Stephen Robertson

Slanting Lines


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.


t.  As the day went on, // we generated
quantities of fuel // and built a roaring blaze.  Then late into the n
Shapeless, navy blue or fawn, // three-
quarter length, or maybe short, // patch pockets (useless for cold han
Dance // A
quarter of a mile or more // straight up // the Mediterranean waves ro
, pear: // pole-to-pole // in half then
quarters // cut the core from each.  // But no, for once // cut an appl
chosen the music, // a Beethoven string
quartet .  // Afterwards Colin and I go down to the basement // —the rea
// The century turns.  // Right on cue,
Queen Victoria dies.  // (Next time around, in the digital era // we wi
sn’t she painted // the walls?”  // Fair
question .  //
s muted, though the sense is raw, // to
questions orderly, while exuding care.  // Voices from the curtained be
Type right // The
quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog //
eat and spittle.  // Oh, people spread! 
Quick , guys, an ecstasy of fumbling, // building the clumsy barriers j
ews over Bassenthwaite.  // Walking down
quickly , not paying attention, I // stumble, fall heavily forward and
ht // Which, come the dawn, will surely
quickly pass.  // I’d paint it for you if I had the art, // Or maybe I
by side, // through clear and cool and
quiet evening stillness // on evening tide.  // Decisions and revisions
l.  Now send a letter.  // Parchment, new
quill pen, and ink.  // Employ a messenger.  // I love you.  // Curtained
e year // we listen to Schubert’s Trout
Quintet .  // Listening to Schubert’s Trout Quintet // the slow movement
intet.  // Listening to Schubert’s Trout
Quintet // the slow movement is of course the second.  // Of course we
ere and now dispel // and conjure me to
quite a different place.  // Jump willing into every word-filled well,
The word // No, the singularity is
quite absurd.  // In the beginning there were many words: // sitting, l
annel Tunnel link.  // A monstrous hole,
quite big enough to eat // the park and all the houses down the street
must now be unmasked.  // It’s becoming
quite clear that the hour // for soft pussy-footing is past.  // It can
ch line from side to side, // verbosely
quite enough to float or sink a battle-ship.  // But perhaps instead I
r first // grandchild arrived?  I can’t
quite recall.  Nor can I now // picture it clearly.  So why does it co
is one here, // with a bar across.  Not
quite the biggest // of its group, but very beautiful.  // What does it
wind, supports // a wild, tufted crown—
quite unlike // the planted forest, serried ranks of Christmas pine //
r cushions are missing.  // I don’t know
quite what to say.  // It seems that there must be some rotter // who’s