //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

// help! They are missing, I must have

mislaid them when // // finding my way through the scree so much earl

// // watch now: if you blink you will

miss // // the instant jagged challenge passing between them // // o

/ // I fed it all the bits that it had

missed : // // fragments around the edges of the blaze. // // Even no

behind. // // Two of our cushions are

missing // // from the sofa just outside the door. // // It really i

One of our cushions

y book. // // Five of our cushions are

missing . // // How can we counter-attack? // // Perhaps if we asked

One of our cushions

more. // // Three of our cushions are

missing . // // I don’t know quite what to say. // // It seems that t

One of our cushions

er I wander… but // // help! They are

missing , I must have mislaid them when // // finding my way through t

ns away // // Four of our cushions are

missing . // // It’s getting beyond a bad joke. // // Destroying our

One of our cushions

hions // // // One of our cushions is

missing — // // I’m sure that there’s one I can’t find. // // How cou

One of our cushions

ll back. // // Six of our cushions are

missing . // // The culprit must now be unmasked. // // It’s becoming

One of our cushions

t // // veiled, invisible, lost in the

mist . // // Forty-some years ago, when I first walked // // this pat

ading // // as the day slides into the

mist . // // Morning is always the morning. // //

stick // // as the day slides into the

mist . // // The long night’s images last. // // But now the light is

dy grasses, and sometimes, dimly in the

mist , // // wet sheep. // // As far as we can see? // // A few yard

// // The previous occupant, known as

Mister Gray, // // (easier than his proper name of Gouriet) // // ha

Peckham 1969—1991

// Looking backwards, I can see // //

mistily , the shape of things: // // the steps which, added up, constr

Working all day at her loom, // // Her

mistress never left the womb // // That was the fastness of her room.

The Lady’s Maid

At the end of summer, and in the first

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

ant has found // // how good sex is—to

mix the genes around. // // The plants, the fish, the dinosaurs, the

row half away // // more flour, water,

mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // put in pouch // // rea

Ode to the yeast wind

to the yeast wind // // flour, water,

mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // throw half away // //

Ode to the yeast wind

row half away // // more flour, water,

mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // throw half away // //

Ode to the yeast wind

row half away // // more flour, water,

mix well // // mollycoddle for one day // // throw half away // //

Ode to the yeast wind

babouche // // borrowed light, dimpse,

mizzle , skylight // // ammonite, mahogany, archive // // plummett //

; // // East Hills aglow. // // Winds

moaning round the corners and the rooftops, // // rushing wild clouds

Recorded syllables

/ // when my mother, acquiring a newer

model , donated // // the reject to us for our new home. Or was it //

Good vibrations

billboards high displayed, // // each

model posed in languid attitude, // // in birthday suit and little el

For Robert Graves

to work. // // Judith, artist, // //

models in clay or plaster, // // casts in plaster or cement or resin,

// // blow the evanescent airs // //

moistening the many-coloured earths. // // In forests and in open spa

dove tale, pigeon // // mouse’s back,

mole’s or elephant’s breath // // peignoir, charlotte’s locks, nancy’

// more flour, water, mix well // //

mollycoddle for one day // // put in pouch // // ready to go // //

Ode to the yeast wind

nd // // flour, water, mix well // //

mollycoddle for one day // // throw half away // // more flour, wate

Ode to the yeast wind

// more flour, water, mix well // //

mollycoddle for one day // // throw half away // // more flour, wate

Ode to the yeast wind

// more flour, water, mix well // //

mollycoddle for one day // // throw half away // // more flour, wate

Ode to the yeast wind

ally know of your life! // // From the

moment almost a half-century ago // // when I first met your daughter

Ninety-six and counting

t and all was well; // // the end, the

moment life just seemed to drain // // away from you, in those last d

moment // // // // Pocket. // // No. No? No. // // Other pocket

Another senior moment

e time // // time for all the timeless

moments , taken // // out of time. // // Afternoon in winter, on the

Recorded syllables

// // For all the real and everlasting

moments , // // there will be time. // //

Recorded syllables

ime will tell. // // Those are not the

moments to remember: // // they can be consigned to passing time. //

Recorded syllables

lasgow 6th-7th // // Camera in bag for

Mon // // Did I submit tax form?? // // Check L’s dob—70 next b/day?

Notes to a life

roduce a fine plan. // // We also need

money —of course private finance will // // jump to join in, but needs

Troubled waters

old hands), // // thick felted wool, a

monk -like hood— // // and with (the most important thing) // // thos

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

cake. // // Fried kind’s of seafood in

monolith // // Do the crispy bean curd of boiler, // // Blow up a li

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

monosyllables // // Let he who is without zen… but there is a multitu

Vagrant monosyllables

eels bigger than me— // // a great big

monster , steaming, black. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-cla

build the Channel Tunnel link. // // A

monstrous hole, quite big enough to eat // // the park and all the ho

Peckham 1969—1991

fe should now appear // // as it did a

month gone, // // BC (Before Capricorn). // // But of course that is

Capricorn suite

// // The dance // // In her very own

month of May // // she says “Now’s the time—fix the day. // // You d

This may be the end

s // // to make a crust. The next two

months // // are clear and fine and bitter cold. // // Every step, /

Walking in winter

e past— // // until the day, just nine

months gone, // // when both lines crossed an edge, // // and two se

t the memory we needed. // // So three

months later, we met again // // on a Suffolk shingle beach. // // I

ng as there are no seats; she is 4 or 5

months pregnant at the time. A tiny middle-aged New York woman, sitti

Fragments of a life

The moon in June // // A crescent

moon , // // a winter sky. // // It’s Jan, not June. // // A red bal

The moon in June

/ // way up high, // // with crescent

moon // // from cold immune. // // Let snow lie, // // it’s Jan, no

The moon in June

moon in June // // A crescent moon, // // a winter sky. // // It’s

The moon in June

// // warm and dry. // // A crescent

moon . // // It’s Jan, not June. // //

The moon in June

// the phase and time of setting of the

moon , // // or any other facts you want to know— // // scientific, s

moon // // See the crescent moon— // // waxing if the horns point ea

the deep blue sky. // // The crescent

moon // // some cryptic rune. // // The senses fly. // // It’s Jan,

The moon in June

Slow moon // // See the crescent

moon — // // waxing if the horns point east // // and waning if west.

form and reform each ebb and flow, each

moonphase // // and each season (the navigation buoys must needs //

Catch them at it – // // there must be

moonshine . // //

There must be moonshine

moonshine // // Fin de siècle. // // Ethel Sargant, botanist // //

There must be moonshine

ily. // // (Not by the sun // // —use

moontime // // instead). // //

n // // running stream // // rambling

moor // // changing sea // // blue sea // // silver lake // // pur

stream // // narrow stream // // open

moor // // deep lake // // high mountain // // wide sea // // clos

by lake and stream // // by forest and

moor // // from sea to mountain to sea // //

ue sea // // silver lake // // purple

moor // // green forest // // clear stream // // grey mountain //

loud // // After the climb, // // the

moor is gently undulating, the path // // well-marked, flat wet stone

h lake // // dense forest // // rough

moor // // million-year moor // // ten-million-year mountain // //

stream // // bright sea // // rugged

moor // // sharp mountain // // still lake // // resting lake // /

t // // rough moor // // million-year

moor // // ten-million-year mountain // // hundred-year forest // /

/ The drystone wall slanting across the

moor , // // the heather and the bracken, the moss, the lichen, // //

The rain and the air

// to leave behind, for now, the wilder

moor . // // The treasures to be found along my path // // are elemen

Daydream Dale Journey

k my wand // // some miles of dale and

moor to skip across // // and find myself in wooded Janet’s Foss. //

Daydream Dale Journey

ng mud left by the ebb-tide. // // The

moored boat listing on the mudflat. // // The salt-marsh, the sedge a

The rain and the air

things left afloat. // // Behind each

moored boat runs a wake: // // time to gush full spate. // // Now my

// some eighty miles north-west // //

moored on a pontoon // // in a tidal Norfolk creek // // a hundred y

der the sky. // // Mountains, valleys,

moors and dales, meadows, // // hills, ravines descending, under the

Sheffield // // facing the Derbyshire

moors . // // But the next war comes, and D is now called up. // // F

Ninety-six and counting

the mist. // // Morning is always the

morning . // //

Morning // // Almost accidental, but carefully composed: // // the s

Cape Cod Morning

brighter now // // here to stay // //

morning glow // // time to rise // // feeling slow // // rub eyes /

// would last for days and days. Each

morning I came down, // // expecting to find it cold, but every day /

iddle: Aubade // // Consult me in the

morning if you will // // it matters not what time of day or night //

as the day slides into the mist. // //

Morning is always the morning. // //

Morning // // // //

Morning is always the morning // // of an uncompleted day. // // Not

Morning // // // // Morning is always the morning // // of an unco

ng // // // // Morning is always the

morning // // of an uncompleted day. // // Not until light is fading

dow, // // tall grasses glowing in the

morning sun // // below and to the right. And rising left // // the

Cape Cod Morning

indow bay // // in darker wood. Clear

morning sunlight fills // // the room we glimpse inside. A woman lea

Cape Cod Morning

All done with mirrors // // One Friday

morning when we set sail // // and our ship not far from land // //

All done with mirrors

r declension, conjugation, // // other

morphologic variations, // // awaiting Dr Johnson’s ministrations, //

// // the heather and the bracken, the

moss , the lichen, // // the cropped grass, the sheep- and rabbit-drop

The rain and the air

e, // // wet heather, wet bracken, wet

moss , wet // // hardy grasses, and sometimes, dimly in the mist, //

/ Trees and bushes, shrubs and flowers,

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

timing that disturbs. The line // //

mostly carries suburban trains; more rarely, // // carriages decked i

Peckham 1969—1991

s // // of the ranks ahead. // // But

mostly , I can see // // only the back // // of the one immediately i

ns out† that the seventh layer consists

mostly of ones that do not exist // // but need‡ to be synthesised.

// Far down below, the earth // // is

mostly water. // // From across the waters // // blow the evanescent

hine was already elderly // // when my

mother , acquiring a newer model, donated // // the reject to us for o

Good vibrations

uous flesh joins love’s embrace. // //

Mother and child are two, and now are one: // // no perfectability ex

Sculpting the vortex

/ // Twenty three years later, when my

mother died // // we had the proper formal funeral. // // (She had c

then when he ships out, // // back to

mother , in a two-up-two-down // // full of family and lodgers. Daugh

Ninety-six and counting

// // in Sheffield, steel town. // //

Mother once ran a fish-and-chip shop. // // A young rambler, you take

Ninety-six and counting

Iken Hall // // Later, my

mother will describe the house itself // // as ugly. No such thought

pidated country house // // that is my

mother’s next big venture after // // producing six of us. // // L-s

pell broken // // sleep gone // // in

motion // // sun on skin // // door open // // breathe in. // // N

lines. // // Chomsky looked for deeper

motivation // // underneath their surface combinations. // // Now Br

within. // // Gathered round about, a

motley crew // // of categories in boxes, jars and tins: // // the l

snoring in the tent next door, // // a

motorcycle coursing up the lane. // // Night-time noises permeate the

ifeboat // // restored to glory // //

motors smoothly up the creek // // in livery resplendent // // one o

ream // // grey mountain // // jagged

mountain // // choppy sea // // swirling stream // // smooth lake /

llion-year moor // // ten-million-year

mountain // // hundred-year forest // // hundred-million-year sea //

forest // // clear stream // // grey

mountain // // jagged mountain // // choppy sea // // swirling stre

// fall through a wormhole, or cross a

mountain range? // // Did I march towards my fate, // // or did I me

Capricorn suite

// // rustling forest // // tumbling

mountain // // running stream // // rambling moor // // changing se

ght sea // // rugged moor // // sharp

mountain // // still lake // // resting lake // // rustling forest

/ by forest and moor // // from sea to

mountain to sea // //

open moor // // deep lake // // high

mountain // // wide sea // // close forest // // by lake and stream

air. A winter storm // // brings wild

mountains of water crashing down // // to redefine the contours of th

Gulf of St Lawrence // // Shickshock

Mountains ; Shippegan Island; Cape Sable // // bays; harbours // // O

ld for wandering, under the sky. // //

Mountains , valleys, moors and dales, meadows, // // hills, ravines de

. // // Lone expedition to conquer the

mountaintop . // // Bottle of water and lunch in my haversack. // //

ren: // // a wooden board on which are

mounted // // battery box, switches, lights, buzzers, plugs // // an

ca, hay, pelt, dove tale, pigeon // //

mouse’s back, mole’s or elephant’s breath // // peignoir, charlotte’s

lair. // // Nigel Farrage // // has a

mouth like a garage— // // he opens it ever so wide // // and you ca

s of the shore. // // Around the river

mouth the tides run strong. // // Channels and banks of shingle shift

Places I wouldn’t have put them. // //

Move anything they might be behind or under. // // Look inside anythi

Another senior moment

eyes smart // // smoke billows // //

move apart // // eyes smart // // flames creep // // move apart //

/ eyes smart // // flames creep // //

move apart // // flames leap // // flames creep // // growing brigh

the second. // // Of course we should

move slowly for some seconds. // // No, more than that. Maybe for a

d agreed to sell // // for demolition,

move to Camberwell. // // (Two weeks later, British Rail’s plans //

Peckham 1969—1991

// Can we not // // find some way to

move , to go, // // to travel in the mind, some gentle // // way to w

draught from the door. // // That tiny

movement in the corner? The hem of an emerging apparition? // // Don

s, // // fastens itself inside. // //

Movement is faster, edgier, rougher. // // Rough softness grows // /

chubert’s Trout Quintet // // the slow

movement is of course the second. // // Of course we should move slow

s, revolutions // // blossom and fade,

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

January Nineteen Hundred and One

a Sheffield steel mill. // // Daughter

moves away to teach, and then // // to marry me. Son develops // //

Ninety-six and counting

e calling each to each: a throng // //

moves north against the fading evening light. // // Slanting lines ar

Wells in winter

wn. // // The whistle blows, the train

moves on, // // the guard’s van trundles at the back. // // The boge

n (for better or for worse) // // what

moves us all. // // From me you’ll learn before a book. // // Don’t

twentieth-century American poet, // //

Mr Ogden Nash, and carry on without much attention to metre, until I c

e relation // // by tying beta up with

mu and lambda. // // I can’t see clearly: I’ll need to wander // //

death, // // what was left was not so

much a void // // as that which in my London childhood // // we’d ca

// Mr Ogden Nash, and carry on without

much attention to metre, until I can mark its end with such a strong a

ging across the bank // // lets me get

much closer // // before giving me an earful. // // To my left, the

// finding my way through the scree so

much earlier. // // Later, much later, I limp into harbour. My // /

rge. // // Beside it stands another of

much later age: // // a plastic chest with small, clear plastic drawe

he scree so much earlier. // // Later,

much later, I limp into harbour. My // // family playing, completely

my pocket— // // too much weight, too

much rattle // // too many small coins. // // Must get rid of the pe

lively, gestures wide. // // There is

much sense in what he says. // // Small hour // // No voices in the

lively, gestures wide— // // there is

much sense in what he says, // // through these ideas he makes a wort

a student or fellow— // // the thief’s

much too cunning for that. // // There’s only one possible answer: //

One of our cushions

// // Change in my pocket— // // too

much weight, too much rattle // // too many small coins. // // Must

at twenty three // // reminds us of so

much we’ll never see. // // Life and death are two, and now are one:

Sculpting the vortex

to probe deep down beneath the shining

mud . // //

mud // // As I drift on mirror water, following the bend, // // the

the creek. On the other bank // // a

mud cliff, undercut and crumbling in places, // // crested by the fuz

aps: // // even at high tide, with the

mud cliffs // // above my head, the rest of the marsh // // is out o

/ // leaving sharp cliffs of compacted

mud . // // Evening. A great dark cloud // // fire-edged, blots out

rain and the air? // // The glistening

mud left by the ebb-tide. // // The moored boat listing on the mudfla

The rain and the air

and then left // // to the encroaching

mud . On the far bank // // of the next bend, another sandy beach //

, the foraging ground: a smooth bank of

mud // // slopes up from the creek. On the other bank // // a mud c

/ // beneath the // // shining // //

mud . // // Sonnet // // Cold and clear. The tide runs out, the cree

the falling tide reveals the deep black

mud // // which oozes softly up between our toes. Across the river /

// the thud as one more apple hits the

muddy grass. // // East wind // // Winds bowling through trees // /

again towards the sea. // // Along the

muddy margins, in the lee // // of the sea-wall, around the bladder-w

rds calling // // the drying sand with

muddy spots bespeckled. // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring /

the corn. // // The five-bar gate, the

muddy track on the tarmac road. // // The walled paddock and the orch

The rain and the air

. // // The moored boat listing on the

mudflat . // // The salt-marsh, the sedge and the samphire, // // the

The rain and the air

cents the sea-winds bring // // of the

mudflats and the sandbanks. Listing // // Hear the marsh-birds calli

ace // // the spreading sands and soft

mudflats : // // time to gather pace. // // Now I rush on down the cr

all very well in their place // // —in

muesli , say, or maybe Christmas cake, // // or more appropriately, Su

The well of love

// gone off the rails. I’m not such a

mug . // // I’ve cancelled his buses, no more will I pay for—and // /

Troubled waters

e the long approach road to the Kröller-

Müller museum outside Amsterdam. The Hermitage in Leningrad in Soviet

Fragments of a life

t he who is without zen… but there is a

multitude of zens. The zens of the fathers are visited on the sons, e

Vagrant monosyllables

aw… // // Inspired? Why should such a

mundane scene // // so briefly glimpsed, make my muse suggest // //

I must survive, // // with Frida as my

muse and inspiration— // // that reality in which I live. // //

e it in a verse // // with Frida as my

muse and inspiration // // This figment of my own imagination // //

ene // // so briefly glimpsed, make my

muse suggest // // just three alliterative lines—at best // // a sem

ong approach road to the Kröller-Müller

museum outside Amsterdam. The Hermitage in Leningrad in Soviet days.

Fragments of a life

n turrets // // of the Natural History

museum . // // You take turns to flick your marble // // across the a

t. // // Fragile crab of incense taste

mushroom // // Do the black boiler hair belly. // // The day boiler

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

/ // pole-to-pole // // scoop out the

mushy core. // // Mango: // // find the flat sides of the stone //

// // This time Judith has chosen the

music , // // a Beethoven string quartet. // // Afterwards Colin and

d squander— // // such richness in his

music did he render // // for all of us, such beauty brought he forth

mal funeral. // // (She had chosen the

music for the ceremony // // —a Schubert piano piece.) // // Standin

pite it’s his wake)— // // Beethoven’s

music is just bloody marvellous, // // resonates on though the print

d against your ear a shell // // whose

music makes your languid pulses race: // // fall, fall into the write

Jump willing in

in the civic belltower— // // a giant

musical box. // // There once was a poet in Ghent // // Who set out

A poem for free

outside… // // I try to listen, but my

musing strays. // // His voice is lively, gestures wide. // // There

dish dried meat floss stir fries a leaf

mustard . // // The small bowl of wedding reception stews bean bubble,

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

rtained bed next door. // // Responses

muted , though the sense is raw, // // to questions orderly, while exu

ny. // // Through air and ether people

mutter , shout, // // voices, ipods, phones speak out. // // So many

re the shop-committed crime, // // the

muzakal banality which stings. // // Even I, atheist, find some of th

any kind— // // political, fictitious,

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