Stephen Robertson

Slanting Lines

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.

P

falls, // // no drink involved.  // //
P // // The fall is denied.  // // Anyway, the cancer can be blamed /
// buy-in from business is not keeping
pace ) // // —but Sadiq the Most Evil deposes poor Boris, and // // g
down // // One to forty-five million: 
Pacific Ocean // // Marianas Trench, Macquarie Ridge, Mendocino Seasc
/ Papered bedsit.  Send a letter.  // //
Pad of paper, ballpoint pen.  // // Find a stamp, street-corner box.  /
as smooth as satin, // // drifting or
paddling gently side by side, // // through clear and cool and quiet
k on the tarmac road.  // // The walled
paddock and the orchard, // // the apple on the tree, the windfall in
rface combinations.  // // Now Brin and
Page build index tabulations // // of all the words their spiders’ cr
oken aloud rather than seeing it on the
page they will certainly know it.  // //
m bored // // take train // // what a
pain // // and absurd // // slave again // // pull chain // // be
// away from you, in those last days of
pain , // // another summer, home in Camberwell.  // // Between the en
a rescuer?  // // Slowly I realise the
pain is subsiding, the // // leg was not broken, and after a while I
r.  // // Irritation.  Nuisance.  // //
Pain ? no, not really.  // // Objective // // Yellow liquid flows.  //
// // distemper from ceilings, // //
paint from woodwork, // // lino from floors.  // // (Under the lino,
n, will surely quickly pass.  // // I’d
paint it for you if I had the art, // // Or maybe I should write it i
and, this country I must go— // // I’d
paint it for you if I had the art // // To you, this is a dream in wh
t 2ft square of brush marks in a darker
paint , made by a house-painter cleaning his brush after painting some
rising left // // the Cape Cod house’s
painted clapboard side.  // // At centre, as if growing from the clapb
the sign on the post, // // the white-
painted sign spreadeagled on the road.  // // What do they know, the r
// // Yes.  // // “Then why hasn’t she
painted // // the walls?”  // // Fair question.  // //
arks in a darker paint, made by a house-
painter cleaning his brush after painting some woodwork.  Judith sees
she says to her dad // // “Judith is a
painter , isn’t she?”  // // Yes.  // // “Then why hasn’t she painted /
he not want // // to tell?  // // This
painting has a private life.  // //
house-painter cleaning his brush after
painting some woodwork.  Judith sees something in the shapes, and usin
ws in pencil or pen or charcoal, // //
paints in oils on hardboard.  // // — // // 1973.  Six-year-old Emily
ce only.  As Judith had broken in a new
pair of boots, we buried the old pair somewhere on one of the passes h
s // // and connecting leads.  Another
pair // // of brackets, this time for a wooden curtain pole, // // t
otten.  Electrical components.  // // A
pair of cast-iron supports for an old // // high-level lavatory ciste
a new pair of boots, we buried the old
pair somewhere on one of the passes high above Borrowdale in what was
loppy sea // // Lose pay cap, // // O
palace spy.  // // Lay pop case // // plea as copy.  // // Ape calyps
flat and sharp and natural too:  // //
pale sky encounters dark sea.  // // On the sand, a scattering of razo
arges towards me // // from beyond the
pale , under my guard, // // below the belt and over the line.  // //
uous, // // legs weaken, and isolation
palls .  // // One more great change, one more new beginning: // // a
y covering your fingers // // and your
palms .  Sometimes you must stop // // to disentangle a particularly t
ack.  // // Telephone wires through the
pane // // loop lazily along and then // // greet each pole like a j
n the splinters of the shattered window
pane .  // // There was an overcrowded hospital.  // // There were the
abelled the front— // // Nails: tacks,
panel pins, ovals and round; // // Screws: small, size 6, size 8, lar
// // leave the pith and pips.  // //
Papaya , melon: // // pole-to-pole // // scoop out the mushy core.  //
ed bedsit.  Send a letter.  // // Pad of
paper , ballpoint pen.  // // Find a stamp, street-corner box.  // // I
parlour.  Send a letter.  // // Scented
paper , dip-pen, ink.  // // Branch post office, penny stamp.  // // I
hole hog, the full nine yards: turn the
paper onto its side and write each line // // in something approachin
penny stamp.  // // I love you.  // //
Papered bedsit.  Send a letter.  // // Pad of paper, ballpoint pen.  //
Flowing Nile.  Send a letter.  // // New
papyrus , brush and ink.  // // Command a messenger.  // // I love you.
sand:  Cambridge // // Petty Cury; Park
Parade ; Pretoria Road // // streets; alleys; cycle paths // // One t
// // flies into the night.  // // The
paraffin stove // // casts patterns of light on the // // high bedro
Parallel lines // // As you stare down the line till you squint // /
raughty hall.  Now send a letter.  // //
Parchment , new quill pen, and ink.  // // Employ a messenger.  // // I
/ // later to enrol, when they come to
Paris // // Manuel de Falla and Igor Stravinsky.  // // A turn, a per
ole, quite big enough to eat // // the
park and all the houses down the street.  // // We joined the local pr
rld war).  // // Fifty yards across the
park at the back // // a low embankment carries the railway track.  //
thousand:  Cambridge // // Petty Cury;
Park Parade; Pretoria Road // // streets; alleys; cycle paths // //
er.  // // I love you.  // // Curtained
parlour .  Send a letter.  // // Scented paper, dip-pen, ink.  // // Bra
attle too and shake // // our sense of
part and whole, netsuke-like.  // // Bird and fish are two, and now ar
shop.  // // A young rambler, you take
part // // in the mass trespass on Kinderscout.  // // Meet a dashing
tion whenever it got to the spin // //
part of its washing cycle.  The other, the noise // // that it made a
back out to reconnoitre // // another
part of the bush.  Take care not to spill // // your precious hoard (
r we scatter the ashes // // in a wild
part of the old South London cemetery.  // // Perhaps I should plant /
We left the room unpainted for the best
part of the 22 years we lived there, and it wasn’t just because we nev
// // I cannot say.  // // And when we
parted , did we say // // our last goodbyes, or maybe they // // just
s you must stop // // to disentangle a
particularly tenacious tendril // // before you can back out to recon
tained and unconstrained.  // // Unused
parts from finished or abandoned projects, // // pieces half-construc
problem out and then reveals // // the
parts of a solution.  // // All we need to do is make connection // /
en are they likely to send out a search
party ?  // // Probably not until well after dark has come.  // // Shou
ome miles are ten, while others swiftly
pass .  // //
// // et des Grands Express Européens
pass by.  // // In the end, it was the railway // // that contrived t
// container ships in stately progress
pass // // destined for Harwich or for Felixstowe.  // //
// // How will these transient trials
pass ?  // // It’s really hard to know.  // // We have no crystal ball,
ich, come the dawn, will surely quickly
pass .  // // I’d paint it for you if I had the art, // // Or maybe I
But now the dawn has come, it does not
pass , // // this figment of my own imagination.  // // Maybe I should
/ // just slipped away.  // // Through
passages or corridors // // light-footed did I make my way?  // // Ac
light is fading // // has the interval
passed by.  // // An uncompleted day // // is not yet to be fixed— //
// // Later still, after the storm has
passed // // lie back on the wet beach // // and watch the stars eme
In Swale- and Wensleydale // // they
passed the following day.  // // Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, /
de bold Sir Lancelot.  // // Years have
passed .  The winter’s chill // // Lies fast upon the land so ill.  //
the attention of anyone.  // // Haven’t
passed walkers for more than three hours now.  // // When are they lik
to old // // ways—that age // // has
passed .  What should // // we salvage from it, what burn, // // what
ed the old pair somewhere on one of the
passes high above Borrowdale in what was then still Westmorland.  It w
Long ago // // The railway line
passes near.  // // After the engine’s noisy roar, // // coaches foll
iss // // the instant jagged challenge
passing between them // // or down to earth.  // // Seconds later, ov
t to be fixed— // // but each interval
passing by // // may be notched on a stick.  // // Not yet to be fixe
fe-lines must have crossed, // // some
passing chance of might-have-been, // // a different stitch to cast? 
olts // // more days of sun or rain or
passing cloud // // more meetings with old friends // // more talks,
ating up.  // // That breath of air?  A
passing presence?  // // Don’t be silly, that’s just a draught from th
the raging fire // // of the sun marks
passing time.  // // Far down below, the earth // // is mostly water.
member: // // they can be consigned to
passing time.  // // For all the real and everlasting moments, // //
simple.  No rage— // // just a sort of
passive acceptance.  // // Set against this, a certain toughness, //
this // // extended // // coda to our
past // // good lives, the rainbow spans the sky.  // //
e hour // // for soft pussy-footing is
past .  // // It can’t be a student or fellow— // // the thief’s much
e clusters sway, // // the clouds scud
past , // // maybe catch // // close enough to make you jump, or far
/ // It’s a level that the tide rushes
past // // on its way up and again // // on its way down.  // // It’
w growth.  // // And thus it was.  Just
past the London Eye, // // a bright September day, the river’s edge,
// the back of your hand as you reach
past to pilfer // // the clusters beyond, adding scratches // // to
d unroll behind, // // laying down the
past — // // until the day, just nine months gone, // // when both li
// // the cliff.  A narrow sandy beach
past which // // the falling tide reveals the deep black mud // // w
ar from cheering: // // that while the
past // // will last and last, // // the future is fast disappearing
crambles ahead of me.  // // Out of the
pastures and onto the fell side, still // // climbing the contours an
n the river, // // Tending her cabbage
patch forever, // // The hermit of Shalott.  // //
-quarter length, or maybe short, // //
patch pockets (useless for cold hands), // // thick felted wool, a mo
rom Ilkley’s old stone bridge I trace a
path // // against the stream, back up the river Wharfe, // // to Bo
// The treasures to be found along my
path // // are elemental: water, sky and earth // // and rock and ai
Wells in winter // // We take the
path beside the wood—the fir // // and silver birch along the dunes t
t.  // // But what is this small beaten
path // // Between two beds of clean-raked earth // // Where tender
// Sorrow, longing, dreams pervade the
path // // in any season.  // // The author, he whose life the fates
// for maybe thirty years.  A winding
path // // leads from the glazed back door // // through box and hol
r air.  // // Beyond the scree the open
path leads on, // // a gentler walk, to bare bleak Malham Tarn.  // /
t protrudes from the // // edge of the
path , not yet blunted or bowdlerized.  // // Broken?  It must be, if a
scree but then joining an easier // //
path with spectacular views over Bassenthwaite.  // // Walking down qu
oria Road // // streets; alleys; cycle
paths // // One to two thousand:  Jesus College // // The Chimney; Cr
green // // we wander, hacking out our
paths , or creeping through, // // maybe chancing on a hidden hollow w
each new beginning // // reiterates a
pattern // // as old as the hills // // each iteration // // shifts
ss the criss-cross checks and grids and
patterned lattices of life // // through glasses, darkly.  // // —A f
primeval winds // // a billion random
patterns form—until // // an accidental spiral sequence finds // //
by rail come back // // to my memory,
patterns of clickety-clack.  // // But that was then.  Now the rail jo
// // The paraffin stove // // casts
patterns of light on the // // high bedroom ceiling.  // //
we were young and all, // // the woven
patterns traced and covered // // the world with skeins of wool.  //
s death, // // the trout that dart and
pause and flicker under // // the bubbling brooks, that chatter and m
rambled way // // And fewer still will
pause or stay // // To gaze down on the ruins gray // // That scar r
.  // // Slacken.  // // Settle.  // //
Pause .  // // Repeat twice daily.  // // (Not by the sun // // —use m
.  // // Slacken.  // // Settle.  // //
Pause .  // // Start.  // // Tiptoe.  // // Retrace.  // // Shrink.  //
ng // // to the edges of the sea-grass—
pauses , // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // makes anot
h plate-glass windows // // across the
pavement .  // // A bartender bent to work; // // chrome coffee machin
in // // a bend on a bigger road.  The
pavements // // curl around, leaving two small raised triangles // /
py.  // // Ape calypso // // place, so
pay // // a cosy Apple // // app, coy sale.  // // Aye, cops lap //
A cloppy sea // // Lose
pay cap, // // O palace spy.  // // Lay pop case // // plea as copy.
’ve cancelled his buses, no more will I
pay for—and // // now on the bridge I am pulling the plug.”  // //
C—book?  // // Coat to cleaners // //
Pay newsagent // // Bulbs for kitchen lights—CS 60W screw???—check fi
waite.  // // Walking down quickly, not
paying attention, I // // stumble, fall heavily forward and land with
Was I carried for trade?  // // Or in
payment of taxes?  Or was I a trophy of war?  // // I cannot now recal
at they find.  // // The possibility of
peace is now long gone.  // // In just a few days’ time, these two wil
tender— // // of love unfinished or of
peaceful earth, // // the mill-girl’s beauty or the maiden’s death, /
// Who is this now, who dares me eat a
peach ?  // // Time’s warring chariots can clatter by— // // we have t
// // close as you can.  // // Apple,
pear : // // pole-to-pole // // in half then quarters // // cut the
per beech // // stands out, a clump of
pears whose fruit // // is hard as stone.  (But when stewed overnight
es to grow the fragile bone.  // // The
peasant family stir-fries four // // Butterfish cooked to no sauce.  /
rts // // redrawn).  // // The line of
pebble -dunes protects // // a calmer green oasis, band of salt-marsh
ient in // // the damp basement of the
Peckham house // // that we bought some forty years ago.  // // One o
Peckham 1969—1991 // // Of eighteen sixty vintage, the house is flat
The sitting room of our house in
Peckham , the walls stripped and undecorated, but with marks and signs
// I’ll just have to ask ‘Where d’you
pee ?’  // //
light // // Under the door the glow is
peeking , // // feeling its way across the floor.  // // From the lamp
kes; great cogwheels grind.  // // They
peer , they scan, they scrape, they test, they sound; // // they write
ack, mole’s or elephant’s breath // //
peignoir , charlotte’s locks, nancy’s blushes // // drop cloth, slippe
, citron, calluna // // brassica, hay,
pelt , dove tale, pigeon // // mouse’s back, mole’s or elephant’s brea
d a letter.  // // Parchment, new quill
pen , and ink.  // // Employ a messenger.  // // I love you.  // // Cur
letter.  // // Pad of paper, ballpoint
pen .  // // Find a stamp, street-corner box.  // // I love you.  // //
end a letter.  // // Scented paper, dip-
pen , ink.  // // Branch post office, penny stamp.  // // I love you.  /
ent or resin, // // draws in pencil or
pen or charcoal, // // paints in oils on hardboard.  // // — // // 1
ter or cement or resin, // // draws in
pencil or pen or charcoal, // // paints in oils on hardboard.  // //
not yet decipherable, // // orange and
penny .  // // Brandy, a candle: // // heat till it catches fire, //
ip-pen, ink.  // // Branch post office,
penny stamp.  // // I love you.  // // Papered bedsit.  Send a letter. 
?  Or maybe nothing—maybe she // // is
pensive , dreaming, lost in reverie.  // // And the artist who is showi
domesticity. // // (not the Pirates of
Penzance – apologies to WSG) // //
kylark’s trill; // // No longer do the
people fill // // The wharfs and ways of Camelot.  // // Only one rem
es.  // // (I completely understand why
people have // // funeral pyres.) Later we scatter the ashes // //
o many alien lands and seas // // some
people have some nasty new disease.  // // They seem to want our help,
hat inspired it: a scattering // // of
people in a city street, shop-window-browsing.  // // A group, gathere
ns.  And it becomes a scene, a group of
people in evening dress, top hats and the like, appropriate to some ea
the river’s edge, // // with crowds of
people milling all around, // // walking and talking and standing sti
cacophony.  // // Through air and ether
people mutter, shout, // // voices, ipods, phones speak out.  // // S
hunters hovering under the sky.  // //
People , people round the world—and I, // // roaming, rambling, drifti
hovering under the sky.  // // People,
people round the world—and I, // // roaming, rambling, drifting under
of city station, noisy, full // // of
people rushing there and back.  // // The bogeys go: click-clack clic
offee machines.  // // At the bar three
people sit // // all six eyes lowered // // in silent contemplation.
snot and sweat and spittle.  // // Oh,
people spread!  Quick, guys, an ecstasy of fumbling, // // building t
ipods, phones speak out.  // // So many
people talking: can we doubt // // that somewhere herein lies some d
nce-proud towers of Camelot.  // // Few
people walk the brambled way // // And fewer still will pause or stay
to prevent it going walkabout, // // a
perambulation whenever it got to the spin // // part of its washing c
/ // But no.  Once in a while // // a
perfect burst still catches at my tastebuds // // and drags me back a
s // // of my childhood remain forever
perfect , // // forever simultaneously sweet and tart, // // sharp on
d time: // // that we could reach this
perfect knot // // and find ourselves at home.  // //
h twisted limbs // // shed leaves with
perfect sculpted edges.  // // A bramble sends great arcing shoots, //
of four by two turned it into // // a
perfect workbench—the cuts and holes and scars // // from saws and ha
ath are two, and now are one: // // no
perfectability except our own.  // //
ill are two, and now are one: // // no
perfectability except our own.  // // But Henri’s pieces rattle too an
ild are two, and now are one: // // no
perfectability except our own.  // // His senseless trenches death at
hey are two, and now are one: // // no
perfectability except our own.  // // In hard cast bronze all hardness
ish are two, and now are one: // // no
perfectability except our own.  // // In Pompidou relief is on the wal
taste delicious.) // // Another tree,
perhaps a beech, but green // // (I think that I can see the nuts it
or I am well of love.  // // Apples may
perhaps be comforting // // as any fruit, though Suliman’s pilaf //
f the old South London cemetery.  // //
Perhaps I should plant // // some box or holly.  // //
few // // of which I can discern, even
perhaps // // identify across the years.  A copper beech // // stand
/ // How can we counter-attack?  // //
Perhaps if we asked him politely // // he’d remorsefully put them all
float or sink a battle-ship.  // // But
perhaps instead I will go the whole hog, the full nine yards: turn the
/ // that was thought to be.  // // So
perhaps they will // // outlive us.  // //
ive me some wind to blow us away // //
Perhaps tomorrow there’ll be wind // // Way-hay, blow us away // //
re, // // the banked sand and shingle,
perhaps // // (when the tide is high enough) // // as far the cliff.
ttom to the top // // so that the same
period games // // allow the lines to peter out // // and stop.  //
a and Igor Stravinsky.  // // A turn, a
period of change?  // // Well, yes.  In all the arts // // currents c
f the table is sparse, but every second
period or layer, // // like the bard from Japan whose verses never wo
Periodical // // Earth, air, // // fire and water: just the four— /
// As we* reach the sixth and seventh
periods , short of horizontal space, // // we must** resort to footnot
But not for long // // —impermanence’s
permanence the rule.  // // Change will last forever.  // // At interv
h, a fox afar— // // night-time noises
permeate the air.  // // Someone snoring in the tent next door, // //
/ Under canvas // // Night-time noises
permeate the air // // with voices human, animal, machine.  // // An
g up the lane.  // // Night-time noises
permeate the air // // with voices human, animal, machine.  // // In
ngs with you, // // and could the last
person to alight please switch off the lights.  // // This departure h
// // frescos are fragile, but Piero’s
perspective will // // live on long after his colours have gone; //
rol nor understand. // // 3 sideways: 
perspiration // // Yet here’s a thought.  Just maybe I can // // cir
samunde.  // // Sorrow, longing, dreams
pervade the path // // in any season.  // // The author, he whose lif
nza—and then to cease?  It seems // //
perverse —the more because the fellow // // was not wearing glasses.  /
period games // // allow the lines to
peter out // // and stop. // // † as we step through the double-star
/ One to ten thousand:  Cambridge // //
Petty Cury; Park Parade; Pretoria Road // // streets; alleys; cycle p
and years are counted and timed.  // //
Philosophies are aired, // // temple columns spaced, // // lightning
// that somewhere herein lies some deep
philosophy ?  // // Voices, ipods, phones speak out— // // add to the
oose; Mabe Burnthouse // // footpaths;
phone boxes; inns // // One to twenty five thousand:  The Broads // /
deep philosophy?  // // Voices, ipods,
phones speak out— // // add to the road’s cacophony.  // // Dialectic
top deck of a 68 // // Voices, ipods,
phones speak out— // // add to the road’s cacophony.  // // Through a
le mutter, shout, // // voices, ipods,
phones speak out.  // // So many people talking: can we doubt // //
Kent, // // Emily Thornberry’s // //
photo gives Labour a // // cardiovascular // // seismic event.  // /
sic for the ceremony // // —a Schubert
piano piece.) // // Standing around the Cambridge crematorium, // //
was still managed by Jim Ede (he would
pick up a Brancusi stone head, or a small cut brass piece by Gaudier-B
ract // // pulling up the weeds // //
picking up the pieces // // wrapping up the meeting // // shutting u
, // // jars for all sorts of jams and
pickles .  Washers // // and nuts and bolts and screws and hooks // /
the spume // // into irregular clots,
picks them up, // // and strews them downwind.  // // The cliff // /
s // // some distant point outside the
picture frame.  // // What does she see?  Is there something there?  //
louts // // masonry nails, screw-eyes,
picture hooks // // wallplugs, rivets, self-tapping metal screws, //
n’t quite recall.  Nor can I now // //
picture it clearly.  So why does it come to my mind?  // // A couple o
// for tomorrow’s blackberry-and-apple
pie // // —the ones you ate straight off the bush are saved forever).
ancusi stone head, or a small cut brass
piece by Gaudier-Brzeska, and put it into our hands).  She introduced
had rotted half away.  // // But a new
piece of four by two turned it into // // a perfect workbench—the cut
it in the middle is // // as long as a
piece of string.  // //
r the ceremony // // —a Schubert piano
piece .) // // Standing around the Cambridge crematorium, // // dress
finished or abandoned projects, // //
pieces half-constructed or half-deconstructed, // // for some archite
lity except our own.  // // But Henri’s
pieces rattle too and shake // // our sense of part and whole, netsuk
ling up the weeds // // picking up the
pieces // // wrapping up the meeting // // shutting up shop // //
ortex // // // // Jacob’s Rock Drill
pierces through the brain // // and splits apart Edwardian disdain.  /
// to an iron-gated pointed arch // //
piercing the wall, built like the house // // of weathered Cotswold s
rpoint— // // frescos are fragile, but
Piero’s perspective will // // live on long after his colours have go
// // brassica, hay, pelt, dove tale,
pigeon // // mouse’s back, mole’s or elephant’s breath // // peignoi
/ // distract me, or Suliman, from his
pilaf .  // // But stay me not with raisins nor // // with flagons, fo
// // or more appropriately, Suliman’s
pilaf .  // // But stay me not with them, nor comfort me // // with ap
ort me not // // with apples, nor with
pilaf .  I can’t speak // // for Suliman, but I am well of love.  // /
g // // as any fruit, though Suliman’s
pilaf // // is real comfort food.  But comfort me not // // with app
rawers and cupboards.  // // Chair with
pile of clothes.  // // Feel something…  // // Shit!  The wrong trouse
ng the remainder of the bench // // is
piled uncontained and unconstrained.  // // Unused parts from finished
parts: giant concrete blocks // // on
piles all along the shingle beach.  // // The mile south to the Martel
is also digging down // // beneath the
piles .  Then one stormy night // // it pulls the final prop.  A hundr
back of your hand as you reach past to
pilfer // // the clusters beyond, adding scratches // // to the stai
/ swollen with spring melt.  But an old
pine forest // // always provides a bridge.  The trunks // // of fal
nted forest, serried ranks of Christmas
pine // // which begins a mile down the road // // and into whose de
the consequence if // // it had been a
pineapple instead.  // //
d us, in the wood, // // tall straight
pines reach for the sky, // // dark trunks against the blue, // // s
ngs // // growing bright // // gadget
pings // // go away // // sleep clings // // break of day // // br
// one final push up the ridge to the
pinnacle .  // // Now to descend, an alternative route which is // //
in // // facing down the crisis // //
pinning down the problem // // throwing down the gauntlet // // batt
d the front— // // Nails: tacks, panel
pins , ovals and round; // // Screws: small, size 6, size 8, large.  //
arsenic // // railings, pointing, down
pipe , clunch, setting plaster // // string, cord, matchstick, tallow,
’t be silly, that’s just the plumbing—a
pipe heating up.  // // That breath of air?  A passing presence?  // /
n Rioja; Ormeaux on Lagoon // // taps;
pipes // // One to one // // You are here // //
t a kiwi // // equatorially: // // no
pips , no stone.  // // Avocado: // // pole-to-pole // // all around
eze the juice // // leave the pith and
pips .  // // Papaya, melon: // // pole-to-pole // // scoop out the m
unbounded domesticity. // // (not the
Pirates of Penzance – apologies to WSG) // //
d by rats and fleas // // but by their
piss and snot and sweat and spittle.  // // Oh, people spread!  Quick,
ant sound // // is continuous and high-
pitched .  The borders we cross are eastward: // // under the channel
// squeeze the juice // // leave the
pith and pips.  // // Papaya, melon: // // pole-to-pole // // scoop
.  // // No matter!  Now, in a stranger
place , a colder clime, // // with no arms, one leg, no tail, but rais
// way to wander into // // a better
place , a future that // // revives, replenishes, makes good // // th
now, // // which failing faculties to
place // // at its door.  Rage too against // // the cessation of tr
so far behind.  // // Old age ain’t no
place for sissies.  // // —Bette Davis // //
// Raisins are all very well in their
place // // —in muesli, say, or maybe Christmas cake, // // or more
that she should go // // And take her
place in service to // // The Lady of Shalott.  // // Working all day
// and conjure me to quite a different
place .  // // Jump willing into every word-filled well, // // fall, f
s lap // // a clay pope’s // // soapy
place .  // // So apply, ace: // // scope a play // // apocalypse.  //
plea as copy.  // // Ape calypso // //
place , so pay // // a cosy Apple // // app, coy sale.  // // Aye, co
digits hold softly, lift softly // //
place softly against another softness // // and soft voice says // /
ed bulb to hold // // the other two in
place .  // // Subjective // // Discomfort.  Bother.  // // Irritation
Using your Kettle // //
Place the cordless base on a level firm surface. // // Whe
operly firmly closed. // //
Place the kettle on the cordless base making sure it is positioned cor
d long ago, // // once upon a time and
place , // // the world just so, // // a pretty maiden, heart aglow /
d’s thick black hair, // // staying in
place until at home // // the small gas fire has warmed the room //
thing they might be in.  // // Turn the
place upside down.  // // Bedroom again, more drawers and cupboards.  /
dy beach // // to reach by boat.  That
place we call Japan: // // against the sky, a line of those same firs
Plague // // // In some far-off
place we know but little // // across so many alien lands and seas //
desire, fertile earth // // beneath, a
place where something would unfold, // // something hard would turn t
a mud cliff, undercut and crumbling in
places , // // crested by the fuzz of last year’s growth, // // looks
many artists.  As I have visited other
places , I have found other treasures, and regret not having had the ch
lves, cupboards, hooks, drawers.  // //
Places I wouldn’t have put them.  // // Move anything they might be be
Hear the marsh-birds calling // // in
places it has lost, reoccupation // // Breath the scents the sea-wind
// // Many art galleries in many
places .  Three solid days in the Uffizi in Florence.  Walking in the d
in time // // to keep the carriers of
plague at bay.  // // Yet someone here is staggering and stumbling— //
Plague // // // In some far-off place we know but little // // acro
river, meandering across // // a flood
plain , excavates one bank // // as it lays down the other, // // swi
be bold // // brake train // // it’s
plain // // grow beard // // brave again // // forsake train // //
flow // // the river Don and flood the
plain .  // // The light is fading now.  // // Politicians on the stump
—could I but find the words to make it
plain .  // // Two book-ends bracket our shared domain: // // the star
t // // Cash m/c // // Washing // //
Plan finances—get advisor?  G’s contact maybe // // Ring M about Xmas
ields // // One to five hundred:  Block
plan // // Sherlock Road; Sherlock Court; Sherlock Close // // house
// Heatherwick’s sure to produce a fine
plan .  // // We also need money—of course private finance will // //
like to understand // // the stars and
planets overhead // // as well as actions close at hand // // (the a
// tree-house, a canted deck of ancient
planks , // // nailed across two angled branches, reached // // by cl
// // (Two weeks later, British Rail’s
plans // // were scrapped and redesigned.  The house still stands.) /
ondon cemetery.  // // Perhaps I should
plant // // some box or holly.  // //
the fire // // on the dark stones, and
planted fireworks // // in the dark edges beyond the flickering light
d, tufted crown—quite unlike // // the
planted forest, serried ranks of Christmas pine // // which begins a
// —Nurturing the wayward seed, // //
Planting out this cabbage-bed— // // She was once a lady’s maid // /
andful of trees, bulbs // // and other
plants .  // // On one // // a stately ram, great curved horns // //
is—to mix the genes around.  // // The
plants , the fish, the dinosaurs, the apes // // advance across the ge
udith, artist, // // models in clay or
plaster , // // casts in plaster or cement or resin, // // draws in p
els in clay or plaster, // // casts in
plaster or cement or resin, // // draws in pencil or pen or charcoal,
s, pointing, down pipe, clunch, setting
plaster // // string, cord, matchstick, tallow, vardo // // cromarty
ainers // // once had other uses.  The
plastic boxes // // were made for slides or toothpowder, tins // //
nds another of much later age: // // a
plastic chest with small, clear plastic drawers // // —unlabelled, bu
/ // a plastic chest with small, clear
plastic drawers // // —unlabelled, but the nuts and bolts and washers
They should have given me a
plastic plate // // More!  I want some more!  // // A spoon to the fl
llow neon light // // spilling through
plate -glass windows // // across the pavement.  // // A bartender ben
anule.  // // The first boilers of iron
plate glue east // // Grow face fa-cai thick soup.  // // XO sauce ex
They should have given me a plastic
plate // // More!  I want some more!  // // A spoon to the floor— //
// I said more!  More!  More!  // // A
plate to the floor— // // shatter!  // //
avy goods train rattles the windows and
plates // // on the shelves.  Later, the local rumour states // // t
e.  // // So apply, ace: // // scope a
play // // apocalypse.  // //
.  You’ll find // // that every single
play is here // // a new production for this year // // of celebrati
// // In the beginning I am small and
playful , like the wind.  // // It changes direction from minute to min
I limp into harbour.  My // // family
playing , completely oblivious.  // //
om; Café Bar // // courts; staircases;
playing fields // // One to five hundred:  Block plan // // Sherlock
palace spy.  // // Lay pop case // //
plea as copy.  // // Ape calypso // // place, so pay // // a cosy Ap
Septilla CD* // //
Please choose from the following nine // // options: if you want the
ptions: if you want the tempest // //
please press one; for love’s labour’s lost // // press two; or three
// and could the last person to alight
please switch off the lights.  // // This departure has arrived.  // /
// This train terminates here.  // //
Please take all your belongings with you, // // and could the last pe
process was not at all fair.  // // The
pledges from business are far from what’s needed.  The // // real pub
of course, the bracken // // has been
ploughed , the edges fenced, the house // // demolished and rebuilt. 
at my invasion of its space.  // // Two
plovers wait a little longer, // // then follow suit; the oystercatc
// now on the bridge I am pulling the
plug .”  // //
positioned correctly. // //
Plug in and switch on at the wall socket. // // Put the ON
-fi café.  Send a letter.  // // Laptop,
plug in power socket.  // // Click to send.  // // I love you.  // //
battery box, switches, lights, buzzers,
plugs // // and connecting leads.  Another pair // // of brackets, t
sh.  // // We wire from scratch, // //
plumb , strip everything: // // wallpaper from walls, // // distemper
// // Don’t be silly, that’s just the
plumbing —a pipe heating up.  // // That breath of air?  A passing pres
// ammonite, mahogany, archive // //
plummett // // Note:  Fifty colours of Farrow & Ball // //
of fishermen and trading sailors // //
ply back and forth overhead.  Was I carried for trade?  // // Or in pa
// // into four or more sections, with
plywood strips // // carefully cut and glued.  And labelled the front
cket.  // // No.  No?  No.  // // Other
pocket ?  // // No.  // // Jacket, maybe?  // // No.  // // But which j
Another senior moment // // // //
Pocket .  // // No.  No?  No.  // // Other pocket?  // // No.  // // Ja
ere?  // // It was in the corresponding
pocket of the trousers which he had worn on the day but one preceding.
er length, or maybe short, // // patch
pockets (useless for cold hands), // // thick felted wool, a monk-lik
tried to write // // tried to write a
poem // //
This
poem eludes me // // No time // // for flow // // or rhyme, // //
A
poem for free // // The night mail rattles north to the border // //
t appointment—week of 10th // // Write
poem for Weds // //
nt musical box.  // // There once was a
poet in Ghent // // Who set out with the best of intent // // In rol
ly eccentric twentieth-century American
poet , // // Mr Ogden Nash, and carry on without much attention to met
me to be known to ’im. // // … and one
poet // // Thomas Stearns Eliot // // wrote poetry well, but // //
, we know, goes on for ever, his // //
poetry too to posterity speaks; // // Joyce has his Liffey whose reci
/ // Thomas Stearns Eliot // // wrote
poetry well, but // // was no great shakes // // in the marriage sta
both inspire and destroy // // so many
poets and other artists // // which will drag us // // kicking and s
n // // will emerge from the vanishing
point .  // //
l, warm air, // // clear to my vantage
point on higher ground.  // // Voices far across the valley sound.  //
over grass, towards // // some distant
point outside the picture frame.  // // What does she see?  Is there s
till—and I, // // reaching the meeting
point under the bridge // // and finding you, my lover and my friend.
o full maturity // // to an iron-gated
pointed arch // // piercing the wall, built like the house // // of
its secret: // // the apple is a five-
pointed fruit.  // //
ay, blackened, arsenic // // railings,
pointing , down pipe, clunch, setting plaster // // string, cord, matc
// He is a leader of Flemish weavers,
pointing the rest // // towards their major source of trade:  // // E
tersect or fork.  Some of these meeting-
points // // are signposted with names and distances // // that only
best interests.  // // Too bad.  // //
Polarity // // // First the bad news, then the good: // // it's can
o stone.  // // Avocado: // // pole-to-
pole // // all around the stone // // twist to separate.  // // Oran
alongside // // almost pole to almost
pole // // close as you can.  // // Apple, pear: // // pole-to-pole
can.  // // Apple, pear: // // pole-to-
pole // // in half then quarters // // cut the core from each.  // /
two and a half inches in diameter (the
pole // // itself and four-inch rings surely to be found // // elsew
lazily along and then // // greet each
pole like a jumping jack.  // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-cla
s.  // // Papaya, melon: // // pole-to-
pole // // scoop out the mushy core.  // // Mango: // // find the fl
ne // // slice alongside // // almost
pole to almost pole // // close as you can.  // // Apple, pear:  // /
pips, no stone.  // // Avocado:  // //
pole -to-pole // // all around the stone // // twist to separate.  //
as you can.  // // Apple, pear:  // //
pole -to-pole // // in half then quarters // // cut the core from eac
and pips.  // // Papaya, melon:  // //
pole -to-pole // // scoop out the mushy core.  // // Mango: // // fin
rackets, this time for a wooden curtain
pole , // // two and a half inches in diameter (the pole // // itself
use the other side of Sheffield.  // //
Polish husband transforms into // // Yorkshire male, expecting // //
/ for cocoa or throat lozenges or metal
polish , // // jars for all sorts of jams and pickles.  Washers // //
/ // Later, one of the lodgers— // //
Polish serviceman and refugee— // // is worth another try.  A son.  //
-attack?  // // Perhaps if we asked him
politely // // he’d remorsefully put them all back.  // // Six of our
Clerihews // // Five
politicians …  // // Margaret Thatcher // // observed that her natu- /
// // The light is fading now.  // //
Politicians on the stump // // make promises-to-go // // inspired by
Rationale // // That scratching?  A
poltergeist behind the skirting?  // // Don’t be silly, that’s just a
erfectability except our own.  // // In
Pompidou relief is on the wall, // // wrestling figures, clinched bef
mbling under the sky.  // // Sea-birds,
pond -birds, dippers, warblers, song-birds, // // waders, hunters hove
// a swan-song, left behind for us to
ponder , // // in any season.  // //
d waters // // The good Lady Lumley is
pondering glumly.  “I // // need a new project to keep me in trim— //
// // —but Sadiq the Most Evil deposes
poor Boris, and // // gets the Red Margaret to look at the case.  //
// My sign is Aries.  Though it seems a
poor // // fit for me, it is at least a Fire.  // // The others too I
ay cap, // // O palace spy.  // // Lay
pop case // // plea as copy.  // // Ape calypso // // place, so pay
ale.  // // Aye, cops lap // // a clay
pope’s // // soapy place.  // // So apply, ace: // // scope a play /
e and fall // // and rise again.  Great
populations press // // against their boundaries.  The vital stress //
oards high displayed, // // each model
posed in languid attitude, // // in birthday suit and little else arr
to ten million:  Middle East // // Bam
Posht ; Badiyat ash Sham; Bisharin // // railways; borders; deserts //
Put the ON / OFF switch to its ‘ON’
position and the switch will illuminate. // // When the wa
ally by putting the switch to the ‘OFF’
position . // // To re-boil the kettle, switch it on again.
on the cordless base making sure it is
positioned correctly. // // Plug in and switch on at the w
s, interpret what they find.  // // The
possibility of peace is now long gone.  // // In just a few days’ time
nning for that.  // // There’s only one
possible answer: // // this cat-burglar’s Buster the cat.  // //
r some real delta integration // // is
possible at all.  I have to try.  // //
m surface. // // Where ever
possible fill the kettle through the spout as this will help to reduce
ves.  // // Clearance time.  What can I
possibly salvage // // from all this?  // //
version of Rodin’s Balzac, and called “
Post -Balzac”.  It is a full-length bronze cape, upright and rounded as
post has been sounded.  // // The last
post has been collected.  // // The last word has been had.  // // Not
is the end of the line.  // // The last
post has been sounded.  // // The last post has been collected.  // //
nted paper, dip-pen, ink.  // // Branch
post office, penny stamp.  // // I love you.  // // Papered bedsit.  Se
/ the sign on the wall, the sign on the
post , // // the white-painted sign spreadeagled on the road.  // // W
Post truth // // // ‘Oh Mirror that hangs on the wall // // who is
der // // (bringing the cheque and the
postal order).  // // Rhythmic verses with echoed refrain // // in th
s on for ever, his // // poetry too to
posterity speaks; // // Joyce has his Liffey whose recirculation keep
warm as toast // // flames gone // //
potatoes roast // // embers warm // // flames gone // // last glow
rm as toast // // smoulder down // //
potatoes roast // // warm as toast // // flames gone // // potatoes
// when the imagination fires.  // //
Pots are thrown and fired, // // crops are watered.  // // Seasons an
/ mollycoddle for one day // // put in
pouch // // ready to go // // // // // // Recipe for starting a
rdough starters, carefully protected in
pouches around their necks or attached to their belts.  // //
// // Way-hay, blow us away // // And
pour a bucket on my head // // Give me some wind to blow us away //
/ // heat till it catches fire, // //
pour out the blue flame.  // // After lunch, a walk // // through the
the kettle has boiled the water may be
poured out through the spout. // //
rward.  // // Build speed.  // // Build
power .  // // Forge ahead.  // // Spread.  // // Reach.  // // Slacken
back.  // // Build speed.  // // Build
power .  // // Pull in.  // // Merge.  // // Retract.  // // Slacken.  /
.  Send a letter.  // // Laptop, plug in
power socket.  // // Click to send.  // // I love you.  // //
ted 1933 // // the year Hitler came to
power ).  // // Then we get on with our lives: // // the repainting ca
Unnatural disasters // // Pribble and
prabble : as // // Nigel’s marauding and // // taking two toeholds in
// spring from the hands of the great
Praxiteles ?  // // I cannot now recall.  // // No matter!  Now, in a s
ets— // // and who were my companions,
pray ?  // // Old friends, new friends did I meet?  // // I cannot say.
wed overnight // // in the oven of the
pre -war Aga, they will emerge // // a startling deep red, and taste d
rs which he had worn on the day but one
preceding .”  // // —James Joyce, Ulysses.  // //
sh.  Take care not to spill // // your
precious hoard (I mean the ones you will deliver // // for tomorrow’s
ea-crag in miniature, // // a tumbling
precipice of rock—or maybe ice // // from a dying glacier.  // // On
// Skirting the back of the Little Man
precipice , // // one final push up the ridge to the pinnacle.  // //
the undergrowth.  // // Look closely: 
precise angular spirals // // strung around precise radial anchor lin
se angular spirals // // strung around
precise radial anchor lines.  // // Across the channel, tidal creeks /
a boiler burn the duck head.  // // The
prefecture of river drives meal chicken, // // Olive dish dried meat
here are no seats; she is 4 or 5 months
pregnant at the time.  A tiny middle-aged New York woman, sitting on a
.  // // That breath of air?  A passing
presence ?  // // Don’t be silly, that’s just a draught from the door. 
// Another day // // to feel your ever-
present absence, still // // to find a way.  // // I hear you say, //
Veg—broccoli?  // // Some fruit // //
Present for C—book?  // // Coat to cleaners // // Pay newsagent // /
lenishes, makes good // // the damaged
present , this dark night?  // // Not to return to old // // ways—that
/ // and rise again.  Great populations
press // // against their boundaries.  The vital stress // // express
if you want the tempest // // please
press one; for love’s labour’s lost // // press two; or three for cy
s one; for love’s labour’s lost // //
press two; or three for cymbelline; // // the merry wives of windsor,
mbridge // // Petty Cury; Park Parade;
Pretoria Road // // streets; alleys; cycle paths // // One to two th
and a glass in her hand.  // // See the
pretty girl in that mirror there— // // Who can that attactive girl b
bell.) // // we there did espy a fair
pretty maid // // with a comb and a glass in her hand.  // // See the
ace, // // the world just so, // // a
pretty maiden, heart aglow // // will sit and spin, so full of grace,
be bolted // // down to the floor, to
prevent it going walkabout, // // a perambulation whenever it got to
y three, the newsprint said.  // // The
previous occupant, known as Mister Gray, // // (easier than his prope
marsh // // where barn-owls hunt their
prey .  But not for long // // —impermanence’s permanence the rule.  //
Unnatural disasters // //
Pribble and prabble: as // // Nigel’s marauding and // // taking two
—for G) // // From random junctures in
primeval winds // // a billion random patterns form—until // // an a
the project proceeds with a little more
priming (the // // buy-in from business is not keeping pace) // // —
eath.  // // On magic carpet // // the
Prince of Crim Tartary // // flies into the night.  // // The paraffi
ar away and long ago.  // // A handsome
prince will boldly go // // and dangers great will bravely face, //
vellous, // // resonates on though the
print becomes faint; // // just as each new generation soon finds its
// Subjective // // An invasion of my
privacy .  // // An assault on my dignity.  // // An abrogation of my a
an.  // // We also need money—of course
private finance will // // jump to join in, but needs time to come th
// to tell?  // // This painting has a
private life.  // //
we were driving too fast.  // // I was
probably driving too fast // // to see the flowers in the hedgerows. 
ing at the tail end of my colon:  // //
probably malignant.  // // ‘Malignant’ seems too strong a word.  // //
kely to send out a search party?  // //
Probably not until well after dark has come.  // // Should I start cra
asure, long beaks buried full // // to
probe deep down beneath the shining mud.  // //
ily // // Start.  // // Tiptoe.  // //
Probe .  // // Grow.  // // Push forward.  // // Build speed.  // // Bu
// // godwit, curlew—long // // beaks
probing deep // // beneath the // // shining // // mud.  // // Sonn
This formulation // // both lays the
problem out and then reveals // // the parts of a solution.  // // Al
down the crisis // // pinning down the
problem // // throwing down the gauntlet // // battening down the ha
row in some too.”  // // So the project
proceeds with a little more priming (the // // buy-in from business i
ain on our taxes.  The // // tendering
process was not at all fair.  // // The pledges from business are far
my ego—the // // Heatherwick’s sure to
produce a fine plan.  // // We also need money—of course private finan
and dug and then set fire to // // the
produce of our labours.  // // A box or holly root, smouldering slowly
mother’s next big venture after // //
producing six of us.  // // L-shaped the house; enclosed within its ar
every single play is here // // a new
production for this year // // of celebration—every line // // the B
ed Michael Finnegan— // // thought his
profile needed broadening // // thought he’d flaunt a bushy grin—but
rizon // // container ships in stately
progress pass // // destined for Harwich or for Felixstowe.  // //
” // // Sadiq says “The Boris’s vanity
project has // // gone off the rails.  I’m not such a mug.  // // I’v
el to throw in some too.”  // // So the
project proceeds with a little more priming (the // // buy-in from bu
pondering glumly.  “I // // need a new
project to keep me in trim— // // now the Gurkhas are happy—some shin
Unused parts from finished or abandoned
projects , // // pieces half-constructed or half-deconstructed, // //
ith // // all the other long-abandoned
projects .) // // This one started with an almighty bang // // —thoug
// are still at college // // Sergei
Prokofiev and Carl Orf // // still at school // // Aaron Copland and
// Politicians on the stump // // make
promises -to-go // // inspired by our local Trump.  // // The light is
bench seat, observes the situation, and
promptly , busily, without rising from her seat, makes everyone shuffle
u for calling Shakespeareline.  // // *
pronounced ’four hundred’ // //
stormy night // // it pulls the final
prop .  A hundred yards // // of man’s best effort at defence // // d
// That book will set you puzzles which
propel // // your thoughts, destroy or reconstruct a case: // // jum
, when my mother died // // we had the
proper formal funeral.  // // (She had chosen the music for the ceremo
as Mister Gray, // // (easier than his
proper name of Gouriet) // // had come as a child sixty-odd years bef
hesised.  Some of them do not even have
proper names.  // // The eighth layer has not been started yet, so the
the Klondike in 1896, in order to make
proper San Francisco bread, prospectors would carry with them their so
Always make sure that the lid is
properly firmly closed. // // Place the kettle on the cord
der to make proper San Francisco bread,
prospectors would carry with them their sourdough starters, carefully
hem their sourdough starters, carefully
protected in pouches around their necks or attached to their belts.  //
drawn).  // // The line of pebble-dunes
protects // // a calmer green oasis, band of salt-marsh // // where
the street.  // // We joined the local
protest , but to small // // effect.  At last we felt we had to call /
/ // shin on a knife-edge of rock that
protrudes from the // // edge of the path, not yet blunted or bowdler
the weedy hedgerows, by // // The once-
proud towers of Camelot.  // // Few people walk the brambled way // /
tterly.  And I have the scars // // to
prove it.  // // The all-clear // // // Blitz.  The heavy bombers, l
.  But an old pine forest // // always
provides a bridge.  The trunks // // of fallen trees, fresh from the
ar from what’s needed.  The // // real
public benefit’s not even there.”  // // Sadiq says “The Boris’s vanit
// and absurd // // slave again // //
pull chain // // be bold // // brake train // // it’s plain // //
Build speed.  // // Build power.  // //
Pull in.  // // Merge.  // // Retract.  // // Slacken.  // // Settle. 
st emerged?  // // Did I jump, or was I
pulled or pushed?  // // Did I leap a chasm, ford a raging torrent, //
y for—and // // now on the bridge I am
pulling the plug.”  // //
k // // tearing up the contract // //
pulling up the weeds // // picking up the pieces // // wrapping up t
piles.  Then one stormy night // // it
pulls the final prop.  A hundred yards // // of man’s best effort at
l // // whose music makes your languid
pulses race: // // fall, fall into the writer’s well-cast spell.  //
cistern, wonderfully // // ornate.  A
pump and valves from a washing machine.  // // An electric fan.  The d
t, but got // // only a fib on a cheap
pun // // … a swindle…  // // [One iamb, two anapest] feet // // [ma
us culprit here, // // except for age,
pure and simple.  No rage— // // just a sort of passive acceptance.  /
of course // // has a source // // of
pure water: a still.  // // Garden shed // // with a still?  Local /
// blue sea // // silver lake // //
purple moor // // green forest // // clear stream // // grey mounta
Derby town they settled down // // on
purple sage to lie.  // // A Cheshire cat accosted them, // // then w
// for some architectural or mechanical
purpose // // now half-forgotten.  Electrical components.  // // A pa
owing what it is, // // we take on the
purpose of the wind; // // we march in formation.  // // The wind fee
ves no longer // // serving any useful
purpose .  // // The clutter covering the remainder of the bench // //
ones.  // // The wind grows steady and
purposeful .  // // We form into rows and columns across the deep.  //
ptoe.  // // Probe.  // // Grow.  // //
Push forward.  // // Build speed.  // // Build power.  // // Forge ahe
// tendrils into the dark and damp.  Now
push out above, // // buds into the waxing light, the spring rain.  Th
cle // // Wake.  // // Feel the water. 
Push out below, // // tendrils into the dark and damp.  Now push out a
Little Man precipice, // // one final
push up the ridge to the pinnacle.  // // Now to descend, an alternati
?  // // Did I jump, or was I pulled or
pushed ?  // // Did I leap a chasm, ford a raging torrent, // // get r
angry, howling and shrieking.  // // It
pushes us harder, // // makes us grow broader and taller, // // swee
Pushing 60 // // My sixtieth birthday is nearing— // // brings a tho
irds calling // // against the current
pushing strongly townward.  // // Breath the scents the sea-winds brin
und-swell gently break and sift, // //
pushing the shingle back and forth and to and fro, // // in a flat ca
ite clear that the hour // // for soft
pussy -footing is past.  // // It can’t be a student or fellow— // //
l // // mollycoddle for one day // //
put in pouch // // ready to go // // // // // // Recipe for star
iles remaining, or // // should I stay
put in the hope of a rescuer?  // // Slowly I realise the pain is subs
cut brass piece by Gaudier-Brzeska, and
put it into our hands).  She introduced me to so many artists.  As I h
e rain!  // // He swallowed the rain to
put out the fire.  // // You’d think he’d expire from swallowing fire.
n at the wall socket. // //
Put the ON / OFF switch to its ‘ON’ position and the switch will illum
d him politely // // he’d remorsefully
put them all back.  // // Six of our cushions are missing.  // // The
drawers.  // // Places I wouldn’t have
put them.  // // Move anything they might be behind or under.  // // L
o more— // // your gentle snore // //
puts all the ghosts to flight.  // //
kettle can be switched off manually by
putting the switch to the ‘OFF’ position. // // To re-boil
// // screwing up your courage // //
putting up resistance // // throwing up earthworks // // zipping up
st spell.  // // That book will set you
puzzles which propel // // your thoughts, destroy or reconstruct a ca
derstand why people have // // funeral
pyres .) Later we scatter the ashes // // in a wild part of the old S