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

L

L // // london clay, blackened, arsenic // // railings, pointing, do

fter // // producing six of us. // //

L -shaped the house; enclosed within its arms // // a walled garden, l

(Girton student 1880s) // // builds a

lab in her garden // // in Reigate, on her way to // // recognition,

There must be moonshine

irton College 1913). // // The Reigate

lab , of course // // has a source // // of pure water: a still. //

There must be moonshine

ps // // carefully cut and glued. And

labelled the front— // // Nails: tacks, panel pins, ovals and round;

/ Emily Thornberry’s // // photo gives

Labour a // // cardiovascular // // seismic event. // //

Unnatural disasters

n set fire to // // the produce of our

labours . // // A box or holly root, smouldering slowly, // // will b

st // // please press one; for love’s

labour’s lost // // press two; or three for cymbelline; // // the me

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/ // to drain the chains of pools that

lace // // the spreading sands and soft mudflats: // // time to gath

iurnal rhythm to my skill // // I even

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

unk // // or (better) by the real rope-

ladder , which // // we can then haul up behind us, ready // // to de

inds bowling through trees // // fruit-

laden boughs bent to earth // // apples in the grass // //

Troubled waters // // The good

Lady Lumley is pondering glumly. “I // // need a new project to keep

Troubled waters

take her place in service to // // The

Lady of Shalott. // // Working all day at her loom, // // Her mistre

The Lady’s Maid

this cabbage-bed— // // She was once a

lady’s maid // // In gracious, towered Camelot. // // Then, as winds

The Lady’s Maid

Lady’s Maid // // Under a gray and lowering sky // // The fields tha

The Lady’s Maid

toes. Across the river // // lies the

lagoon , a field flooded and then left // // to the encroaching mud.

Bastille; Ormeaux on Rioja; Ormeaux on

Lagoon // // taps; pipes // // One to one // // You are here // //

/ // it’s Jan, not June. // // A blue

lagoon , // // the deep blue sky. // // The crescent moon // // some

The moon in June

// The lino on the hall floor had been

laid // // in nineteen thirty three, the newsprint said. // // The p

Peckham 1969—1991

halott? // // She who hath this garden

laid // // —Nurturing the wayward seed, // // Planting out this cabb

The Lady’s Maid

years, decades, centuries // // have I

lain upon this sandy seafloor? // // I cannot now recall. // // Up t

wide sea // // close forest // // by

lake and stream // // by forest and moor // // from sea to mountain

ea // // swirling stream // // smooth

lake // // dense forest // // rough moor // // million-year moor //

// // Holiday cottage, the edge of the

Lake District— // // family wanting to rest and recuperate. // // Sk

row stream // // open moor // // deep

lake // // high mountain // // wide sea // // close forest // // b

nging sea // // blue sea // // silver

lake // // purple moor // // green forest // // clear stream // //

moor // // sharp mountain // // still

lake // // resting lake // // rustling forest // // tumbling mounta

untain // // still lake // // resting

lake // // rustling forest // // tumbling mountain // // running st

limb // // brings us to a hidden jewel

lake , // // soup-spoon-shaped, still half-covered // // in slowly me

Lake // // The winding trails // // through forests waking to the sp

llion-year sea // // ten-thousand-year

lake // // thousand-year stream // // narrow stream // // open moor

t away, a sheep, cowering // // —and a

lamb , sensing danger // // suckling. // // On the other // // the s

South London standoff

ion // // by tying beta up with mu and

lambda . // // I can’t see clearly: I’ll need to wander // // some w

l shapes and sizes of New Yorkers, like

lambs . It is a memory that Judith treasures for the rest of her life.

Fragments of a life

s way across the floor. // // From the

lamp on the landing it’s spilling, seeping // // under the door, //

mmer spin— // // and liked a lass from

Lancashire ; // // so milk-white was her skin. // // In Cheddar Gorge

singing on his way // // Rode bold Sir

Lancelot . // // Years have passed. The winter’s chill // // Lies fa

The Lady’s Maid

t sail // // and our ship not far from

land // // (Navigation was always a difficult art, // // Though with

All done with mirrors

ramsbergen // // conurbations; drained

land // // One to three hundred and sixteen thousand eight hundred:

// Gaea would soak it up when poured on

land , // // Poseidon take it when it’s poured at sea. // // But sacr

On offerings to the gods

inter’s chill // // Lies fast upon the

land so ill. // // Seldom now the skylark’s trill; // // No longer d

The Lady’s Maid

ich I’m caught. // // But through this

land , this country I must go— // // I’d paint it for you if I had the

must survive; // // It’s through this

land , this country that I go. // // It’s likely different from the on

/ // stumble, fall heavily forward and

land with my // // shin on a knife-edge of rock that protrudes from t

the floor. // // From the lamp on the

landing it’s spilling, seeping // // under the door, // // sending d

Landing light // // Under the door the glow is peeking, // // feelin

but little // // across so many alien

lands and seas // // some people have some nasty new disease. // //

// I cannot now recall. // // On the

lands bordering the Mediterranean, // // empires rise and fall. Batt

or, // // a motorcycle coursing up the

lane . // // Night-time noises permeate the air // // with voices hum

just slipped away. // // What country

lanes or city streets— // // and who were my companions, pray? // //

The dream I dreamt

nce of night, // // no words, no human

language in my ear, // // no voices in the almost-silence that I hear

h displayed, // // each model posed in

languid attitude, // // in birthday suit and little else arrayed? //

For Robert Graves

r a shell // // whose music makes your

languid pulses race: // // fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast spe

Jump willing in

// // app, coy sale. // // Aye, cops

lap // // a clay pope’s // // soapy place. // // So apply, ace: //

armth of the fire, // // listen to the

lapping of the water, // // and gaze into space. // // We have the s

/ // Wi-fi café. Send a letter. // //

Laptop , plug in power socket. // // Click to send. // // I love you.

ind a swirling wake. // // Nearer, the

lapwings forage up the beach. // // At water’s edge the oyster-catche

prehend the universe // // both in the

large and in the small, // // to learn (for better or for worse) //

; // // Screws: small, size 6, size 8,

large . // // Beside it stands another of much later age: // // a pla

but fire). // // See this: // // the

large , dilapidated country house // // that is my mother’s next big v

on the first floor front // // with a

large window. From our bed // // we could see the tops of // // the

Beds and trees and windows

ies in boxes, jars and tins: // // the

larger bolts and nuts and washers, // // flooring nails, staples, cup

el looking-glass that will never show a

lass // // As comely or as kindly or as young as what she was!) // /

All done with mirrors

/ for a summer spin— // // and liked a

lass from Lancashire; // // so milk-white was her skin. // // In Che

to be too tall? // // Will it wilt or

last all day? // // Does it mark the site of the hidden gold // // o

The truth about x

// // that while the past // // will

last and last, // // the future is fast disappearing. // //

ed // // while the long night’s images

last , // // but notched on the stick // // as the day slides into th

he mist. // // The long night’s images

last . // // But now the light is fading // // as the day slides into

to drain // // away from you, in those

last days of pain, // // another summer, home in Camberwell. // // B

ever. The fire once begun // // would

last for days and days. Each morning I came down, // // expecting to

permanence the rule. // // Change will

last forever. // // At intervals along the south horizon // // conta

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

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

/ embers warm // // flames gone // //

last glow // // embers warm // // fading now // // last glow // //

// embers warm // // fading now // //

last glow // // tiny light // // fading now // // dark night // //

d when we parted, did we say // // our

last goodbyes, or maybe they // // just slipped away— // // I cannot

The dream I dreamt

e a tube inside a tube // // —only the

last lives there. // // An inflated bulb to hold // // the other two

Capricorn suite

of grey— // // the colours that I saw

last night // // just slipped away. // // Through passages or corrid

The dream I dreamt

longings with you, // // and could the

last person to alight please switch off the lights. // // This depart

last post has been sounded. // // The

last post has been collected. // // The last word has been had. // /

this is the end of the line. // // The

last post has been sounded. // // The last post has been collected. /

at some acute, unmeasured angle. // //

Last September, meeting you. // // The world looks different now. //

ant has closed, // // and that was the

last syllabub of recorded time. // // From the bottom of the barrel /

hat while the past // // will last and

last , // // the future is fast disappearing. // //

rotest, but to small // // effect. At

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

Peckham 1969—1991

ast post has been collected. // // The

last word has been had. // // Nothing remains // // but the fuzzy en

n places, // // crested by the fuzz of

last year’s growth, // // looks like a great sea-crag in miniature, /

reat Michelangelo // // makes his work

lasting by carving in stone— // // me, I’m not looking for such immor

// // and built a roaring blaze. Then

late into the night // // I fed it all the bits that it had missed: /

I’m ready and waiting, I hope it’s not

late . // // I’m sure they’ll get it to where I reside— // // not dis

// // Beside it stands another of much

later age: // // a plastic chest with small, clear plastic drawers //

Childsplay // //

Later , age maybe eight or ten, // // I would play competitive games /

, move to Camberwell. // // (Two weeks

later , British Rail’s plans // // were scrapped and redesigned. The

Peckham 1969—1991

eek tides rise and fall // // a little

later each passing day. // //

ree so much earlier. // // Later, much

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

deep bay windows that // // adorn most

later London terraced fronts. // // One of a block of four, it had be

Peckham 1969—1991

rough the scree so much earlier. // //

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

Iken Hall // //

Later , my mother will describe the house itself // // as ugly. No su

// In north Africa, D is killed. // //

Later , one of the lodgers— // // Polish serviceman and refugee— // /

Ninety-six and counting

// // or down to earth. // // Seconds

later , over the drumming rain, // // a sharp wall of sound. // // La

Emily visits. // // At home, two days

later , // // she says to her dad // // “Judith is a painter, isn’t s

n, // // a sharp wall of sound. // //

Later still, after the storm has passed // // lie back on the wet bea

dged, blots out the setting sun. // //

Later , the clouds amass: // // watch now: if you blink you will miss

dows and plates // // on the shelves.

Later , the local rumour states // // that the train is carrying nucle

Peckham 1969—1991

Or was it // // not until seven years

later , the year that her first // // grandchild arrived? I can’t qui

Good vibrations

s // // (or Bunch of Hooligans) // //

later to enrol, when they come to Paris // // Manuel de Falla and Igo

January Nineteen Hundred and One

down— // // you must be nimble. // //

Later we discover // // that that was just a sideshow: all the while

Walking in winter

emory we needed. // // So three months

later , we met again // // on a Suffolk shingle beach. // // In Novem

why people have // // funeral pyres.)

Later we scatter the ashes // // in a wild part of the old South Lond

upon my face. // // Twenty three years

later , when my mother died // // we had the proper formal funeral. //

Sharpness // // // The

latest growths are long and barbed, // // reaching out to colonise th

d’s tongue. Why is it that // // this

latter -day fruit so often disappoints? // // Did I just dream the tas

ss-cross checks and grids and patterned

lattices of life // // through glasses, darkly. // // —A fragment, f

// // The wonder is that you can still

laugh . // //

Ninety-six and counting

ll it find I’ve a yen to make audiences

laugh , // // so my name should be written in lights? // // Is it mer

The truth about x

rly-five-year-old Colin // // needed a

lavatory , and I had to leave the fire for a while // // to take him t

n supports for an old // // high-level

lavatory cistern, wonderfully // // ornate. A pump and valves from a

Lucyfour tankas // // the Lucy

Lavers // // eighty some year old lifeboat // // restored to glory /

// // One to five million: Gulf of St

Lawrence // // Shickshock Mountains; Shippegan Island; Cape Sable //

knock on the bonce. // // For sure my

laws must // // have forever been lost // // if the apple had chosen

Newton’s counterfactuals

se pay cap, // // O palace spy. // //

Lay pop case // // plea as copy. // // Ape calypso // // place, so

port // // Turns out† that the seventh

layer consists mostly of ones that do not exist // // but need‡ to be

en have proper names. // // The eighth

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

e is sparse, but every second period or

layer , // // like the bard from Japan whose verses never would scan,

warm enough to melt // // the topmost

layer . The frost returns // // to make a crust. The next two months

Walking in winter

e let each thread unroll behind, // //

laying down the past— // // until the day, just nine months gone, //

plain, excavates one bank // // as it

lays down the other, // // switching favours at each turn. // // (St

is clear. This formulation // // both

lays the problem out and then reveals // // the parts of a solution.

hone wires through the pane // // loop

lazily along and then // // greet each pole like a jumping jack. //

// The quick brown fox jumps over the

lazy dog // //

/ // You dance to my tune, // // I’ll

lead .” But come June // // it turns out she has feet of clay. // //

This may be the end

roof, the ridgetiles, the leaves in the

leaded gully. // // The street between the houses, the streetlight, /

The rain and the air

a half before Columbus. // // He is a

leader of Flemish weavers, pointing the rest // // towards their majo

A poem for free

s, buzzers, plugs // // and connecting

leads . Another pair // // of brackets, this time for a wooden curtai

be thirty years. A winding path // //

leads from the glazed back door // // through box and holly grown to

. // // Beyond the scree the open path

leads on, // // a gentler walk, to bare bleak Malham Tarn. // // The

Daydream Dale Journey

live dish dried meat floss stir fries a

leaf mustard. // // The small bowl of wedding reception stews bean bu

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

// it’ll last forever, the light that’s

leaking // // under the door. // //

s; // // two taps; one loo // // in a

lean -to out the back. // // On the cornices // // a hundred years of

// the room we glimpse inside. A woman

leans // // upon a table in the window, looks // // out into sunligh

Cape Cod Morning

or was I pulled or pushed? // // Did I

leap a chasm, ford a raging torrent, // // get rolled over by an aval

Capricorn suite

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

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

eep // // growing bright // // flames

leap // // sparks take flight // // growing bright // // throw on t

uman, animal, machine. // // An owl, a

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

four; // // five othello; six for king

lear ; // // seven hamlet; eight macbeth; nine // // for any other ch

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hat moves us all. // // From me you’ll

learn before a book. // // Don’t waste your time on wild boar’s head.

n the large and in the small, // // to

learn (for better or for worse) // // what moves us all. // // From

// // Five days after Charlie Hebdo, I

learn // // that something is growing at the tail end of my colon: //

Capricorn suite

// // tried to ignore // // tried to

learn // // tried to live // // tried to love // // tried to make /

ong after his colours have gone; // //

learning his lesson, the great Michelangelo // // makes his work last

e lived and loved and gained // // and

learnt and gave and lost, // // we let each thread unroll behind, //

eems a poor // // fit for me, it is at

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

se— // // until the following night at

least . // // Odysseus' sirens, of course // // can offer no such mes

Capricorn suite

// following, if not a line, // // at

least some vague direction. // // Once in a while, though, they seem

ess, I still like // // on occasion at

least // // to hold the front page // // along with the rest of that

efract // // The one before it into at

least two. // //

All done with mirrors

ps to reach the valley floor— // // to

leave behind, for now, the wilder moor. // // The treasures to be fou

Daydream Dale Journey

dump an offering to the gods, // // or

leave it where it is to rot away? // // Imagine what the vengeful god

On offerings to the gods

sals—these as well. // // But we shall

leave such counterpoints behind us: // // time will tell. // // Thos

Recorded syllables

// // needed a lavatory, and I had to

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

orially // // squeeze the juice // //

leave the pith and pips. // // Papaya, melon: // // pole-to-pole //

/ // Rough softness is too big, // //

leaves for another home. // // Another rough softness. // // Can thi

r? // // The roof, the ridgetiles, the

leaves in the leaded gully. // // The street between the houses, the

The rain and the air

ng on, // // trees bending, dark green

leaves showing // // their lighter backs, a few edging // // towards

af trees with twisted limbs // // shed

leaves with perfect sculpted edges. // // A bramble sends great arcin

oin // // with the neighbouring block,

leaving a row of nine. // // In nineteen sixty nine the house was lit

Peckham 1969—1991

us, then flips away, // // dives deep,

leaving behind a swirling wake. // // Nearer, the lapwings forage up

/ // carve out sections of bank // //

leaving sharp cliffs of compacted mud. // // Evening. A great dark c

oad. The pavements // // curl around,

leaving two small raised triangles // // of city herbage in city clag

South London standoff

arth, // // time lives in fire, // //

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

is and Antithesis debate. // // In the

lecture room // // His voice is lively, gestures wide— // // there i

edges // // Skinny rats sniff out the

ledges , // // While between the stream-floor ridges // // Now a bott

The Lady’s Maid

// // Along the muddy margins, in the

lee // // of the sea-wall, around the bladder-wrack, // // long-legg

n the creek // // bearing loose things

left afloat. // // Behind each moored boat runs a wake: // // time t

y need some clipping, shortening // //

left alone they easily win—but // // there was an old man called Mich

// just so // // above, below, // //

left and right. // // Focus in, // // each ray // // trapped on its

the light just so // // above, below,

left and right, // // focus in each ray. // // Trapped on its way fr

with dying breath, // // a swan-song,

left behind for us to ponder, // // in any season. // //

toothpaste // // that the saxophonist

left behind. // // This is the heat-death of the universe; // // the

and the air? // // The glistening mud

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

The rain and the air

// // Subjective/objective // // Tap

left open. // // Oh bugger! // // The other side // // // What was

Capricorn suite

// below and to the right. And rising

left // // the Cape Cod house’s painted clapboard side. // // At cen

Cape Cod Morning

efore giving me an earful. // // To my

left , the foraging ground: a smooth bank of mud // // slopes up from

rlier era of the house’s existence. We

left the room unpainted for the best part of the 22 years we lived the

Fragments of a life

at her loom, // // Her mistress never

left the womb // // That was the fastness of her room. // // Only th

The Lady’s Maid

es the lagoon, a field flooded and then

left // // to the encroaching mud. On the far bank // // of the nex

within its arms // // a walled garden,

left untended // // for maybe thirty years. A winding path // // le

fact of life, a death, // // what was

left was not so much a void // // as that which in my London childhoo

colder clime, // // with no arms, one

leg , no tail, but raised high, // // and head thrown back, I can danc

alise the pain is subsiding, the // //

leg was not broken, and after a while I can // // think of resuming m

tical, fictitious, mythologic // // or

legal . Just come seek, and you shall find. // // Who am I? // //

, around the bladder-wrack, // // long-

legged waders scutter, scavenge, seek // // their winter sustenance.

some forty years ago. // // One of the

legs had rotted half away. // // But a new piece of four by two turne

wn and stretch // // blue skies // //

legs itch // // must get on // // first scratch // // clothes on //

ffield ties become more tenuous, // //

legs weaken, and isolation palls. // // One more great change, one mo

Ninety-six and counting

illy came. // // They lingered long in

Leicestershire ; // // red was the evening sky. // // By Derby town t

/ // twist to separate. // // Orange,

lemon , lime: // // equatorially // // squeeze the juice // // leave

and called “Post-Balzac”. It is a full-

length bronze cape, upright and rounded as if on the shoulders of its

Fragments of a life

navy blue or fawn, // // three-quarter

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

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

um outside Amsterdam. The Hermitage in

Leningrad in Soviet days. Kettle’s Yard in Cambridge when it was stil

Fragments of a life

colours have gone; // // learning his

lesson , the great Michelangelo // // makes his work lasting by carvin

and learnt and gave and lost, // // we

let each thread unroll behind, // // laying down the past— // // unt

Ebb tide // // First I carefully

let go // // just as far as I can reach // // the flotsam brought in

Vagrant monosyllables // //

Let he who is without zen… but there is a multitude of zens. The zens

Vagrant monosyllables

ng embers // // throw on timber // //

let it burn // // glowing embers // // smoulder down // // let it b

wing embers // // smoulder down // //

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

st covered in the slack: // // time to

let it dry. // // Now I cut new rivulets // // to drain the chains o

row the canopy too // // to the winds,

let it whirl away // // into the encroaching dark. // // Feel the ea

n order to create // // your own, just

let me be your open door // // to visit many poets small and great, /

nt moon // // from cold immune. // //

Let snow lie, // // it’s Jan, not June. // // A blue lagoon, // //

The moon in June

// to earth, as far away as it will go.

Let the browns // // and reds and golds replace the greens. Now throw

water return // // to the dry ground.

Let the cooling dark // // settle around and about, under and over. /

busily foraging across the bank // //

lets me get much closer // // before giving me an earful. // // To m

Stages // // Hanging garden. Send a

letter . // // Fresh clay tablet, stylus, scribe. // // Entrust to me

/ I love you. // // Wi-fi café. Send a

letter . // // Laptop, plug in power socket. // // Click to send. //

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

letter . // // New papyrus, brush and ink. // // Command a messenger.

love you. // // Papered bedsit. Send a

letter . // // Pad of paper, ballpoint pen. // // Find a stamp, stree

e you. // // Draughty hall. Now send a

letter . // // Parchment, new quill pen, and ink. // // Employ a mess

e you. // // Curtained parlour. Send a

letter . // // Scented paper, dip-pen, ink. // // Branch post office,

e. Never fill the kettle above the MAX

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

Using your Kettle

o or three metres above // // mean sea

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

n their cups. Thomas certainly did his

level best // // to drink himself to death. But for these falls, //

// Place the cordless base on a

level firm surface. // // Where ever possible fill the ket

Using your Kettle

st-iron supports for an old // // high-

level lavatory cistern, wonderfully // // ornate. A pump and valves

amount of water can be measured by the

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

Using your Kettle

n // // on its way down. // // It’s a

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

ensure that it is always above the MIN

level . // // Only fill the kettle with the amount of water

Using your Kettle

that, when it’s at home? // // It’s a

level that the tide rushes past // // on its way up and again // //

banked-up track // // behind the wall,

level with the top, // // running the gauntlet of the winter storm. /

Walking in winter

something here that puzzles me. // //

Libation pouring, I can understand— // // Gaea would soak it up when

On offerings to the gods

omfort’s as rotten // // as stealing a

library book. // // Five of our cushions are missing. // // How can

One of our cushions

ked trout, wevet, bone, calamine // //

lichen , brinjal, radicchio, citron, calluna // // brassica, hay, pelt

heather and the bracken, the moss, the

lichen , // // the cropped grass, the sheep- and rabbit-droppings, //

The rain and the air

// // Always make sure that the

lid is properly firmly closed. // // Place the kettle on t

Using your Kettle

rings. // // The jars hang from their

lids , nailed to // // the shelf above. The boxes and tins are stacke

y settled down // // on purple sage to

lie . // // A Cheshire cat accosted them, // // then walked his wild

he blind. // // A storm is raging as I

lie abed, // // whipped wide awake by what the thunder said. // // R

sky // // The fields that by the river

lie // // Are rough and unkempt. Buzzards fly // // Above the weedy

The Lady’s Maid

till, after the storm has passed // //

lie back on the wet beach // // and watch the stars emerge. // // Sh

/ // from cold immune. // // Let snow

lie , // // it’s Jan, not June. // // A blue lagoon, // // the deep

The moon in June

time. // // Now is the time // // to

lie on the earth, // // smell the air, // // feel the warmth of the

Liedera rondeau // // In any season, some young man will wander // /

es venture. // // Beyond the fir-trees

lies // // a bracken-covered heath. The summer fronds // // rise fa

have passed. The winter’s chill // //

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

The Lady’s Maid

// // Maybe, for some, the resolution

lies // // in their cups. Thomas certainly did his level best // //

n we doubt // // that somewhere herein

lies some deep philosophy? // // Voices, ipods, phones speak out— //

ween our toes. Across the river // //

lies the lagoon, a field flooded and then left // // to the encroachi

ell? // // This painting has a private

life . // //

Cape Cod Morning

at Judith treasures for the rest of her

life . // //

Fragments of a life

on // // // After that single fact of

life , a death, // // what was left was not so much a void // // as t

ot looking for such immortality, // //

life after death would not be to my taste; // // rather, look forward

s us of so much we’ll never see. // //

Life and death are two, and now are one: // // no perfectability exce

Sculpting the vortex

the different dittoes must compete for

life . // // Another billion random changes: all // // —or almost all

At some more ordered // // stage of my

life (certainly long before // // the children arrived) I divided eac

// // How little I really know of your

life ! // // From the moment almost a half-century ago // // when I f

Ninety-six and counting

way. // // I hear you say, // // “But

life is for the living, do not kill // // another day.” // // And ye

ext door: // // someone else’s fragile

life is there. // //

ext door: // // someone else’s fragile

life is there. // // Each new doctor asks the same once more, // //

ll was well; // // the end, the moment

life just seemed to drain // // away from you, in those last days of

/ Some earlier occasion when // // our

life -lines must have crossed, // // some passing chance of might-have

life // // Milk // // Sausages or chops // // Veg—broccoli? // //

Notes to a life

ps which, added up, construct // // my

life . // // Most of the steps are small, // // following, if not a l

// // It’s been too far south all its

life : // // not cancer, but capricorn. // // Catheter // // // Obj

Capricorn suite

I was told: it looks clear. // // So

life should now appear // // as it did a month gone, // // BC (Befor

Capricorn suite

any season. // // The author, he whose

life the fates would squander— // // such richness in his music did h

cks and grids and patterned lattices of

life // // through glasses, darkly. // // —A fragment, formulated fo

life // // We walked across England, once. If you follow the w

Fragments of a life

Lucy Lavers // // eighty some year old

lifeboat // // restored to glory // // motors smoothly up the creek

posterity speaks; // // Joyce has his

Liffey whose recirculation keeps // // Finnegan going (despite it’s h

gentle. // // Soft digits hold softly,

lift softly // // place softly against another softness // // and so

g // // as the rising waters reach and

lift them // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // echoes of the dis

Light and shadow // // The rule: we should not // // begin unwrappi

Light and shadow

forever? // // Empty again, in harsher

light . // // Another softness, giant but gentle. // // Soft digits h

ward, sun behind us, low, // // yellow

light -beams almost horizontal; // // East Hills aglow. // // Winds m

Recorded syllables

rk night // // dream deep // // faint

light // // bird sings // // growing bright // // gadget pings //

e night // // I would’ve turned on the

light ... // // But now no more— // // your gentle snore // // puts

r sand and rock // // in filtered blue

light , // // carrying hardness with it. // // Sometimes softness she

imity, blazer, babouche // // borrowed

light , dimpse, mizzle, skylight // // ammonite, mahogany, archive //

against // // the dying // // of the

light . Do not // // go gentle into that good night. // // … and one

Fibonacci series

/ // begin unwrapping till it’s // //

light enough to see. // // Below the bulges, // // not yet deciphera

Light and shadow

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

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

// Through passages or corridors // //

light -footed did I make my way? // // Across what carpets, rugs or fl

The dream I dreamt

e no crystal ball, no glass. // // The

light has all gone, now. // //

s are low and spitting rain. // // The

light is dimming now. // // Further north the rain teems down // //

night’s images last. // // But now the

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

of an uncompleted day. // // Not until

light is fading // // has the interval passed by. // // An uncomplet

ver Don and flood the plain. // // The

light is fading now. // // Politicians on the stump // // make promi

inspired by our local Trump. // // The

light is failing now. // // The surgeons trying to cut us off // //

like butchers working rough. // // The

light is going now. // // How will these transient trials pass? // /

Sunburn // // Sonnet // // Bend the

light // // just so // // above, below, // // left and right. // /

and burn. // // Tanka // // Bend the

light just so // // above, below, left and right, // // focus in eac

in the dark edges beyond the flickering

light . // // Nearly-five-year-old Colin // // needed a lavatory, and

l // // I even lack a sense of dark or

light // // Nevertheless, in order to create // // your own, just le

e dark side of the earth, // // in the

light of a fire, // // and faint starlight from space // // reflecte

paraffin stove // // casts patterns of

light on the // // high bedroom ceiling. // //

Light and shadow

moves north against the fading evening

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

Wells in winter

Hopper Chōka // // Yellow neon

light // // spilling through plate-glass windows // // across the pa

I’m sure // // it’ll last forever, the

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

re? // // Or is it just the clarity of

light , the glowing // // grass and trees outside her window, warming

Cape Cod Morning

out above, // // buds into the waxing

light , the spring rain. Throw open // // the fire-coloured temptation

k night // // strike match // // tiny

light // // twigs catch // // strike match // // flame unfurls //

light // // Under the door the glow is peeking, // // feeling its wa

dark green leaves showing // // their

lighter backs, a few edging // // towards the brown. // // Autumn fr

r // // // Blitz. The heavy bombers,

lighter now, // // are droning back towards their bases, // // and f

Capricorn suite

nted. // // No electricity— // // gas

lighting from the thirties; // // two taps; one loo // // in a lean-

e darknesses // // more storms, gales,

lightning bolts // // more days of sun or rain or passing cloud // /

d, // // temple columns spaced, // //

lightning rods earthed. // // On the dark side of the earth, // // i

e mounted // // battery box, switches,

lights , buzzers, plugs // // and connecting leads. Another pair //

Pay newsagent // // Bulbs for kitchen

lights —CS 60W screw???—check first // // Cash m/c // // Washing //

Notes to a life

// // so my name should be written in

lights ? // // Is it merely the line at the foot of the graph, // //

The truth about x

person to alight please switch off the

lights . // // This departure has arrived. // // The locomotive will

// // Nigel Farrage // // has a mouth

like a garage— // // he opens it ever so wide // // and you can see

uzz of last year’s growth, // // looks

like a great sea-crag in miniature, // // a tumbling precipice of roc

y along and then // // greet each pole

like a jumping jack. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. /

ople in evening dress, top hats and the

like , appropriate to some earlier era of the house’s existence. We le

Fragments of a life

// our sense of part and whole, netsuke-

like . // // Bird and fish are two, and now are one: // // no perfect

Sculpting the vortex

from continental flow // // seem more

like butchers working rough. // // The light is going now. // // How

o, // // spirals round itself, trumpet-

like . // // Can this go on forever? // // Softness grows still, fade

ery beautiful. // // What does it look

like from the inside? // // See that blue-green ball of stuff? // //

ands), // // thick felted wool, a monk-

like hood— // // and with (the most important thing) // // those woo

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

r, all shapes and sizes of New Yorkers,

like lambs. It is a memory that Judith treasures for the rest of her

Fragments of a life

the world. // // Nevertheless, I still

like // // on occasion at least // // to hold the front page // //

// // Words go // // from mind // //

like snow. // // A line // // to show // // can’t find, // // no.

This poem eludes me

t really want // // to kill me. // //

Like the asteroid // // barrelling onwards, to wipe us out in // //

Capricorn suite

ut every second period or layer, // //

like the bard from Japan whose verses never would scan, adds an extra

ed arch // // piercing the wall, built

like the house // // of weathered Cotswold stone. // // The box and

n the beginning I am small and playful,

like the wind. // // It changes direction from minute to minute; //

pple said // // // // Of course we’d

like to understand // // the stars and planets overhead // // as wel

er // // for a summer spin— // // and

liked a lass from Lancashire; // // so milk-white was her skin. // /

That reality in which I live // // is

likely different from the one you know. // // It is the space in whic

nd, this country that I go. // // It’s

likely different from the one you know: // // to you, this is a dream

n three hours now. // // When are they

likely to send out a search party? // // Probably not until well afte

// gnarled broadleaf trees with twisted

limbs // // shed leaves with perfect sculpted edges. // // A bramble

wist to separate. // // Orange, lemon,

lime : // // equatorially // // squeeze the juice // // leave the pi

Limerick // // There was an old Fellow of Girton // // who always ma

this will help to reduce the amount of

limescale that builds up on the filter. // // The amount o

Using your Kettle

lham Cove, // // with fields below and

limestone crags above; // // descend the steps to reach the valley fl

Daydream Dale Journey

care not a tittle. // // Many die—thus

limiting their needs. // // This time, the bug’s not spread by rats a

ch earlier. // // Later, much later, I

limp into harbour. My // // family playing, completely oblivious. //

be good. // // Nevertheless I draw the

line // // at dropping onto Isaac’s head. // // His inspiration is n

s are small, // // following, if not a

line , // // at least some vague direction. // // Once in a while, th

tten in lights? // // Is it merely the

line at the foot of the graph, // // so that y can now scale the heig

The truth about x

line // // Board anywhere // //

end of the street and right, // // the

line bridges over the road.) Sometimes at night, // // a heavy goods

Peckham 1969—1991

against the sky. // // Ahead, another

line , // // flat and sharp and natural too: // // pale sky encounter

/ I’ll need a ton of words to fill each

line from side to side, // // verbosely quite enough to float or sink

the paper onto its side and write each

line // // in something approaching or aping the style of that wonder

is just the timing that disturbs. The

line // // mostly carries suburban trains; more rarely, // // carria

Peckham 1969—1991

ntle slope // // towards the river. A

line of ancient oaks // // (one blasted trunk is hollow through, and

the charts // // redrawn). // // The

line of pebble-dunes protects // // a calmer green oasis, band of sal

the street // // a tee-junction, and a

line of sight // // along a tree-lined road into the distance. // //

Beds and trees and windows

e call Japan: // // against the sky, a

line of those same firs // // looks vaguely oriental. // // Since th

ng— // // how in hell did he evade the

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

Long ago // // The railway

line passes near. // // After the engine’s noisy roar, // // coaches

r this year // // of celebration—every

line // // the Bard created for the stage // // by the best actors o

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

are the buffers, this is the end of the

line . // // The last post has been sounded. // // The last post has

// // will find in all the books that

line the shelves, // // and close to home as well: they too can be //

llel lines // // As you stare down the

line till you squint // // with the cold seeping into each joint, //

// from mind // // like snow. // // A

line // // to show // // can’t find, // // no. // //

This poem eludes me

ard, // // below the belt and over the

line . // // What’s in a name? // // It’s been too far south all its

Capricorn suite

les would be // // long enough for any

line . // // With a terse verse form, you see, // // I can get along

and a line of sight // // along a tree-

lined road into the distance. // //

Beds and trees and windows

dens, full of trees // // along a tree-

lined road into the distance. // // The first bedroom I had to myself

Beds and trees and windows

eat arcing shoots, // // strong curves

lined with jagged thorns, // // seeking new ground to conquer. // //

the sharp senses, nature has many sharp

lines . // //

// strung around precise radial anchor

lines . // // Across the channel, tidal creeks // // meandering throu

s // // —the kind you sometimes see in

lines across // // the Suffolk countryside, each tall bare trunk //

und. // // The field is ready now, the

lines are drawn. // // Whichever wins, whichever meets defeat, // //

Capricorn suite

e fading evening light. // // Slanting

lines are forming, breaking, forming // // ordered chaos with a rauco

Wells in winter

lines // // As you stare down the line till you squint // // with th

suggest // // just three alliterative

lines —at best // // a semi-stanza—and then to cease? It seems // //

/ Yes, with fuel to burn. // // If the

lines be blurred just right, // // You may go there with your eyesigh

Babylon by candlelight

// // ranking, taking logs and drawing

lines . // // Chomsky looked for deeper motivation // // underneath t

just nine months gone, // // when both

lines crossed an edge, // // and two seemed to twist into one, // //

s // // in lop-sided vees and slanting

lines , // // dark against the sky. // // Ahead, another line, // //

lines // // High overhead, the geese are flying out // // on their t

e earlier occasion when // // our life-

lines must have crossed, // // some passing chance of might-have-been

// more curlews, more ragged, slanting

lines of geese // // more travels, journeys, voyages, expeditions //

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

lines // // // // // // // // Somewhere deep down in my abysmal

Capricorn suite

a-winds bring // // straining at their

lines . The bows face seaward // // Hear the marsh-birds calling //

the same period games // // allow the

lines to peter out // // and stop. // // † as we step through the do

and flying sparks. // // Grass on the

lineside banks is marked // // with smears of fires, burnt and black.

// then to Caerphilly came. // // They

lingered long in Leicestershire; // // red was the evening sky. // /

he sea-winds bring // // makes another

lingering turn, begins // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // retr

// a hole to build the Channel Tunnel

link . // // A monstrous hole, quite big enough to eat // // the park

Peckham 1969—1991

hey care? // // They rattle round, and

link , and split, and fight. // // No voices in the almost-silence tha

n // // to make the beta, gamma, delta

link . // // 1 back: frustration // // Damn—I had forgotten // // t

// // recognition, fellowships // // (

Linnean Society 1904, // // Girton College 1913). // // The Reigate

There must be moonshine

ngs, // // paint from woodwork, // //

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

// lino from floors. // // (Under the

lino , newspaper // // dated 1933 // // the year Hitler came to power

th open fires the only heat. // // The

lino on the hall floor had been laid // // in nineteen thirty three,

Peckham 1969—1991

really. // // Objective // // Yellow

liquid flows. // // Subjective/objective // // Tap left open. // //

Capricorn suite

verses never would scan, adds an extra

list . // // As we* reach the sixth and seventh periods, short of hori

† as we step through the double-starred

list of the actinoids // // ‡ by means of reactors or colliders or ot

upon the trees outside… // // I try to

listen , but my musing strays. // // His voice is lively, gestures wid

ny time or season of the year // // we

listen to Schubert’s Trout Quintet. // // Listening to Schubert’s Tro

// feel the warmth of the fire, // //

listen to the lapping of the water, // // and gaze into space. // //

ten to Schubert’s Trout Quintet. // //

Listening to Schubert’s Trout Quintet // // the slow movement is of c

// of the mudflats and the sandbanks.

Listing // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // boats are stranded

by the ebb-tide. // // The moored boat

listing on the mudflat. // // The salt-marsh, the sedge and the samph

The rain and the air

// In nineteen sixty nine the house was

lit // // by gas, with open fires the only heat. // // The lino on t

Peckham 1969—1991

// and dark night fell as we built and

lit the fire // // on the dark stones, and planted fireworks // // i

the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-

Lits // // et des Grands Express Européens pass by. // // In the end

Peckham 1969—1991

/ // In some far-off place we know but

little // // across so many alien lands and seas // // some people h

he hills ranged all around // // —they

little care. // // Voices far across the valley sound // // through

y bean curd of boiler, // // Blow up a

little croaker with no result. // // Fragile crab of incense taste mu

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

ney is seamless // // and, in truth, a

little dull. // // From Brussels by local train to Ghent: canals and

A poem for free

d attitude, // // in birthday suit and

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

For Robert Graves

l, only truthful— // // The eye of the

little god, four cornered. // // Something there is that doesn’t love

All done with mirrors

Ninety-six and counting // // How

little I really know of your life! // // From the moment almost a hal

Ninety-six and counting

the creek tides rise and fall // // a

little later each passing day. // //

of its space. // // Two plovers wait a

little longer, // // then follow suit; the oystercatcher // // busi

again. // // Skirting the back of the

Little Man precipice, // // one final push up the ridge to the pinnac

” // // So the project proceeds with a

little more priming (the // // buy-in from business is not keeping pa

Troubled waters

this path, it would have been // // a

little scary—no sense // // of where we are, of how far we have come,

iration— // // that reality in which I

live . // //

validate or grieve— // // these words

live . // //

// // // // That reality in which I

live // // is likely different from the one you know. // // It is th

le, but Piero’s perspective will // //

live on long after his colours have gone; // // learning his lesson,

though, the hollow holds // // a real

live snake, standing up and hissing // // at our approach. We turn t

e // // tried to learn // // tried to

live // // tried to love // // tried to make // // tried to mend //

d with skeins of wool. // // And as we

lived and loved and gained // // and learnt and gave and lost, // //

ed for the best part of the 22 years we

lived there, and it wasn’t just because we never got around to it.

Fragments of a life

kes a worthy guide; // // his voice is

lively , gestures wide. // // The sun and wind upon the trees outside…

In the lecture room // // His voice is

lively , gestures wide— // // there is much sense in what he says, //

t my musing strays. // // His voice is

lively , gestures wide. // // There is much sense in what he says. //

/ carriages decked in the blue and gold

livery // // of the Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits // // e

Peckham 1969—1991

motors smoothly up the creek // // in

livery resplendent // // one of the small ships // // sent out in ni

// Our space is the earth, // // time

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

ded // // coda to our past // // good

lives , the rainbow spans the sky. // //

Fibonacci series

power). // // Then we get on with our

lives : // // the repainting can wait. // // I go to work. // // Jud

ube inside a tube // // —only the last

lives there. // // An inflated bulb to hold // // the other two in p

Capricorn suite

ar you say, // // “But life is for the

living , do not kill // // another day.” // // And yet you stay // /

athers are visited on the sons, even if

living in zen. // // Gloves are a many-splendoured thing. Gloves mak

Vagrant monosyllables

ur shared domain: // // the start, the

lobby of a Greek hotel // // in summer, where we met and all was well

/ // Garden shed // // with a still?

Local // // excise officer takes to // // dropping by unannounced. /

There must be moonshine

s down the street. // // We joined the

local protest, but to small // // effect. At last we felt we had to

Peckham 1969—1991

ates // // on the shelves. Later, the

local rumour states // // that the train is carrying nuclear waste; a

Peckham 1969—1991

a little dull. // // From Brussels by

local train to Ghent: canals and cobbled streets // // and beer and c

A poem for free

e promises-to-go // // inspired by our

local Trump. // // The light is failing now. // // The surgeons tryi

/ // from depot to depot it’s quick to

locate . // // My spirit is with it, along for the ride. // // I’m re

Lockdown // // Here’s a first-rate opportunity— // // Isolation for

Locking down too // // down, not up—as in // // facing down the cris

Locking down too

t’s breath // // peignoir, charlotte’s

locks , nancy’s blushes // // drop cloth, slipper satin, worsted // /

// // The locomotive will desist from

locomotion , // // this is our final destination. // // These are the

This departure has arrived. // // The

locomotive will desist from locomotion, // // this is our final desti

o-up-two-down // // full of family and

lodgers . Daughter born // // at the height of the Luftwaffe’s // //

Ninety-six and counting

, D is killed. // // Later, one of the

lodgers — // // Polish serviceman and refugee— // // is worth another

Ninety-six and counting

instantiations, // // ranking, taking

logs and drawing lines. // // Chomsky looked for deeper motivation //

remains // // but the fuzzy end of the

lollipop and the squeezed out tube of toothpaste // // that the saxop

Housepaint // // The depths of south

London , 1969. // // A small Victorian terrace house // // stuccoed a

London // // // After that single fact of life, a death, // // what

// // in a wild part of the old South

London cemetery. // // Perhaps I should plant // // some box or holl

much a void // // as that which in my

London childhood // // we’d call a bombsite—desolate but rife // //

london clay, blackened, arsenic // // railings, pointing, down pipe,

// // And thus it was. Just past the

London Eye, // // a bright September day, the river’s edge, // // wi

ppens my old friend is crowned mayor of

London , he // // goes by the rubrik of Boris the Mad. // // He’d ado

Troubled waters

London standoff // // An ordinary suburban junction. // // Narrow si

South London standoff

The second was at the back // // of a

London terrace in a triangle of streets. // // From the bed the windo

Beds and trees and windows

ay windows that // // adorn most later

London terraced fronts. // // One of a block of four, it had been onc

Peckham 1969—1991

something new: migrate south // // to

London , two grandchildren, // // and a world to explore. // // But w

Ninety-six and counting

f bridges traversing the Thames here in

London , we’ve // // just thirty three—surely room for one more. // /

Troubled waters

I cannot allow to go answerless. // //

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

ldom now the skylark’s trill; // // No

longer do the people fill // // The wharfs and ways of Camelot. // /

The Lady’s Maid

ging: the ocean // // is bottomless no

longer . // // I feel something // // never felt before— // // somet

ts, // // broken furniture, shelves no

longer // // serving any useful purpose. // // The clutter covering

// // but the front page // // is no

longer the way we find out // // what’s happening in the world. // /

space. // // Two plovers wait a little

longer , // // then follow suit; the oystercatcher // // busily fora

Norna, or of Rosamunde. // // Sorrow,

longing , dreams pervade the path // // in any season. // // The auth

from the thirties; // // two taps; one

loo // // in a lean-to out the back. // // On the cornices // // a

ital. // // There were the children to

look after— // // there was no chance for her to follow him. // // T

Black September

is, and // // gets the Red Margaret to

look at the case. // // “It’s been a fiasco, a drain on our taxes. T

Troubled waters

n there now. // // Let’s have a closer

look at this one here, // // with a bar across. Not quite the bigges

ers’ webs among the undergrowth. // //

Look closely: precise angular spirals // // strung around precise ra

ould not be to my taste; // // rather,

look forward to final oblivion— // // when the time comes, I might ad

g they might be behind or under. // //

Look inside anything they might be in. // // Turn the place upside do

Another senior moment

ror crack’d from side to side. // // I

look into the mirror, but it’s cracked // // And won’t be fixed and a

All done with mirrors

but very beautiful. // // What does it

look like from the inside? // // See that blue-green ball of stuff? /

ugh the mirror’s gloam // // Dared she

look to Camelot. // // Not until the fateful day // // When, gleamin

The Lady’s Maid

the open beach, in rich sea air. // //

Look up, look up, my love—the sky is calling. // // Dark shapes are c

Wells in winter

beach, in rich sea air. // // Look up,

look up, my love—the sky is calling. // // Dark shapes are calling ea

Wells in winter

// had windows on two sides. // // One

looked across to a busy road // // but from my bed I looked out on //

Beds and trees and windows

logs and drawing lines. // // Chomsky

looked for deeper motivation // // underneath their surface combinati

to a busy road // // but from my bed I

looked out on // // a corner of a tree-bordered square. // // The se

Beds and trees and windows

ame // // he chose has cut us off from

looking at // // the focus of her gaze: does he not want // // to te

Cape Cod Morning

Random walk // //

Looking backwards, I can see // // mistily, the shape of things: //

by carving in stone— // // me, I’m not

looking for such immortality, // // life after death would not be to

// I’ll help you find the words you’re

looking for, // // to fit the rhyme and rhythm that you choose, // /

fairest of them all? // // (The cruel

looking -glass that will never show a lass // // As comely or as kindl

All done with mirrors

rnoon in winter, on the ramparts // //

looking seaward, sun behind us, low, // // yellow light-beams almost

Recorded syllables

man half-turned // // across the rest,

looking with unfocussed eyes // // into the distance down the street.

wards? // // Yesterday I was told: it

looks clear. // // So life should now appear // // as it did a month

Capricorn suite

eptember, meeting you. // // The world

looks different now. // //

the fuzz of last year’s growth, // //

looks like a great sea-crag in miniature, // // a tumbling precipice

eans // // upon a table in the window,

looks // // out into sunlight, over grass, towards // // some distan

Cape Cod Morning

e sky, a line of those same firs // //

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

Shalott. // // Working all day at her

loom , // // Her mistress never left the womb // // That was the fast

The Lady’s Maid

rest and recuperate. // // Skiddaw is

looming , inviting explorers—a // // challenge I cannot allow to go an

Telephone wires through the pane // //

loop lazily along and then // // greet each pole like a jumping jack.

ant thing) // // those wooden toggles,

loops of string. // // I must confess to having owned // // long lon

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

I rush on down the creek // // bearing

loose things left afloat. // // Behind each moored boat runs a wake:

ation between feeding grounds // // in

lop -sided vees and slanting lines, // // dark against the sky. // //

/ // // // // shave again // // oh

lord // // take train // // rough grain // // sharp blade // // sh

s very annoying— // // I hope we don’t

lose any more. // // Three of our cushions are missing. // // I don’

One of our cushions

A cloppy sea // //

Lose pay cap, // // O palace spy. // // Lay pop case // // plea as

l. Battles are fought, // // wars are

lost and won. Did they rage around me // // where I stood for all me

e my laws must // // have forever been

lost // // if the apple had chosen a dunce. // // // // There rema

Newton’s counterfactuals

—maybe she // // is pensive, dreaming,

lost in reverie. // // And the artist who is showing us the scene //

Cape Cod Morning

ture and past // // veiled, invisible,

lost in the mist. // // Forty-some years ago, when I first walked //

please press one; for love’s labour’s

lost // // press two; or three for cymbelline; // // the merry wives

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

h-birds calling // // in places it has

lost , reoccupation // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // //

shing, splitting, breaking. // // I am

lost . The one behind // // will finish me completely // // and for

gloves never did run smooth. No glove

lost . // // We have nothing to wear but wear itself. Without wear or

Vagrant monosyllables

d gained // // and learnt and gave and

lost , // // we let each thread unroll behind, // // laying down the

ak // // for Suliman, but I am well of

love . // //

The well of love

// // Something there is that doesn’t

love a wall. // // Out flew the web and floated wide; // // The mirr

All done with mirrors

r // // with flagons, for I am well of

love . // // Apples may perhaps be comforting // // as any fruit, tho

The well of love

t least a Fire. // // The others too I

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

—for many kinds of loving. // // Did I

love enough? use every day? // // Days for seeing you in different w

love // // // // Raisins are all very well in their place // // —i

The well of love

the flowers in the hedgerows. // // We

love the flowers in the hedgerows // // no matter what the season of

ch sea air. // // Look up, look up, my

love —the sky is calling. // // Dark shapes are calling each to each:

Wells in winter

me // // with apples, for I am well of

love . // // The usual translation is not raisins // // but flagons.

The well of love

e. // // How about adding space, time,

love ? // // … three fibs about fibs… // // One, // // one, // // t

Fibonacci series

rn // // tried to live // // tried to

love // // tried to make // // tried to mend // // tried to reach /

s, thoughts tragic or tender— // // of

love unfinished or of peaceful earth, // // the mill-girl’s beauty or

, // // the world just so. // // True

love will germinate and grow, // // all tribulations to displace, //

The world just so

Fellow of Girton // // who always made

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

socket. // // Click to send. // // I

love you. // //

nk. // // Employ a messenger. // // I

love you. // // Curtained parlour. Send a letter. // // Scented pape

k. // // Command a messenger. // // I

love you. // // Draughty hall. Now send a letter. // // Parchment, n

. // // Entrust to messenger. // // I

love you. // // Flowing Nile. Send a letter. // // New papyrus, brus

anch post office, penny stamp. // // I

love you. // // Papered bedsit. Send a letter. // // Pad of paper, b

nd a stamp, street-corner box. // // I

love you. // // Wi-fi café. Send a letter. // // Laptop, plug in pow

ins of wool. // // And as we lived and

loved and gained // // and learnt and gave and lost, // // we let ea

uum // // —cool! // // There are some

lovely spirals down there now. // // Let’s have a closer look at this

r the bridge // // and finding you, my

lover and my friend. // //

stormy fell // // with her who to her

lover’s side makes haste: // // jump willing into every word-filled w

Jump willing in

/ // the soft and sensuous flesh joins

love’s embrace. // // Mother and child are two, and now are one: //

Sculpting the vortex

e tempest // // please press one; for

love’s labour’s lost // // press two; or three for cymbelline; // //

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

—or should have been—for many kinds of

loving . // // Did I love enough? use every day? // // Days for seei

marshes and the sea. The sun // // is

low ahead of us, the sky is clear. // // Across the wood, onto the be

Wells in winter

day begins to go // // the clouds are

low and spitting rain. // // The light is dimming now. // // Further

illion two hundred and fifty thousand:

Low Countries // // Gelderland; Glabbeek; Gramsbergen // // conurbat

ds across the park at the back // // a

low embankment carries the railway track. // // (Down the slope to th

Peckham 1969—1991

just so. // // A wingéd dragon, flying

low , // // will seek a human sacrifice, // // far away and long ago.

The world just so

// // looking seaward, sun behind us,

low , // // yellow light-beams almost horizontal; // // East Hills ag

Recorded syllables

ar three people sit // // all six eyes

lowered // // in silent contemplation. // // The rest of the world i

The Lady’s Maid // // Under a gray and

lowering sky // // The fields that by the river lie // // Are rough

The Lady’s Maid

powder, tins // // for cocoa or throat

lozenges or metal polish, // // jars for all sorts of jams and pickle

erley ban // // and the Beatles’ first

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

the rocks. // // But me, now, I'm just

lucky . // //

Capricorn suite

Lucyfour tankas // // the

Lucy Lavers // // eighty some year old lifeboat // // restored to gl

Lucyfour tankas // // the Lucy Lavers // // eighty some year old lif

ughter born // // at the height of the

Luftwaffe’s // // blitz on Sheffield. // // In north Africa, D is ki

Ninety-six and counting

they fought it out. // // There was a

lull — // // But he was dead: // // had died three hours after his ar

Black September

Troubled waters // // The good Lady

Lumley is pondering glumly. “I // // need a new project to keep me i

Troubled waters

/ pour out the blue flame. // // After

lunch , a walk // // through the summer’s brown bracken // // that co

Light and shadow

mountaintop. // // Bottle of water and

lunch in my haversack. // // Climb by the obvious route from the vall

eem // // to switch a gear, and take a

lurch // // at some acute, unmeasured angle. // // Last September, m

figures, clinched before a fall; // //

Lutteurs —they are two, and now are one: // // no perfectability excep

Sculpting the vortex

hing wild clouds across the sky, // //

lying abed beneath the cobwebbed rafters, // // warm and dry. // //

Recorded syllables

there were many words: // // sitting,

lying all around // // in bags or scattered on the ground // // wait

night has in store. // // Whether I’m

lying awake or sleeping // // or floating half in half out, I’m sure

It must be, if agony’s evidence. // //

Lying there wondering whether there’s any chance // // I could attrac

// Did I submit tax form?? // // Check

L’s dob—70 next b/day? // // Dentist appointment—week of 10th // //

Notes to a life