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

E

// // That book will hold against your

ear a shell // // whose music makes your languid pulses race: // //

Jump willing in

/ // no words, no human language in my

ear , // // no voices in the almost-silence that I hear. // // The wo

much closer // // before giving me an

earful . // // To my left, the foraging ground: a smooth bank of mud /

hats and the like, appropriate to some

earlier era of the house’s existence. We left the room unpainted for

Fragments of a life

inding my way through the scree so much

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

/ or bend or hitch or bead? // // Some

earlier occasion when // // our life-lines must have crossed, // //

Periodical // //

Earth , air, // // fire and water: just the four— // // but the chem

series // // // Elemental fib… // //

Earth , // // air, // // fire, // // and water. // // Need just a f

Fibonacci series

th // // are elemental: water, sky and

earth // // and rock and air; no fire and no gold, // // no gems nor

Daydream Dale Journey

to cross the waters, // // explore the

earth , // // and send signal fires // // blazing into the air. // /

trees // // fruit-laden boughs bent to

earth // // apples in the grass // //

r winds. Broadcast the secret // // to

earth , as far away as it will go. Let the browns // // and reds and g

// // with memory and desire, fertile

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

o the encroaching dark. // // Feel the

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

earthed. // // On the dark side of the

earth , // // in the light of a fire, // // and faint starlight from

assing time. // // Far down below, the

earth // // is mostly water. // // From across the waters // // blo

passing between them // // or down to

earth . // // Seconds later, over the drumming rain, // // a sharp wa

// Now is the time // // to lie on the

earth , // // smell the air, // // feel the warmth of the fire, // /

/ // of love unfinished or of peaceful

earth , // // the mill-girl’s beauty or the maiden’s death, // // the

iots can clatter by— // // we have the

earth , the water and the sky. // //

g into the air. // // Our space is the

earth , // // time lives in fire, // // leaving us the water and the

st a Fire. // // The others too I love—

Earth , Water, Air—but Fire // // is something else again. // // A me

// // Between two beds of clean-raked

earth // // Where tender shoots may venture forth // // On weed-o’er

The Lady’s Maid

e columns spaced, // // lightning rods

earthed . // // On the dark side of the earth, // // in the light of

/ Up there are storms and calms, // //

earthquake -waves and volcanic dust, // // soft breezes and winter gal

irs // // moistening the many-coloured

earths . // // In forests and in open spaces // // there are times //

utting up resistance // // throwing up

earthworks // // zipping up your jacket // // tying up your shoelace

Locking down too

// difficult scree but then joining an

easier // // path with spectacular views over Bassenthwaite. // // W

occupant, known as Mister Gray, // // (

easier than his proper name of Gouriet) // // had come as a child six

Peckham 1969—1991

ping, shortening // // left alone they

easily win—but // // there was an old man called Michael Finnegan— //

moon— // // waxing if the horns point

east // // and waning if west. // // In the creek tides rise and fal

seas // // One to ten million: Middle

East // // Bam Posht; Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railways; bor

gland, once. If you follow the west-to-

east coast-to-coast walk devised by Wainwright, you get sunburnt on th

Fragments of a life

// The first boilers of iron plate glue

east // // Grow face fa-cai thick soup. // // XO sauce explodes to g

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

across the creek // // and had a go at

East Hills. // // A once in a century storm, // // that was thought

w light-beams almost horizontal; // //

East Hills aglow. // // Winds moaning round the corners and the rooft

Recorded syllables

East Hills // // Hills? Well, dunes // // maybe two or three metres

more apple hits the muddy grass. // //

East wind // // Winds bowling through trees // // fruit-laden boughs

. // // First to Hunmanby on the north-

east Yorkshire coast // // for the requisite square-bashing. And the

Ninety-six and counting

high-pitched. The borders we cross are

eastward : // // under the channel and then from France to Belgium. //

A poem for free

e churn // // of waves upon the sand.

Eastwards we turn, // // along the open beach, in rich sea air. // /

Wells in winter

Dining table? // // No. // // Beside

easy chair? // // No. // // On television? // // No. // // Desk? /

Another senior moment

h. // // Who is this now, who dares me

eat a peach? // // Time’s warring chariots can clatter by— // // we

h the other meat. // // But could they

eat an offering to the gods? // // After the feast, perhaps they thro

On offerings to the gods

you don’t explain. // // Perhaps they

eat it with the other meat. // // But could they eat an offering to t

On offerings to the gods

// If Aristotle makes you choke // //

eat me instead. // // My ancestor caused Eve to know // // more than

/ A monstrous hole, quite big enough to

eat // // the park and all the houses down the street. // // We join

Peckham 1969—1991

t and melt, // // form and reform each

ebb and flow, each moonphase // // and each season (the navigation bu

Ebb tide // // First I carefully let go // // just as far as I can r

? // // The glistening mud left by the

ebb -tide. // // The moored boat listing on the mudflat. // // The sa

The rain and the air

or aping the style of that wonderfully

eccentric twentieth-century American poet, // // Mr Ogden Nash, and c

tal order). // // Rhythmic verses with

echoed refrain // // in the rhythmic clattering noise of the train. /

A poem for free

// Hear the marsh-birds calling // //

echoes of the distant sea-swell rock them // // Breath the scents the

ant to know— // // scientific, social,

economic — // // or discourse, argument of any kind— // // political,

// Oh, people spread! Quick, guys, an

ecstasy of fumbling, // // building the clumsy barriers just in time

bridge when it was still managed by Jim

Ede (he would pick up a Brancusi stone head, or a small cut brass piec

Fragments of a life

up // // to rampart rock walls, knife-

edge against // // the deep blue sky. We take our boots off, // //

// the bare rocks and the ridge, knife-

edge against the sky. // // What do they know, the rain and the air?

The rain and the air

gone, // // when both lines crossed an

edge , // // and two seemed to twist into one, // // right there, ben

s it sheds) // // on the grove’s outer

edge , contains our own // // tree-house, a canted deck of ancient pla

ham Tarn. // // Then back to skirt the

edge of Malham Cove, // // with fields below and limestone crags abov

Daydream Dale Journey

and land with my // // shin on a knife-

edge of rock that protrudes from the // // edge of the path, not yet

/ Marry, find a home // // on the very

edge of Sheffield // // facing the Derbyshire moors. // // But the n

Ninety-six and counting

On Skiddaw // // Holiday cottage, the

edge of the Lake District— // // family wanting to rest and recuperat

of rock that protrudes from the // //

edge of the path, not yet blunted or bowdlerized. // // Broken? It m

inter’s afternoon // // we walk to the

edge of town and on // // the mile across the river meadows // // to

Walking in winter

the marsh-birds calling // // water’s

edge , the birds are searching, finding. // // Breath the scents the s

forage up the beach. // // At water’s

edge the oyster-catchers, gulls // // compete for surface scraps. Th

SoundsTriolets // // On Rushup

Edge // // Voices far across the valley sound // // through still, w

// a bright September day, the river’s

edge , // // with crowds of people milling all around, // // walking

vening. A great dark cloud // // fire-

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

/ // shed leaves with perfect sculpted

edges . // // A bramble sends great arcing shoots, // // strong curve

nd planted fireworks // // in the dark

edges beyond the flickering light. // // Nearly-five-year-old Colin /

e bracken // // has been ploughed, the

edges fenced, the house // // demolished and rebuilt. The trees rema

fence and many // // trees around the

edges of a field. // // Our first double bedsitter // // was on the

Beds and trees and windows

bordered square // // trees around the

edges of a field // // the trees in the front garden // // a triangl

Beds and trees and windows

eflections // // High up above, at the

edges of the air // // and the beginning of space // // the sky is d

had missed: // // fragments around the

edges of the blaze. // // Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my fa

r the marsh-birds calling // // to the

edges of the sea-grass—pauses, // // Breath the scents the sea-winds

lott. // // In the duck-weed-smothered

edges // // Skinny rats sniff out the ledges, // // While between th

The Lady’s Maid

self inside. // // Movement is faster,

edgier , rougher. // // Rough softness grows // // but hardness canno

owing // // their lighter backs, a few

edging // // towards the brown. // // Autumn fruit is growing fat, /

rough the brain // // and splits apart

Edwardian disdain. // // Man and drill are two, and now are one: //

Sculpting the vortex

the local protest, but to small // //

effect . At last we felt we had to call // // a halt to worry, and ag

Peckham 1969—1991

ts // // are complex but have the same

effect . // // On a spring high tide, I would be floating // // at th

. A hundred yards // // of man’s best

effort at defence // // drops thirty feet into a hole. // // Cambrid

Walking in winter

g’s // // way of making // // another

egg // // then what I should // // not be doing // // is counting /

Don’t count your chickens

t be doing // // is counting // // my

eggs . // //

Don’t count your chickens

… but if the chicken // // is just the

egg’s // // way of making // // another egg // // then what I shoul

Don’t count your chickens

as built me some buses which boosted my

ego —the // // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a fine plan. // // We al

Troubled waters

amphire, // // the oyster-catcher, the

egret , the gliding gull. // // What do they know, the rain and the ai

The rain and the air

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

eight . But // // “Fibonacci”’s four— // // not a Fibonacci number.

Fibonacci series

e garage sits // // a miniature wooden

eight -drawered chest // // given to me (budding carpenter) as a child

e to three hundred and sixteen thousand

eight hundred: Scotland // // Dufftown; Deeside; Dumfries // // roa

six for king lear; // // seven hamlet;

eight macbeth; nine // // for any other choice. You’ll find // // t

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

Childsplay // // Later, age maybe

eight or ten, // // I would play competitive games // // in the vast

thought would cross my five- // // or

eight - or ten-year-old imagination. // // It stands within a grove of

b, two anapest] feet // // [make up an

eight -syllable] beat. // // Selec- // // tions will do // // for fi

Fibonacci series

Peckham 1969—1991 // // Of

eighteen sixty vintage, the house is flat // // in face, no sign of t

Peckham 1969—1991

not even have proper names. // // The

eighth layer has not been started yet, so the only thing to do about /

s // // she has a new home // // some

eighty miles north-west // // moored on a pontoon // // in a tidal N

ur tankas // // the Lucy Lavers // //

eighty some year old lifeboat // // restored to glory // // motors s

thm that you choose, // // expressions

either common or obscure; // // spellings for the ones you seldom use

here was a wooden run. // // A post at

either end, // // five grooved sloping rails, // // a tray at the ba

// // Strapped to my thigh // // with

elastic and velcro. // // Below, a nozzle and tap. // // Above, a tu

Capricorn suite

use // // to inform or confuse, // //

elate or validate or grieve— // // these words live. // //

The Bendix washing machine was already

elderly // // when my mother, acquiring a newer model, donated // //

Good vibrations

alves from a washing machine. // // An

electric fan. The dial of a clock. Another dial, // // from a stand

cal purpose // // now half-forgotten.

Electrical components. // // A pair of cast-iron supports for an old

unt of water you need as this will save

electricity . // // Always make sure that the lid is proper

Using your Kettle

// stuccoed and flat-fronted. // // No

electricity — // // gas lighting from the thirties; // // two taps; o

ale. A device // // for demonstrating

electricity to children: // // a wooden board on which are mounted //

Fibonacci series // // //

Elemental fib… // // Earth, // // air, // // fire, // // and water

Fibonacci series

es to be found along my path // // are

elemental : water, sky and earth // // and rock and air; no fire and n

Daydream Dale Journey

, pigeon // // mouse’s back, mole’s or

elephant’s breath // // peignoir, charlotte’s locks, nancy’s blushes

// … and one poet // // Thomas Stearns

Eliot // // wrote poetry well, but // // was no great shakes // //

ks, that chatter and meander; // // of

Ellen , Norna, or of Rosamunde. // // Sorrow, longing, dreams pervade

Water, Air—but Fire // // is something

else again. // // A memory // // (nineteen-sixty-one or so—my teens—

sea. // // But sacrifice is something

else again // // You say they choose the finest of the herd // // an

On offerings to the gods

ude, // // in birthday suit and little

else arrayed? // // I think he’d add a note to his remark— // // in

For Robert Graves

ur-inch rings surely to be found // //

elsewhere in the garage). // // The bench was once // // a kitchen d

curtained bed next door: // // someone

else’s fragile life is there. // //

curtained bed next door: // // someone

else’s fragile life is there. // // Each new doctor asks the same onc

eludes me // // No time // // for flow // // or rhyme, // // no. /

This poem eludes me

extracted from my fickle memory— // //

elusive and illusive treasure, she. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

cross the park at the back // // a low

embankment carries the railway track. // // (Down the slope to the en

Peckham 1969—1991

the south-west: // // marked by a bolt

embedded in // // the Newlyn harbour wall. // // One day, a storm wi

find it cold, but every day // // the

embers beneath the ash were darkly glowing, asking only // // a sligh

imber // // let it burn // // glowing

embers // // smoulder down // // let it burn // // warm as toast //

/ // sparks take flight // // glowing

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

// flames gone // // last glow // //

embers warm // // fading now // // last glow // // tiny light // /

lames gone // // potatoes roast // //

embers warm // // flames gone // // last glow // // embers warm //

// // a book should suck you into its

embrace . // // Fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast spell. // // T

Jump willing in

he soft and sensuous flesh joins love’s

embrace . // // Mother and child are two, and now are one: // // no p

Sculpting the vortex

Emerald Lake // // The winding trails // // through forests waking t

the oven of the pre-war Aga, they will

emerge // // a startling deep red, and taste delicious.) // // Anoth

// to expect that a train // // will

emerge from the vanishing point. // //

he wet beach // // and watch the stars

emerge . // // Sharp dots; but watch and do not blink. // // In time,

// What was it, then, from which I just

emerged ? // // Did I jump, or was I pulled or pushed? // // Did I le

Capricorn suite

movement in the corner? The hem of an

emerging apparition? // // Don’t be silly, that’s … omigod, it’s a co

eholds in // // Essex and Kent, // //

Emily Thornberry’s // // photo gives Labour a // // cardiovascular /

Unnatural disasters

rd. // // — // // 1973. Six-year-old

Emily visits. // // At home, two days later, // // she says to her d

nds bordering the Mediterranean, // //

empires rise and fall. Battles are fought, // // wars are lost and w

rchment, new quill pen, and ink. // //

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

. // // Can this go on forever? // //

Empty again, in harsher light. // // Another softness, giant but gent

oftness grows still, fades away. // //

Empty spiral hardness rests // // on the sea-bed. Forever? // // An

he shoulders of its owner, but actually

empty . // // The sitting room of our house in Peckham, the

Fragments of a life

n’t be silly, that’s just the bin—needs

emptying . // // That knocking? Footsteps in the next room? // // Do

g six of us. // // L-shaped the house;

enclosed within its arms // // a walled garden, left untended // //

// floated on air // // when Maggie’s

encomium // // came to be known to ’im. // // … and one poet // //

sharp and natural too: // // pale sky

encounters dark sea. // // On the sand, a scattering of razor shells

ly glowing, asking only // // a slight

encouragement . As the day went on, // // we generated quantities of

inds, let it whirl away // // into the

encroaching dark. // // Feel the earth. Feel the water return // //

eld flooded and then left // // to the

encroaching mud. On the far bank // // of the next bend, another san

uty brought he forth; // // and at the

end , almost with dying breath, // // a swan-song, left behind for us

ring theory // // The beginning is the

end and // // the end is the beginning and // // the bit in the midd

A short treatise on string theory

s a wooden run. // // A post at either

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

when I have gone. // // It’s time: my

end has come. // //

The beginning is the end and // // the

end is the beginning and // // the bit in the middle is // // as lon

A short treatise on string theory

xpress Européens pass by. // // In the

end , it was the railway // // that contrived to send us on our way. /

Peckham 1969—1991

/ that something is growing at the tail

end of my colon: // // probably malignant. // // ‘Malignant’ seems t

Capricorn suite

bush are saved forever). // // At the

end of summer, and in the first mists // // or wild winds of autumn,

The bench // // At one

end of the bench in the garage sits // // a miniature wooden eight-dr

so—my teens—already // // between the

end of the Chatterley ban // // and the Beatles’ first LP; // // str

// These are the buffers, this is the

end of the line. // // The last post has been sounded. // // The las

// Nothing remains // // but the fuzzy

end of the lollipop and the squeezed out tube of toothpaste // // tha

ay track. // // (Down the slope to the

end of the street and right, // // the line bridges over the road.)

Peckham 1969—1991

This may be the

end // // The dance // // In her very own month of May // // she sa

This may be the end

ere we met and all was well; // // the

end , the moment life just seemed to drain // // away from you, in tho

end … // // This train terminates here. // // Please take all your be

low us away // // Horizon’s clear from

end to end // // Way-hay, blow us away // // No hope of whistling up

away // // Horizon’s clear from end to

end // // Way-hay, blow us away // // No hope of whistling up a wind

es. // // It flows. // // To find its

end , where must it flee? // // To the sea. // // Tumbling through ro

ttention to metre, until I can mark its

end with such a strong and obvious rhyme // // that even if my audien

d a way. // // And now today // // is

ending . I suppose tomorrow’s still // // another day // // to find

rey-black ocean, // // the bottomless,

endless ocean. // // Where are we going? // // Something is changing

home in Camberwell. // // Between the

endpoints there were many days // // —or should have been—for many ki

words to make it plain. // // Two book-

ends bracket our shared domain: // // the start, the lobby of a Greek

st we go to the front to see // // the

engine , wheels bigger than me— // // a great big monster, steaming, b

lway line passes near. // // After the

engine’s noisy roar, // // coaches follow along the track: // // the

rds their major source of trade: // //

England . // // Back the way we came. // // All verse is born free. /

A poem for free

of a life // // We walked across

England , once. If you follow the west-to-east coast-to-coast walk dev

Fragments of a life

me now the truth about x. // // Is it

enormous or small? // // Does it pass through all the standard checks

The truth about x

, perhaps // // (when the tide is high

enough ) // // as far the cliff. The wind // // whips the spume //

Covehithe, Suffolk

// Seven syllables would be // // long

enough for any line. // // With a terse verse form, you see, // // I

eing you in different ways. // // Days

enough for giving and receiving. // // Did I give enough? // // I ca

giving and receiving. // // Did I give

enough ? // // I cannot say. // //

// // to be good. That’s good // //

enough , I suppose. // // Battle lines // // // // // // // //

Capricorn suite

ink. // // A monstrous hole, quite big

enough to eat // // the park and all the houses down the street. //

Peckham 1969—1991

om side to side, // // verbosely quite

enough to float or sink a battle-ship. // // But perhaps instead I wi

d past, // // maybe catch // // close

enough to make you jump, or far away, // // the thud as one more appl

r one brief hour // // the air is warm

enough to melt // // the topmost layer. The frost returns // // to

Walking in winter

urther north the rain teems down // //

enough to overflow // // the river Don and flood the plain. // // Th

begin unwrapping till it’s // // light

enough to see. // // Below the bulges, // // not yet decipherable, /

Light and shadow

many kinds of loving. // // Did I love

enough ? use every day? // // Days for seeing you in different ways.

(or Bunch of Hooligans) // // later to

enrol , when they come to Paris // // Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravin

January Nineteen Hundred and One

fill the kettle above the MAX level and

ensure that it is always above the MIN level. // // Only f

Using your Kettle

esh clay tablet, stylus, scribe. // //

Entrust to messenger. // // I love you. // // Flowing Nile. Send a l

then still Westmorland. It wasn’t very

environmentally friendly of us, but it felt right. // // M

Fragments of a life

d. // // The cliff // // is of course

ephemeral , built // // not only on, but of, // // sand. All along t

Covehithe, Suffolk

Epicycle // // Wake. // // Feel the water. Push out below, // // te

/ Damn—I had forgotten // // that this

equation also needs some zeta factor // // and my clear beta, gamma,

nection // // alpha to beta using this

equation , // // then follow that suggestion // // to make the beta,

Cores // // Cut a kiwi // //

equatorially : // // no pips, no stone. // // Avocado: // // pole-to

no, for once // // cut an apple // //

equatorially // // see its secret: // // the apple is a five-pointed

ate. // // Orange, lemon, lime: // //

equatorially // // squeeze the juice // // leave the pith and pips.

d the like, appropriate to some earlier

era of the house’s existence. We left the room unpainted for the best

Fragments of a life

/ // (Next time around, in the digital

era // // we will take the turn on the zero, not the one // // makin

January Nineteen Hundred and One

// One day, a storm will // // simply

erase them. // // Four years ago a storm demolished // // the dunes

// now the Gurkhas are happy—some shiny

erection to // // burnish my halo. Ah, I have a whim // // to build

Troubled waters

ship and one bell.) // // we there did

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

All done with mirrors

nd // // taking two toeholds in // //

Essex and Kent, // // Emily Thornberry’s // // photo gives Labour a

Unnatural disasters

e Internationale des Wagons-Lits // //

et des Grands Express Européens pass by. // // In the end, it was the

Peckham 1969—1991

moonshine // // Fin de siècle. // //

Ethel Sargant, botanist // // (Girton student 1880s) // // builds a

There must be moonshine

oad’s cacophony. // // Through air and

ether people mutter, shout, // // voices, ipods, phones speak out. //

he world // // One to thirty million:

Eurasia // // Kuril’skiye Ostrova; Kirgiz Step; Karakoram Ra // // c

agons-Lits // // et des Grands Express

Européens pass by. // // In the end, it was the railway // // that c

Peckham 1969—1991

nd stumbling— // // how in hell did he

evade the line? // // Oh bugger! Now we have to get away. // //

From across the waters // // blow the

evanescent airs // // moistening the many-coloured earths. // // In

t me instead. // // My ancestor caused

Eve to know // // more than Jehovah thought she should— // // but ke

/ But today we are in the neaps: // //

even at high tide, with the mud cliffs // // above my head, the rest

to be synthesised. Some of them do not

even have proper names. // // The eighth layer has not been started y

of night. // // December sounds // //

Even I, atheist, find some of them sublime— // // Britten’s Ceremony

e muzakal banality which stings. // //

Even I, atheist, find some of them sublime, // // Britten’s Ceremony

r out the rest, the aural grime, // //

even I, atheist, find some of them sublime. // // Must just ignore th

of the fathers are visited on the sons,

even if living in zen. // // Gloves are a many-splendoured thing. Gl

Vagrant monosyllables

a strong and obvious rhyme // // that

even if my audience hear it spoken aloud rather than seeing it on the

Street // // The sea is never still.

Even in my sleep // // I hear the ground-swell gently break and sift,

no diurnal rhythm to my skill // // I

even lack a sense of dark or light // // Nevertheless, in order to cr

ore than that. Maybe for a day— // //

even more maybe—for a year and a day // // in Norfolk where the sign

s around the edges of the blaze. // //

Even now, // // I feel the heat upon my face. // // Twenty three yea

very few // // of which I can discern,

even perhaps // // identify across the years. A copper beech // //

nes you seldom use // // Better, I can

even tell you when // // the sun will rise, and if the clouds might g

. The // // real public benefit’s not

even there.” // // Sadiq says “The Boris’s vanity project has // //

Troubled waters

g sharp cliffs of compacted mud. // //

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

t becomes a scene, a group of people in

evening dress, top hats and the like, appropriate to some earlier era

Fragments of a life

g // // moves north against the fading

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

Wells in winter

g in Leicestershire; // // red was the

evening sky. // // By Derby town they settled down // // on purple s

// // through clear and cool and quiet

evening stillness // // on evening tide. // // Decisions and revisio

Recorded syllables

l and quiet evening stillness // // on

evening tide. // // Decisions and revisions and reversions, // // re

Recorded syllables

a // // cardiovascular // // seismic

event . // //

Unnatural disasters

something there? // // Some object or

event which holds her stare? // // Or is it just the clarity of light

Cape Cod Morning

// How many friends have you outlived?

Eventually // // the Sheffield ties become more tenuous, // // legs

Ninety-six and counting

ill finish me completely // // and for

ever . // //

Tennison’s stream, we know, goes on for

ever , his // // poetry too to posterity speaks; // // Joyce has his

s spray from our tops, // // drives us

ever onward. // // Where are we going, so fierce and so fast? // //

l firm surface. // // Where

ever possible fill the kettle through the spout as this will help to r

Using your Kettle

// // Another day // // to feel your

ever -present absence, still // // to find a way. // // I hear you sa

mouth like a garage— // // he opens it

ever so wide // // and you can see all the junk inside. // // grey J

Ever // // Tennison’s stream, we know, goes on for ever, his // // p

mouldering slowly, // // will burn for

ever . The fire once begun // // would last for days and days. Each

Ever tried // // // // tried to accept // // tried to climb // //

ssing time. // // For all the real and

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

Recorded syllables

, debate // // about it and about, and

evermore // // voices coming from the room next door. // // For and

loving. // // Did I love enough? use

every day? // // Days for seeing you in different ways. // // Days e

, // // expecting to find it cold, but

every day // // the embers beneath the ash were darkly glowing, askin

ion for this year // // of celebration—

every line // // the Bard created for the stage // // by the best ac

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

his hair is white all through.) // // ‘

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

Walking in winter

l the duffles gone? // // Anoraks now,

every one. // //

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

// The top of the table is sparse, but

every second period or layer, // // like the bard from Japan whose ve

other choice. You’ll find // // that

every single play is here // // a new production for this year // //

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

into wet turf. // // Beside the path,

every so often, // // a wet standing stone. // // To the sides, as f

on buoys must needs // // be relocated

every spring, the charts // // redrawn). // // The line of pebble-du

me, it will hold my weight.’ // // But

every step it drops you down // // into soft snow, up to the tops //

Walking in winter

clear and fine and bitter cold. // //

Every step, // // your foot upon the crust, you think // // ‘This ti

Walking in winter

ter storm. // // The tide is high, and

every wave tries hard // // to breach the wall. And when it hits jus

Walking in winter

writer read, a speaker heard, // // at

every word a choice has made. // // Those that they choose to use //

ump willing in // // Jump willing into

every word-filled well; // // a book should suck you into its embrace

Jump willing in

fferent place. // // Jump willing into

every word-filled well, // // fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast

Jump willing in

e makes haste: // // jump willing into

every word-filled well. // // That book will hold against your ear a

Jump willing in

struct a case: // // jump willing into

every word-filled well. // // That book will tales of distant countri

Jump willing in

ly, without rising from her seat, makes

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

Fragments of a life

wire from scratch, // // plumb, strip

everything : // // wallpaper from walls, // // distemper from ceiling

// // Broken? It must be, if agony’s

evidence . // // Lying there wondering whether there’s any chance //

a certain toughness, // // hidden, but

evident in the number, // // best expressed Roman fashion: // // CII

eeping pace) // // —but Sadiq the Most

Evil deposes poor Boris, and // // gets the Red Margaret to look at t

Troubled waters

A fairy, good or bad, will know // //

exactly when to show her face, // // the world just so. // // A wing

The world just so

to show some of them to her. Just for

example : Judith Shea’s sculpture in the Hirschhorn in Washington, clo

Fragments of a life

dle on the case. // // * following the

example of the chemists and their sort // // ** because the margin i

isit many poets small and great, // //

examples of the form both good and poor // // I’ll help you find the

meandering across // // a flood plain,

excavates one bank // // as it lays down the other, // // switching

ut seven feet! I must admit that seems

exceeding wide, // // as if to start out on a voyage, a full round-Br

// No such obvious culprit here, // //

except for age, pure and simple. No rage— // // just a sort of passi

d now are one: // // no perfectability

except our own. // //

Sculpting the vortex

d now are one: // // no perfectability

except our own. // // But Henri’s pieces rattle too and shake // //

Sculpting the vortex

d now are one: // // no perfectability

except our own. // // His senseless trenches death at twenty three //

Sculpting the vortex

d now are one: // // no perfectability

except our own. // // In hard cast bronze all hardness now replaced,

Sculpting the vortex

d now are one: // // no perfectability

except our own. // // In Pompidou relief is on the wall, // // wrest

Sculpting the vortex

On the next bend, the banks // // will

exchange character. // // A flowing river, meandering across // // a

shed // // with a still? Local // //

excise officer takes to // // dropping by unannounced. // // Catch t

There must be moonshine

yer consists mostly of ones that do not

exist // // but need‡ to be synthesised. Some of them do not even ha

iate to some earlier era of the house’s

existence . We left the room unpainted for the best part of the 22 yea

Fragments of a life

Catheter // // // Objective // // An

exobladder . // // Strapped to my thigh // // with elastic and velcro

Capricorn suite

are // // Jacob van Artevelde makes an

expansive gesture // // towards the setting sun. // // Go west, youn

A poem for free

int, // // it must be insane // // to

expect that a train // // will emerge from the vanishing point. // /

transforms into // // Yorkshire male,

expecting // // tea on the table when he returns from work // // in

Ninety-six and counting

days. Each morning I came down, // //

expecting to find it cold, but every day // // the embers beneath the

not allow to go answerless. // // Lone

expedition to conquer the mountaintop. // // Bottle of water and lunc

// // more travels, journeys, voyages,

expeditions // // more books, more coffee cups // // more tragedies,

t out the fire. // // You’d think he’d

expire from swallowing fire. // // He swallowed the fire to burn the

/ // What happens afterwards you don’t

explain . // // Perhaps they eat it with the other meat. // // But co

On offerings to the gods

face fa-cai thick soup. // // XO sauce

explodes to grow the fragile bone. // // The peasant family stir-frie

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

wo grandchildren, // // and a world to

explore . // // But within a few years, both son and daughter // // a

Ninety-six and counting

time // // to cross the waters, // //

explore the earth, // // and send signal fires // // blazing into th

te. // // Skiddaw is looming, inviting

explorers —a // // challenge I cannot allow to go answerless. // // L

le des Wagons-Lits // // et des Grands

Express Européens pass by. // // In the end, it was the railway // /

Peckham 1969—1991

but evident in the number, // // best

expressed Roman fashion: // // CII. // // We // // As for us, the b

eir boundaries. The vital stress // //

expresses change. Some variant has found // // how good sex is—to mix

hyme and rhythm that you choose, // //

expressions either common or obscure; // // spellings for the ones yo

Here, // // now, // // in this // //

extended // // coda to our past // // good lives, the rainbow spans

Fibonacci series

whose verses never would scan, adds an

extra list. // // As we* reach the sixth and seventh periods, short o

eyond imagination; and of course // //

extracted from my fickle memory— // // elusive and illusive treasure,

Daydream Dale Journey

raw, // // to questions orderly, while

exuding care. // // Voices from the curtained bed next door: // // s

And thus it was. Just past the London

Eye , // // a bright September day, the river’s edge, // // with crow

ive // // In my groin and in my mind’s

eye : // // A tube inside a tube inside a tube // // —only the last l

Capricorn suite

am not cruel, only truthful— // // The

eye of the little god, four cornered. // // Something there is that d

All done with mirrors

cross the rest, looking with unfocussed

eyes // // into the distance down the street. I could not see // //

the bar three people sit // // all six

eyes lowered // // in silent contemplation. // // The rest of the wo

oks, clouts // // masonry nails, screw-

eyes , picture hooks // // wallplugs, rivets, self-tapping metal screw

smoke billows // // move apart // //

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

smoke billows // // smoke grows // //

eyes smart // // smoke billows // // move apart // // eyes smart //

to rise // // feeling slow // // rub

eyes // // yawn and stretch // // blue skies // // legs itch // //

ight, // // You may go there with your

eyesight . // //

Babylon by candlelight

t/return // // Can I go there, with my

eyesight ? // // Yes, with fuel to burn. // // If the lines be blurre

Babylon by candlelight