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

T

ay? Ah, that one. // // But no. // //

Table by door? // // No. // // Kitchen? // // No. No. No. // //

Another senior moment

// it is to turn back and traverse the

table from the bottom to the top // // so that the same period games

se inside. A woman leans // // upon a

table in the window, looks // // out into sunlight, over grass, towar

Cape Cod Morning

s need many more. // // The top of the

table is sparse, but every second period or layer, // // like the bar

hen? // // No. No. No. // // Dining

table ? // // No. // // Beside easy chair? // // No. // // On telev

Another senior moment

// // Desk? // // No. // // Bedside

table ? // // No. // // Kitchen again? // // No. No. No. No. //

Another senior moment

e window was hidden // // but from the

table we could see // // a triangle of back gardens, full of trees. /

Beds and trees and windows

shire male, expecting // // tea on the

table when he returns from work // // in a Sheffield steel mill. //

Ninety-six and counting

from the beginning, by the door. // //

Tables , shelves, cupboards, hooks, drawers. // // Places I wouldn’t h

Another senior moment

arden. Send a letter. // // Fresh clay

tablet , stylus, scribe. // // Entrust to messenger. // // I love you

s. // // Now Brin and Page build index

tabulations // // of all the words their spiders’ crawls can find. //

And labelled the front— // // Nails:

tacks , panel pins, ovals and round; // // Screws: small, size 6, size

issing // // at our approach. We turn

tail and flee // // as fast as breath allows us, not to feel safe //

clime, // // with no arms, one leg, no

tail , but raised high, // // and head thrown back, I can dance. // /

// // that something is growing at the

tail end of my colon: // // probably malignant. // // ‘Malignant’ se

Capricorn suite

has grown // // from the glyph in the

tail of sex // // to its role in the world as the well-known unknown.

The truth about x

ill catch // // at your sleeve, at the

tails of your coat, // // and sometimes at the bare flesh of // // t

they seem // // to switch a gear, and

take a lurch // // at some acute, unmeasured angle. // // Last Septe

m I quite cold— // // should I rest or

take a nap?) // // Relate to me now how its meaning has grown // //

The truth about x

is train terminates here. // // Please

take all your belongings with you, // // and could the last person to

yet you stay // // inside my head, and

take away my will // // to find a way. // // The final fray // // r

oitre // // another part of the bush.

Take care not to spill // // your precious hoard (I mean the ones you

ht // // throw on timber // // sparks

take flight // // glowing embers // // throw on timber // // let it

bright // // flames leap // // sparks

take flight // // growing bright // // throw on timber // // sparks

arranged that she should go // // And

take her place in service to // // The Lady of Shalott. // // Workin

The Lady’s Maid

to leave the fire for a while // // to

take him to the house. // // I always regretted, felt cheated by //

it up tight, // // to the post office

take it. They’ll ask what’s inside. // // Not distance, but weight.

up when poured on land, // // Poseidon

take it when it’s poured at sea. // // But sacrifice is something els

On offerings to the gods

/ Without knowing what it is, // // we

take on the purpose of the wind; // // we march in formation. // //

e against // // the deep blue sky. We

take our boots off, // // dip our feet into water clear and achingly

-chip shop. // // A young rambler, you

take part // // in the mass trespass on Kinderscout. // // Meet a da

Ninety-six and counting

// that he could without worry // //

take the hottest Currie. // // Gordon Brown // // replaced his frown

Wells in winter // // We

take the path beside the wood—the fir // // and silver birch along th

Wells in winter

ound, in the digital era // // we will

take the turn on the zero, not the one // // making the twentieth cen

January Nineteen Hundred and One

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

take train // // rough grain // // sharp blade // // shave again //

// it’s insane // // i’m bored // //

take train // // what a pain // // and absurd // // slave again //

ine or rain // // wind or cloud // //

take train // // whether vain // // same old // // shave again //

the Natural History museum. // // You

take turns to flick your marble // // across the asphalt. // // If y

les of distant countries tell // // or

take you on a voyage through deepest space: // // fall, fall into the

Jump willing in

well-cast spell. // // That book will

take you o’er a stormy fell // // with her who to her lover’s side ma

Jump willing in

// time for all the timeless moments,

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

Recorded syllables

h a still? Local // // excise officer

takes to // // dropping by unannounced. // // Catch them at it – //

There must be moonshine

g their instantiations, // // ranking,

taking logs and drawing lines. // // Chomsky looked for deeper motiva

as // // Nigel’s marauding and // //

taking two toeholds in // // Essex and Kent, // // Emily Thornberry’

Unnatural disasters

alluna // // brassica, hay, pelt, dove

tale , pigeon // // mouse’s back, mole’s or elephant’s breath // // p

terval // // There is a forty-one year

tale to tell // // —could I but find the words to make it plain. //

word-filled well. // // That book will

tales of distant countries tell // // or take you on a voyage through

Jump willing in

// // talking they walked and walking

talked — // // but never once of cheese. // //

ad the flower-borne messages // // and

talked to relatives not seen for years. // // It had to be, but it wa

milling all around, // // walking and

talking and standing still—and I, // // reaching the meeting point un

phones speak out. // // So many people

talking : can we doubt // // that somewhere herein lies some deep phi

and such great themes as these, // //

talking they walked and walking talked— // // but never once of chees

e meetings with old friends // // more

talks , more silences // // more sleeps, more sleepless nights, more d

ss // // the Suffolk countryside, each

tall bare trunk // // gnarled and twisted by the wind, supports // /

ind the trees beyond the meadow, // //

tall grasses glowing in the morning sun // // below and to the right.

Cape Cod Morning

. // // Behind us, in the wood, // //

tall straight pines reach for the sky, // // dark trunks against the

? // // Will it finally grow to be too

tall ? // // Will it wilt or last all day? // // Does it mark the sit

The truth about x

arder, // // makes us grow broader and

taller , // // sweeps spray from our tops, // // drives us ever onwar

laster // // string, cord, matchstick,

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

ce them in reverse, // // each our own

tangled thread, // // would we have found some common course, // //

up your shoelaces // // topping up the

tank // // tearing up the contract // // pulling up the weeds // //

Locking down too

hite // // hot // // and burn. // //

Tanka // // Bend the light just so // // above, below, left and righ

tankas // // the Lucy Lavers // // eighty some year old lifeboat //

and velcro. // // Below, a nozzle and

tap . // // Above, a tube, a valve, a smaller tube. // // Subjective

Capricorn suite

ows. // // Subjective/objective // //

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

Capricorn suite

elf-tapping metal screws, // // rubber

tap washers and fibre sealing rings. // // The jars hang from their l

re hooks // // wallplugs, rivets, self-

tapping metal screws, // // rubber tap washers and fibre sealing ring

lighting from the thirties; // // two

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

eaux on Rioja; Ormeaux on Lagoon // //

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

e five-bar gate, the muddy track on the

tarmac road. // // The walled paddock and the orchard, // // the app

The rain and the air

// a gentler walk, to bare bleak Malham

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

Daydream Dale Journey

vers, narrow channels, torrents, // //

tarns , and streams slow-flowing, under the sky. // // Trees and bushe

reception stews bean bubble, // // The

taro rolls up an incense. // // The impregnable fortress makes fish c

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

// // forever simultaneously sweet and

tart , // // sharp on my mind’s tongue. Why is it that // // this la

magic carpet // // the Prince of Crim

Tartary // // flies into the night. // // The paraffin stove // //

Light and shadow

isappoints? // // Did I just dream the

taste ? // // But no. Once in a while // // a perfect burst still ca

emerge // // a startling deep red, and

taste delicious.) // // Another tree, perhaps a beech, but green //

result. // // Fragile crab of incense

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

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

// life after death would not be to my

taste ; // // rather, look forward to final oblivion— // // when the

// a perfect burst still catches at my

tastebuds // // and drags me back again. // //

mera in bag for Mon // // Did I submit

tax form?? // // Check L’s dob—70 next b/day? // // Dentist appointm

Notes to a life

ried for trade? // // Or in payment of

taxes ? Or was I a trophy of war? // // I cannot now recall. // // O

// “It’s been a fiasco, a drain on our

taxes . The // // tendering process was not at all fair. // // The p

Troubled waters

come through. // // I’ll give it some

taxpayer funding, and get old saint // // George of the Chancel to th

Troubled waters

// // Yorkshire male, expecting // //

tea on the table when he returns from work // // in a Sheffield steel

Ninety-six and counting

eel mill. // // Daughter moves away to

teach , and then // // to marry me. Son develops // // schizophrenia

Ninety-six and counting

es— // // where I once was, the waders

team , // // rich foraging is in their sights— // // time for a gentl

/ // shutting down the computer // //

tearing down the barriers // // cutting down the roses // // floatin

Locking down too

laces // // topping up the tank // //

tearing up the contract // // pulling up the weeds // // picking up

Locking down too

ny front garden and the street // // a

tee -junction, and a line of sight // // along a tree-lined road into

Beds and trees and windows

ming now. // // Further north the rain

teems down // // enough to overflow // // the river Don and flood th

ory // // (nineteen-sixty-one or so—my

teens —already // // between the end of the Chatterley ban // // and

but maybe also wailing and gnashing our

teeth // // into the maelstrom, the fire and brimstone // // that wi

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ys go: click-clack click-clack. // //

Telephone wires through the pane // // loop lazily along and then //

Beside easy chair? // // No. // // On

television ? // // No. // // Desk? // // No. // // Bedside table? /

Another senior moment

/ // There is a forty-one year tale to

tell // // —could I but find the words to make it plain. // // Two b

Story // // —

Tell me. // // —I am conceived by the wind, the wild wind // // and

all begin? // // From a spring. // //

Tell me, if you will, how it goes. // // It flows. // // To find its

ld as the well-known unknown. // // Oh

tell me the truth about x. // //

The truth about x

blamed // // for many things. Hard to

tell , now, // // which failing faculties to place // // at its door.

at book will tales of distant countries

tell // // or take you on a voyage through deepest space: // // fall

Jump willing in

of her gaze: does he not want // // to

tell ? // // This painting has a private life. // //

Cape Cod Morning

unterpoints behind us: // // time will

tell . // // Those are not the moments to remember: // // they can be

Recorded syllables

ou seldom use // // Better, I can even

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

g nine // // options: if you want the

tempest // // please press one; for love’s labour’s lost // // pres

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

. // // Philosophies are aired, // //

temple columns spaced, // // lightning rods earthed. // // On the da

hidden hollow which // // will make a

temporary home, until // // the next adventure. // // (One time, tho

in. Throw open // // the fire-coloured

temptations , welcome in // // the roaming bees. // // Feel the fire.

hocking scenes, // // just so that I’m

tempted to watch? // // Will it show my insides displayed on the scre

The truth about x

// and ferry them to safety // // at

ten I would climb // // onto her stand on the beach // // of Suffolk

dsplay // // Later, age maybe eight or

ten , // // I would play competitive games // // in the vast (as it f

Ra // // countries; seas // // One to

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

gh moor // // million-year moor // //

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

hat would he have made // // in twenty-

ten , of all the flesh reviewed // // in magazines, on billboards high

For Robert Graves

lling onwards, to wipe us out in // //

ten or a thousand or maybe a million years, // // it seems to be acti

Capricorn suite

ces; marshes; footbridges // // One to

ten thousand: Cambridge // // Petty Cury; Park Parade; Pretoria Road

lmost all—are duds. Nevertheless // //

ten thousand different species rise and fall // // and rise again. Gr

// // hundred-million-year sea // //

ten -thousand-year lake // // thousand-year stream // // narrow strea

// walls; doors; drains // // One to

ten : Tiles // // Ormeaux on Bastille; Ormeaux on Rioja; Ormeaux on La

no, hardly thus. // // Some miles are

ten , while others swiftly pass. // //

Walking in winter

ould cross my five- // // or eight- or

ten -year-old imagination. // // It stands within a grove of trees, a

op // // to disentangle a particularly

tenacious tendril // // before you can back out to reconnoitre // //

// along the byways, thoughts tragic or

tender — // // of love unfinished or of peaceful earth, // // the mil

beds of clean-raked earth // // Where

tender shoots may venture forth // // On weed-o’er-run Shalott? // /

The Lady’s Maid

asco, a drain on our taxes. The // //

tendering process was not at all fair. // // The pledges from busines

Troubled waters

// On the island in the river, // //

Tending her cabbage patch forever, // // The hermit of Shalott. // /

The Lady’s Maid

to disentangle a particularly tenacious

tendril // // before you can back out to reconnoitre // // another p

under the door, // // sending delicate

tendrils far, // // invading the inky darkness, keeping // // at bay

Feel the water. Push out below, // //

tendrils into the dark and damp. Now push out above, // // buds into

Tennison’s stream, we know, goes on for ever, his // // poetry too to

y ram, great curved horns // // stands

tense , alert and staring. A few // // feet away, a sheep, cowering /

South London standoff

a bubble, a damp and fuzzy // // igloo-

tent -cocoon, both future and past // // veiled, invisible, lost in th

the air. // // Someone snoring in the

tent next door, // // a motorcycle coursing up the lane. // // Night

ust maybe I can // // circle round the

tentacles of zeta // // by striking gamma from consideration // // a

y // // the Sheffield ties become more

tenuous , // // legs weaken, and isolation palls. // // One more grea

Ninety-six and counting

In my end… // // This train

terminates here. // // Please take all your belongings with you, //

London, 1969. // // A small Victorian

terrace house // // stuccoed and flat-fronted. // // No electricity—

cond was at the back // // of a London

terrace in a triangle of streets. // // From the bed the window was h

Beds and trees and windows

ows that // // adorn most later London

terraced fronts. // // One of a block of four, it had been once— //

Peckham 1969—1991

long enough for any line. // // With a

terse verse form, you see, // // I can get along just fine. // // Bu

a // // fruit or a vegetable?— // //

test for it thus: // // bite it—the seeds on your // // tuckerbib sh

They peer, they scan, they scrape, they

test , they sound; // // they write their notes, interpret what they f

Capricorn suite

eck time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7

th // // Camera in bag for Mon // // Did I submit tax form?? // //

Notes to a life

t—check time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6

th -7th // // Camera in bag for Mon // // Did I submit tax form?? //

Notes to a life

y? // // Dentist appointment—week of 10

th // // Write poem for Weds // //

Notes to a life

shore. // // Of bridges traversing the

Thames here in London, we’ve // // just thirty three—surely room for

Troubled waters

/ by the best actors of the age. // //

Thank you for calling Shakespeareline. // // * pronounced ’four hundr

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

/ // Five politicians… // // Margaret

Thatcher // // observed that her natu- // // ral son and heir // //

and sealing wax, // // and such great

themes as these, // // talking they walked and walking talked— // //

A short treatise on string

theory // // The beginning is the end and // // the end is the begin

A short treatise on string theory

k. // // I think that I’m glad // // (

therefore I am that). I’m glad. // // I’m glad that I think // // (

d. // // I’m glad that I think // // (

therefore I’m glad that I am). // // That’s what I think. // //

to blow us away // // Perhaps tomorrow

there’ll be wind // // Way-hay, blow us away // // And we can some d

coming from the room next door: // //

thesis and antithesis, debate // // about it and about, and evermore

coming from the room next door: // //

Thesis and Antithesis debate. // // In the lecture room // // His vo

e? // // No! // // No time // // for

thesis // // or antithesis. // // Have to cut straight to synthesis.

Fibonacci series

gainst the wire brush // // of David’s

thick black hair, // // staying in place until at home // // the sma

Walking in winter

ockets (useless for cold hands), // //

thick felted wool, a monk-like hood— // // and with (the most importa

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

plate glue east // // Grow face fa-cai

thick soup. // // XO sauce explodes to grow the fragile bone. // //

Colourless green ideas found sleeping furiously

an’t be a student or fellow— // // the

thief’s much too cunning for that. // // There’s only one possible an

One of our cushions

// An exobladder. // // Strapped to my

thigh // // with elastic and velcro. // // Below, a nozzle and tap.

Capricorn suite

unks against the blue, // // shed long

thin needles. // // In the distance, // // gnarled broadleaf trees w

n. // // Gloves are a many-splendoured

thing . Gloves make the world go round, and all’s fair in gloves and w

Vagrant monosyllables

od— // // and with (the most important

thing ) // // those wooden toggles, loops of string. // // I must con

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

r has not been started yet, so the only

thing to do about // // it is to turn back and traverse the table fro

burn the string. // // What a strange

thing , to swallow some string! // // He swallowed the string to catch

n to something good // // some dormant

thing would wake and sprout new growth. // // And thus it was. Just

he cancer can be blamed // // for many

things . Hard to tell, now, // // which failing faculties to place //

on down the creek // // bearing loose

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

I can see // // mistily, the shape of

things : // // the steps which, added up, construct // // my life. //

m glad that I am). // // That’s what I

think . // //

suit and little else arrayed? // // I

think he’d add a note to his remark— // // in truth, how cheesy is th

For Robert Graves

rain to put out the fire. // // You’d

think he’d expire from swallowing fire. // // He swallowed the fire t

nots // // I think. // // I’m glad, I

think . // // I think that I’m glad // // (therefore I am that). I’m

Gladknots // // I

think . // // I’m glad, I think. // // I think that I’m glad // // (

broken, and after a while I can // //

think of resuming my journey unaided—I // // just have to check on my

e, perhaps a beech, but green // // (I

think that I can see the nuts it sheds) // // on the grove’s outer ed

ink. // // I’m glad, I think. // // I

think that I’m glad // // (therefore I am that). I’m glad. // // I’

singing, each to each. // // I do not

think that they will sing to me. // // Mirror mirror on the wall //

All done with mirrors

Themselves // // Stupidity, I

think the gods themselves // // will find in all the books that line

hat). I’m glad. // // I’m glad that I

think // // (therefore I’m glad that I am). // // That’s what I thin

p, // // your foot upon the crust, you

think // // ‘This time, it will hold my weight.’ // // But every ste

Walking in winter

p // // tried to speak // // tried to

think // // tried to understand // // tried to write // // tried to

// // // // In the beginning was the

third . // // (The first two were duds; the bits // // are somewhere

for this we have to wait // // another

thirteen and a half years. // //

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ectricity— // // gas lighting from the

thirties ; // // two taps; one loo // // in a lean-to out the back. /

n’s best effort at defence // // drops

thirty feet into a hole. // // Cambridge, circa 1966 // // One cold

Walking in winter

// the shape of the world // // One to

thirty million: Eurasia // // Kuril’skiye Ostrova; Kirgiz Step; Kara

hames here in London, we’ve // // just

thirty three—surely room for one more. // // Now it happens my old fr

Troubled waters

floor had been laid // // in nineteen

thirty three, the newsprint said. // // The previous occupant, known

Peckham 1969—1991

garden, left untended // // for maybe

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

resolution lies // // in their cups.

Thomas certainly did his level best // // to drink himself to death.

wn to ’im. // // … and one poet // //

Thomas Stearns Eliot // // wrote poetry well, but // // was no great

in // // Essex and Kent, // // Emily

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

Unnatural disasters

// // strong curves lined with jagged

thorns , // // seeking new ground to conquer. // // Spiders’ webs amo

h the bracken. // // No fruit here—the

thorns will catch // // at your sleeve, at the tails of your coat, //

Fire // // My sign is Aries.

Though it seems a poor // // fit for me, it is at least a Fire. // /

he Beatles’ first LP; // // strangely,

though , not sex but fire). // // See this: // // the large, dilapida

haps be comforting // // as any fruit,

though Suliman’s pilaf // // is real comfort food. But comfort me no

The well of love

ound, and all’s fair in gloves and war,

though the course of true gloves never did run smooth. No glove lost.

Vagrant monosyllables

/ the next adventure. // // (One time,

though , the hollow holds // // a real live snake, standing up and his

bloody marvellous, // // resonates on

though the print becomes faint; // // just as each new generation soo

bed next door. // // Responses muted,

though the sense is raw, // // to questions orderly, while exuding ca

ague direction. // // Once in a while,

though , they seem // // to switch a gear, and take a lurch // // at

only roughly match the map. At others,

though , // // we have to guess. // // The woods are full of streams,

tion was always a difficult art, // //

Though with only one ship and one bell.) // // we there did espy a fa

All done with mirrors

ht his profile needed broadening // //

thought he’d flaunt a bushy grin—but // // the wind came up and blew

old man called Michael Finnegan— // //

thought his profile needed broadening // // thought he’d flaunt a bus

e started with an almighty bang // // —

thought it was going to be a disaster // // but then it began rolling

ways: perspiration // // Yet here’s a

thought . Just maybe I can // // circle round the tentacles of zeta /

ed Eve to know // // more than Jehovah

thought she should— // // but keeping us in darkness so // // cannot

th birthday is nearing— // // brings a

thought that is far from cheering: // // that while the past // // w

nce in a century storm, // // that was

thought to be. // // So perhaps they will // // outlive us. // //

e house itself // // as ugly. No such

thought would cross my five- // // or eight- or ten-year-old imaginat

et you puzzles which propel // // your

thoughts , destroy or reconstruct a case: // // jump willing into ever

Jump willing in

an will wander // // along the byways,

thoughts tragic or tender— // // of love unfinished or of peaceful ea

marshes; footbridges // // One to ten

thousand : Cambridge // // Petty Cury; Park Parade; Pretoria Road //

t all—are duds. Nevertheless // // ten

thousand different species rise and fall // // and rise again. Great

// // One to three hundred and sixteen

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

red chaos with a raucous song: // // A

thousand geese are flying into night. // //

Wells in winter

; alleys; cycle paths // // One to two

thousand : Jesus College // // The Chimney; Cranmer Room; Café Bar //

ne to one million two hundred and fifty

thousand : Low Countries // // Gelderland; Glabbeek; Gramsbergen //

ards, to wipe us out in // // ten or a

thousand or maybe a million years, // // it seems to be acting // //

Capricorn suite

e boxes; inns // // One to twenty five

thousand : The Broads // // Westwick; Woodbastwick; Winterton // // f

ads; villages // // One to sixty three

thousand three hundred and sixty: Truro and Falmouth // // Mevagissey

// hundred-million-year sea // // ten-

thousand -year lake // // thousand-year stream // // narrow stream //

ea // // ten-thousand-year lake // //

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

t and gave and lost, // // we let each

thread unroll behind, // // laying down the past— // // until the da

in reverse, // // each our own tangled

thread , // // would we have found some common course, // // or bend

threads // // In far-off times, my best-beloved, // // when we were

// // Beards are great when gales are

threatening // // keep drafts out and comfort in—but // // there was

mpsed, make my muse suggest // // just

three alliterative lines—at best // // a semi-stanza—and then to ceas

- // // tions will do // // for five,

three and two. // // But for the two ones I must cheat. // // … a st

Fibonacci series

bout adding space, time, love? // // …

three fibs about fibs… // // One, // // one, // // two, three, //

Fibonacci series

bs… // // One, // // one, // // two,

three , // // five, eight. But // // “Fibonacci”’s four— // // not

Fibonacci series

ve’s labour’s lost // // press two; or

three for cymbelline; // // the merry wives of windsor, four; // //

Septilla CDSeptilla CD*

// // But he was dead: // // had died

three hours after his arrival, // // was buried in an unmarked grave.

Black September

// Haven’t passed walkers for more than

three hours now. // // When are they likely to send out a search part

easured // // a century ago and // //

three hundred and forty miles // // to the south-west: // // marked

onurbations; drained land // // One to

three hundred and sixteen thousand eight hundred: Scotland // // Duf

ages // // One to sixty three thousand

three hundred and sixty: Truro and Falmouth // // Mevagissey; Mingoos

Hills? Well, dunes // // maybe two or

three metres above // // mean sea level. // // And where’s that, whe

was not the memory we needed. // // So

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

/ I hope we don’t lose any more. // //

Three of our cushions are missing. // // I don’t know quite what to s

One of our cushions

rome coffee machines. // // At the bar

three people sit // // all six eyes lowered // // in silent contempl

// Shapeless, navy blue or fawn, // //

three -quarter length, or maybe short, // // patch pockets (useless fo

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

His senseless trenches death at twenty

three // // reminds us of so much we’ll never see. // // Life and de

Sculpting the vortex

ow many miles to Barnard Castle? // //

Three score, out/return // // Can I go there, with my eyesight? // /

Babylon by candlelight

Many art galleries in many places.

Three solid days in the Uffizi in Florence. Walking in the drizzle th

Fragments of a life

ere in London, we’ve // // just thirty

three —surely room for one more. // // Now it happens my old friend is

Troubled waters

had been laid // // in nineteen thirty

three , the newsprint said. // // The previous occupant, known as Mist

Peckham 1969—1991

a 1958 // // After the floods of fifty-

three // // they raised the ramparts: giant concrete blocks // // o

Walking in winter

// roads; villages // // One to sixty

three thousand three hundred and sixty: Truro and Falmouth // // Meva

el the heat upon my face. // // Twenty

three years later, when my mother died // // we had the proper formal

r toothpowder, tins // // for cocoa or

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

Dark shapes are calling each to each: a

throng // // moves north against the fading evening light. // // Sla

Wells in winter

l // // mollycoddle for one day // //

throw half away // // more flour, water, mix well // // mollycoddle

Ode to the yeast wind

l // // mollycoddle for one day // //

throw half away // // more flour, water, mix well // // mollycoddle

Ode to the yeast wind

l // // mollycoddle for one day // //

throw half away // // more flour, water, mix well // // mollycoddle

Ode to the yeast wind

d saint // // George of the Chancel to

throw in some too.” // // So the project proceeds with a little more

Troubled waters

s? // // After the feast, perhaps they

throw it out. // // Could they just dump an offering to the gods, //

On offerings to the gods

ake flight // // glowing embers // //

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

ake flight // // growing bright // //

throw on timber // // sparks take flight // // glowing embers // //

into the waxing light, the spring rain.

Throw open // // the fire-coloured temptations, welcome in // // the

reds and golds replace the greens. Now

throw the canopy too // // to the winds, let it whirl away // // int

// // pinning down the problem // //

throwing down the gauntlet // // battening down the hatches // // cl

Locking down too

age // // putting up resistance // //

throwing up earthworks // // zipping up your jacket // // tying up y

Locking down too

the imagination fires. // // Pots are

thrown and fired, // // crops are watered. // // Seasons and years a

tail, but raised high, // // and head

thrown back, I can dance. // //

make you jump, or far away, // // the

thud as one more apple hits the muddy grass. // // East wind // // W

d // // Whipped wide awake by what the

thunder said // // flashes silhouette the trees against the blind. //

. // // Whipped wide awake by what the

thunder said, // // flashes silhouette the trees against the blind. /

, // // whipped wide awake by what the

thunder said. // // Rain rattles on the rooftiles overhead // // and

or the ones from Kings. // // What the

thunder said // // Whipped wide awake by what the thunder said // //

uit or a vegetable?— // // test for it

thus : // // bite it—the seeds on your // // tuckerbib show that it’s

wake and sprout new growth. // // And

thus it was. Just past the London Eye, // // a bright September day,

: we care not a tittle. // // Many die—

thus limiting their needs. // // This time, the bug’s not spread by r

// // ‘Every mile is two’? no, hardly

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

Walking in winter

g Tony D about works in basement // //

Tickets for Once Sat night—check time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7t

Notes to a life

ts for Once Sat night—check time // //

Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7th // // Camera in bag for Mon // // Did I s

Notes to a life

od for finger-fiddling // // stroking,

tickling , searching in—but // // there was an old man called Michael

nchor lines. // // Across the channel,

tidal creeks // // meandering through the marsh // // carve out sect

for the deeper channel.) // // In the

tidal creeks that snake // // across the saltmarsh, the currents //

// // moored on a pontoon // // in a

tidal Norfolk creek // // a hundred yards from my door // //

e scents the sea-winds bring // // The

tide begins its steady, slow accretion // // Hear the marsh-birds cal

iet evening stillness // // on evening

tide . // // Decisions and revisions and reversions, // // reversings

Recorded syllables

Tide // // each new beginning // // reiterates a pattern // // as o

tide // // First I carefully let go // // just as far as I can reach

he same effect. // // On a spring high

tide , I would be floating // // at the height of the marsh, or maybe

auntlet of the winter storm. // // The

tide is high, and every wave tries hard // // to breach the wall. An

Walking in winter

d and shingle, perhaps // // (when the

tide is high enough) // // as far the cliff. The wind // // whips t

Covehithe, Suffolk

Tidesong // // The

tide is out, the creek a gentle trickle // // Hear the marsh-birds ca

ndy beach past which // // the falling

tide reveals the deep black mud // // which oozes softly up between o

// Sonnet // // Cold and clear. The

tide runs out, the creek // // is draining back again towards the sea

/ // Nonet // // Cold and clear. The

tide runs out, the creek // // is draining back towards the sea. //

s at home? // // It’s a level that the

tide rushes past // // on its way up and again // // on its way down

// The glistening mud left by the ebb-

tide . // // The moored boat listing on the mudflat. // // The salt-m

The rain and the air

e are in the neaps: // // even at high

tide , with the mud cliffs // // above my head, the rest of the marsh

// day by day // // time flies // //

tides fall and rise // // waves scatter spray // // under changing s

and waning if west. // // In the creek

tides rise and fall // // a little later each passing day. // //

hore. // // Around the river mouth the

tides run strong. // // Channels and banks of shingle shift and melt,

Tidesong // // The tide is out, the creek a gentle trickle // // Hea

lived? Eventually // // the Sheffield

ties become more tenuous, // // legs weaken, and isolation palls. //

Ninety-six and counting

charge you for postage. So wrap it up

tight , // // to the post office take it. They’ll ask what’s inside.

walls; doors; drains // // One to ten:

Tiles // // Ormeaux on Bastille; Ormeaux on Rioja; Ormeaux on Lagoon

y. // // Brandy, a candle: // // heat

till it catches fire, // // pour out the blue flame. // // After lun

Light and shadow

we should not // // begin unwrapping

till it’s // // light enough to see. // // Below the bulges, // //

Light and shadow

lines // // As you stare down the line

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

t // // glowing embers // // throw on

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

t // // growing bright // // throw on

timber // // sparks take flight // // glowing embers // // throw on

. This is now, here, // // real human

time . // //

Covehithe, Suffolk

erlasting moments, // // there will be

time . // //

Recorded syllables

s; she is 4 or 5 months pregnant at the

time . A tiny middle-aged New York woman, sitting on a bench seat, obs

Fragments of a life

e timeless moments, taken // // out of

time . // // Afternoon in winter, on the ramparts // // looking seawa

Recorded syllables

back under my feet. // // No time, no

time . // // Already I am toppling over him // // crashing, splitting

; but watch and do not blink. // // In

time , an instant dash: // // a shooting star. // // To the sharp sen

// long long ago, that icon of // // a

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

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

r away and long ago, // // once upon a

time and place, // // the world just so, // // a pretty maiden, hear

The world just so

cue, Queen Victoria dies. // // (Next

time around, in the digital era // // we will take the turn on the ze

January Nineteen Hundred and One

ward to final oblivion— // // when the

time comes, I might add, not just yet. // //

s own // // finite but unbounded space-

time continuum // // —cool! // // There are some lovely spirals down

ng fire // // of the sun marks passing

time . // // Far down below, the earth // // is mostly water. // //

month of May // // she says “Now’s the

time —fix the day. // // You dance to my tune, // // I’ll lead.” But

This may be the end

ill rise // // come what may // // as

time flies // // foolish or wise // // I cannot stay // // the chan

changing skies // // day by day // //

time flies // // tides fall and rise // // waves scatter spray // /

dries // // storms roll away // // as

time flies // // wind blows and dies // // clouds pass or stay // /

ich foraging is in their sights— // //

time for a gentler stream. // // Now I feel the flood’s return // //

Another pair // // of brackets, this

time for a wooden curtain pole, // // two and a half inches in diamet

// // they can be consigned to passing

time . // // For all the real and everlasting moments, // // there wi

Recorded syllables

will be time, there will be time // //

time for all the timeless moments, taken // // out of time. // // Af

Recorded syllables

This poem eludes me // // No

time // // for flow // // or rhyme, // // no. // // Words go // /

This poem eludes me

mber. // // Time? // // No! // // No

time // // for thesis // // or antithesis. // // Have to cut straig

Fibonacci series

that was the last syllabub of recorded

time . // // From the bottom of the barrel // // the sound of scrapin

ngs, human artifacts. // // Geological

time // // is foreshortened. This is now, here, // // real human ti

Covehithe, Suffolk

train is carrying nuclear waste; at the

time // // it is just the timing that disturbs. The line // // most

Peckham 1969—1991

upon the crust, you think // // ‘This

time , it will hold my weight.’ // // But every step it drops you down

Walking in winter

// // another crematorium. // // This

time Judith has chosen the music, // // a Beethoven string quartet. /

. // // Our space is the earth, // //

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

ew more. // // How about adding space,

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

Fibonacci series

p back in when I have gone. // // It’s

time : my end has come. // //

— // // not a Fibonacci number. // //

Time ? // // No! // // No time // // for thesis // // or antithesis

Fibonacci series

// falls back under my feet. // // No

time , no time. // // Already I am toppling over him // // crashing,

leaping fish, a fox afar— // // night-

time noises permeate the air. // // Someone snoring in the tent next

blind. // // Under canvas // // Night-

time noises permeate the air // // with voices human, animal, machine

ycle coursing up the lane. // // Night-

time noises permeate the air // // with voices human, animal, machine

// the cool night air // // slows down

time . // // Now is the time // // to lie on the earth, // // smell

if you will // // it matters not what

time of day or night // // there’s no diurnal rhythm to my skill //

e clouds might go, // // the phase and

time of setting of the moon, // // or any other facts you want to kno

before a book. // // Don’t waste your

time on wild boar’s head. // // If Aristotle makes you choke // // e

t the season of the year. // // At any

time or season of the year // // we listen to Schubert’s Trout Quinte

an open sore, renew our sense of // //

time , rebuild the day. // //

course you try // // many marbles at a

time . // // Sometimes they jam // // and you must release them // /

// // the changing skies // // or the

time that flies // //

did not meet // // before the alotted

time : // // that we could reach this perfect knot // // and find our

—thus limiting their needs. // // This

time , the bug’s not spread by rats and fleas // // but by their piss

d together, // // Indeed there will be

time , there will be time // // time for all the timeless moments, tak

Recorded syllables

w long gone. // // In just a few days’

time , these two will meet // // and clash — and I’m to be the battle

Capricorn suite

// // the next adventure. // // (One

time , though, the hollow holds // // a real live snake, standing up a

// // Tickets for Once Sat night—check

time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7th // // Camera in bag for Mon //

Notes to a life

ndeed there will be time, there will be

time // // time for all the timeless moments, taken // // out of tim

Recorded syllables

will // // jump to join in, but needs

time to come through. // // I’ll give it some taxpayer funding, and g

Troubled waters

// // We have the space // // and the

time // // to cross the waters, // // explore the earth, // // and

reading sands and soft mudflats: // //

time to gather pace. // // Now I rush on down the creek // // bearin

nd each moored boat runs a wake: // //

time to gush full spate. // // Now my headlong dash abates— // // wh

// building the clumsy barriers just in

time // // to keep the carriers of plague at bay. // // Yet someone

marsh just covered in the slack: // //

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

// slows down time. // // Now is the

time // // to lie on the earth, // // smell the air, // // feel the

flotsam brought in on the flow: // //

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

here to stay // // morning glow // //

time to rise // // feeling slow // // rub eyes // // yawn and stret

time // // under changing skies // // day by day // // time flies /

ons of kitchen knives. // // Clearance

time . What can I possibly salvage // // from all this? // //

ve such counterpoints behind us: // //

time will tell. // // Those are not the moments to remember: // // t

Recorded syllables

/ // Seasons and years are counted and

timed . // // Philosophies are aired, // // temple columns spaced, //

re will be time // // time for all the

timeless moments, taken // // out of time. // // Afternoon in winter

Recorded syllables

Two threads // // In far-off

times , my best-beloved, // // when we were young and all, // // the

sts and in open spaces // // there are

times // // when the imagination fires. // // Pots are thrown and fi

s now, who dares me eat a peach? // //

Time’s warring chariots can clatter by— // // we have the earth, the

aste; at the time // // it is just the

timing that disturbs. The line // // mostly carries suburban trains;

Peckham 1969—1991

/ // a wolf crouches // // his senses

tingling , too. // // Around them, the flowers bloom and wither // //

South London standoff

// // the shelf above. The boxes and

tins are stacked // // in increasing disorder along the back // // o

// were made for slides or toothpowder,

tins // // for cocoa or throat lozenges or metal polish, // // jars

// // of categories in boxes, jars and

tins : // // the larger bolts and nuts and washers, // // flooring na

in first floor front. // // Across the

tiny front garden and the street // // a tee-junction, and a line of

Beds and trees and windows

Tiny hardness on tiny softness. // // Softness crawls over sand and r

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

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

/ Dark night // // strike match // //

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

4 or 5 months pregnant at the time. A

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

Fragments of a life

st a draught from the door. // // That

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

Carapace // // Tiny hardness on

tiny softness. // // Softness crawls over sand and rock // // in fil

ht-syllable] beat. // // Selec- // //

tions will do // // for five, three and two. // // But for the two o

Fibonacci series

Twice daily // // Start. // //

Tiptoe . // // Probe. // // Grow. // // Push forward. // // Build s

tle. // // Pause. // // Start. // //

Tiptoe . // // Retrace. // // Shrink. // // Drop back. // // Build

// // as well for wind: we care not a

tittle . // // Many die—thus limiting their needs. // // This time, t

wn // // potatoes roast // // warm as

toast // // flames gone // // potatoes roast // // embers warm //

down // // let it burn // // warm as

toast // // smoulder down // // potatoes roast // // warm as toast

ll // // to find a way. // // And now

today // // is ending. I suppose tomorrow’s still // // another day

Covehithe, Suffolk // // South wind

today . So the breakers // // come at an angle, sweep // // along th

Covehithe, Suffolk

the marsh, or maybe over it. // // But

today we are in the neaps: // // even at high tide, with the mud clif

Nigel’s marauding and // // taking two

toeholds in // // Essex and Kent, // // Emily Thornberry’s // // ph

Unnatural disasters

/ // which oozes softly up between our

toes . Across the river // // lies the lagoon, a field flooded and th

hells // // that would be sharp if our

toes were bare. // // Behind us, in the wood, // // tall straight pi

Recorded syllables // //

Together and together and together, // // Indeed there will be time,

Recorded syllables

Recorded syllables // // Together and

together and together, // // Indeed there will be time, there will be

Recorded syllables

lables // // Together and together and

together , // // Indeed there will be time, there will be time // //

Recorded syllables

ull of trees. // // In our first house

together // // the bedroom was again first floor front. // // Across

Beds and trees and windows

st important thing) // // those wooden

toggles , loops of string. // // I must confess to having owned // //

Donkeys don’t wear jackets

edge, backwards? // // Yesterday I was

told : it looks clear. // // So life should now appear // // as it d

Capricorn suite

// // nanigan brannigan— // // is the

Tomato a // // fruit or a vegetable?— // // test for it thus: // //

Tomorrow // // The day after tomorrow // // tomorrow // // will be

ome wind to blow us away // // Perhaps

tomorrow there’ll be wind // // Way-hay, blow us away // // And we c

Tomorrow // // The day after

tomorrow // // tomorrow // // will be yesterday. // //

ow // // The day after tomorrow // //

tomorrow // // will be yesterday. // //

an the ones you will deliver // // for

tomorrow’s blackberry-and-apple pie // // —the ones you ate straight

now today // // is ending. I suppose

tomorrow’s still // // another day // // to find a way. // //

round-Britain trip. // // I’ll need a

ton of words to fill each line from side to side, // // verbosely qui

eet and tart, // // sharp on my mind’s

tongue . Why is it that // // this latter-day fruit so often disappoi

e // // that was off by a mile. // //

Tony Blair // // floated on air // // when Maggie’s encomium // //

atu- // // ral son and heir // // was

Tony Blair. // // Nigel Farrage // // has a mouth like a garage— //

be // // Ring M about Xmas // // Ring

Tony D about works in basement // // Tickets for Once Sat night—check

Notes to a life

e lollipop and the squeezed out tube of

toothpaste // // that the saxophonist left behind. // // This is the

ic boxes // // were made for slides or

toothpowder , tins // // for cocoa or throat lozenges or metal polish,

through still, warm air. // // On the

top deck of a 68 // // Voices, ipods, phones speak out— // // add to

ne, a group of people in evening dress,

top hats and the like, appropriate to some earlier era of the house’s

Fragments of a life

se. // // You put the marble in at the

top ; // // it runs down the groove // // into a hole in the post. //

the chemists need many more. // // The

top of the table is sparse, but every second period or layer, // // l

// // behind the wall, level with the

top , // // running the gauntlet of the winter storm. // // The tide

Walking in winter

averse the table from the bottom to the

top // // so that the same period games // // allow the lines to pet

e air is warm enough to melt // // the

topmost layer. The frost returns // // to make a crust. The next tw

Walking in winter

t // // tying up your shoelaces // //

topping up the tank // // tearing up the contract // // pulling up t

Locking down too

/ No time, no time. // // Already I am

toppling over him // // crashing, splitting, breaking. // // I am lo

nd taller, // // sweeps spray from our

tops , // // drives us ever onward. // // Where are we going, so fier

. From our bed // // we could see the

tops of // // the trees in the front garden. // // The second was at

Beds and trees and windows

u down // // into soft snow, up to the

tops // // of your gumboots. The mile or two // // to the village s

Walking in winter

g on by my fingernails // // while the

tornado raged around me? // // Or was it just a hedge, backwards? //

Capricorn suite

/ // Did I leap a chasm, ford a raging

torrent , // // get rolled over by an avalanche, // // fall through a

Capricorn suite

// // Oceans, rivers, narrow channels,

torrents , // // tarns, and streams slow-flowing, under the sky. // /

ythmic staccato juddering // // with a

touch of syncopation. // //

Good vibrations

generations. Each // // sentient being

touches and reshapes // // the world around her, far as she can reach

nce. // // Set against this, a certain

toughness , // // hidden, but evident in the number, // // best expre

nsfixed as a horned goat // // charges

towards me // // from beyond the pale, under my guard, // // below t

Capricorn suite

ss a mountain range? // // Did I march

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

Capricorn suite

s // // out into sunlight, over grass,

towards // // some distant point outside the picture frame. // // Wh

Cape Cod Morning

heir lighter backs, a few edging // //

towards the brown. // // Autumn fruit is growing fat, // // trees be

en spreads across a gentle slope // //

towards the river. A line of ancient oaks // // (one blasted trunk i

defend against the next attack. // //

Towards the river is a group of firs // // —the kind you sometimes se

out, the creek // // is draining back

towards the sea. // // Along the margins waders // // scutter, scave

the creek // // is draining back again

towards the sea. // // Along the muddy margins, in the lee // // of

velde makes an expansive gesture // //

towards the setting sun. // // Go west, young man? No, this is about

A poem for free

s, lighter now, // // are droning back

towards their bases, // // and fighters too. The siren call // // i

Capricorn suite

emish weavers, pointing the rest // //

towards their major source of trade: // // England. // // Back the w

A poem for free

. // // The mile south to the Martello

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

Walking in winter

once a lady’s maid // // In gracious,

towered Camelot. // // Then, as winds of fortune blow, // // It was

The Lady’s Maid

edy hedgerows, by // // The once-proud

towers of Camelot. // // Few people walk the brambled way // // And

The Lady’s Maid

afternoon // // we walk to the edge of

town and on // // the mile across the river meadows // // to Grantch

Walking in winter

t world war) // // in Sheffield, steel

town . // // Mother once ran a fish-and-chip shop. // // A young ramb

Ninety-six and counting

marsh-birds calling // // to face the

town , runs headlong for the bar, // // Breath the scents the sea-wind

ed was the evening sky. // // By Derby

town they settled down // // on purple sage to lie. // // A Cheshire

// against the current pushing strongly

townward . // // Breath the scents the sea-winds bring // // In the s

means of reactors or colliders or other

// // From Ilkley’s old stone bridge I

trace a path // // against the stream, back up the river Wharfe, //

Daydream Dale Journey

beneath the bridge. // // If we could

trace them in reverse, // // each our own tangled thread, // // woul

oung and all, // // the woven patterns

traced and covered // // the world with skeins of wool. // // And as

ng // // blue dot reveals the now, and

traces // // of past and future both. // //

wer, // // we walk along the banked-up

track // // behind the wall, level with the top, // // running the g

Walking in winter

// a low embankment carries the railway

track . // // (Down the slope to the end of the street and right, //

Peckham 1969—1991

rn. // // The five-bar gate, the muddy

track on the tarmac road. // // The walled paddock and the orchard, /

The rain and the air

y roar, // // coaches follow along the

track : // // the bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // At night

blast— // // another train on the next

track . // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack. // // Country

st // // towards their major source of

trade : // // England. // // Back the way we came. // // All verse i

A poem for free

and forth overhead. Was I carried for

trade ? // // Or in payment of taxes? Or was I a trophy of war? // /

and generations // // of fishermen and

trading sailors // // ply back and forth overhead. Was I carried for

ore books, more coffee cups // // more

tragedies , comedies, histories // // more shapes, more colours, more

ander // // along the byways, thoughts

tragic or tender— // // of love unfinished or of peaceful earth, //

Emerald Lake // // The winding

trails // // through forests waking to the spring // // intersect or

beard // // brave again // // forsake

train // //

in the rhythmic clattering noise of the

train . // // Childhood journeys by rail come back // // to my memory

A poem for free

the local rumour states // // that the

train is carrying nuclear waste; at the time // // it is just the tim

Peckham 1969—1991

pull chain // // be bold // // brake

train // // it’s plain // // grow beard // // brave again // // fo

ber down. // // The whistle blows, the

train moves on, // // the guard’s van trundles at the back. // // Th

at a sudden sound-blast— // // another

train on the next track. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clac

ometimes at night, // // a heavy goods

train rattles the windows and plates // // on the shelves. Later, th

Peckham 1969—1991

shave again // // oh lord // // take

train // // rough grain // // sharp blade // // shave again // //

In my end… // // This

train terminates here. // // Please take all your belongings with you

tle dull. // // From Brussels by local

train to Ghent: canals and cobbled streets // // and beer and chocola

A poem for free

clack click-clack. // // On holiday by

train ! Vast hall // // of city station, noisy, full // // of people

t’s insane // // i’m bored // // take

train // // what a pain // // and absurd // // slave again // // p

r rain // // wind or cloud // // take

train // // whether vain // // same old // // shave again // // it

must be insane // // to expect that a

train // // will emerge from the vanishing point. // //

The line // // mostly carries suburban

trains ; more rarely, // // carriages decked in the blue and gold live

Peckham 1969—1991

wound. // // The goat // // // I am

transfixed as a horned goat // // charges towards me // // from beyo

Capricorn suite

t. Soak up the rays and the air. // //

Transform the coloured flower into coloured flesh // // and hide a se

ide of Sheffield. // // Polish husband

transforms into // // Yorkshire male, expecting // // tea on the tab

Ninety-six and counting

ght is going now. // // How will these

transient trials pass? // // It’s really hard to know. // // We have

for I am well of love. // // The usual

translation is not raisins // // but flagons. Flagons might indeed /

The well of love

w a net. // // He swallowed the net to

trap the hat. // // Restart for that. // //

// // Focus in, // // each ray // //

trapped on its way // // from the sun. // // Bright // // spot //

right, // // focus in each ray. // //

Trapped on its way from the sun, // // bright spot, turn white hot an

find some way to move, to go, // // to

travel in the mind, some gentle // // way to wander into // // a bet

ed, slanting lines of geese // // more

travels , journeys, voyages, expeditions // // more books, more coffee

do about // // it is to turn back and

traverse the table from the bottom to the top // // so that the same

s // // known as the Allerdale Ramble,

traversing a // // difficult scree but then joining an easier // //

retch shore to shore. // // Of bridges

traversing the Thames here in London, we’ve // // just thirty three—s

Troubled waters

// five grooved sloping rails, // // a

tray at the base. // // You put the marble in at the top; // // it r

finally // // dropping into the bottom

tray . // // Of course you try // // many marbles at a time. // // S

ur, fools rush in, where angels wear to

tread . I’ll wear not what men say. // //

Vagrant monosyllables

dwits, curlews search // // for hidden

treasure , long beaks buried full // // to probe deep down beneath the

kle memory— // // elusive and illusive

treasure , she. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

isited other places, I have found other

treasures , and regret not having had the chance to show some of them t

Fragments of a life

like lambs. It is a memory that Judith

treasures for the rest of her life. // //

Fragments of a life

d, for now, the wilder moor. // // The

treasures to be found along my path // // are elemental: water, sky a

Daydream Dale Journey

treatise on string theory // // The beginning is the end and // // t

A short treatise on string theory

age too against // // the cessation of

treatment — // // but that is a symptom, not a cause. // // A // //

/ ink-spattered fragment of // // dead

tree . // //

ed I looked out on // // a corner of a

tree -bordered square. // // The second had one window, rather high— /

Beds and trees and windows

trees and windows // // A corner of a

tree -bordered square // // trees around the edges of a field // // t

Beds and trees and windows

e’s outer edge, contains our own // //

tree -house, a canted deck of ancient planks, // // nailed across two

ion, and a line of sight // // along a

tree -lined road into the distance. // //

Beds and trees and windows

k gardens, full of trees // // along a

tree -lined road into the distance. // // The first bedroom I had to m

Beds and trees and windows

t be silly, that’s just a branch of the

tree outside, scraping the window. // // That waft of scent? A malod

d, and taste delicious.) // // Another

tree , perhaps a beech, but green // // (I think that I can see the nu

nd the orchard, // // the apple on the

tree , the windfall in the grass. // // What do they know, the rain an

The rain and the air

ion. // // It stands within a grove of

trees , a very few // // of which I can discern, even perhaps // // i

nder said // // flashes silhouette the

trees against the blind. // // A storm is raging as I lie abed, // /

der said, // // flashes silhouette the

trees against the blind. // // Under canvas // // Night-time noises

// a triangle of back gardens, full of

trees // // along a tree-lined road into the distance. // // The fir

Beds and trees and windows

ams slow-flowing, under the sky. // //

Trees and bushes, shrubs and flowers, mosses, // // ferns and grasses

trees and windows // // A corner of a tree-bordered square // // tre

Beds and trees and windows

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

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

Beds and trees and windows

corner of a tree-bordered square // //

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

Beds and trees and windows

// Autumn fruit is growing fat, // //

trees bending, boughs reaching // // for the ground, creaking // //

/ // Autumn wind is bowling on, // //

trees bending, dark green leaves showing // // their lighter backs, a

lly composed: // // the sky behind the

trees beyond the meadow, // // tall grasses glowing in the morning su

Cape Cod Morning

rbage in city clag // // —a handful of

trees , bulbs // // and other plants. // // On one // // a stately r

South London standoff

a bridge. The trunks // // of fallen

trees , fresh from the winter’s storms // // or long since stripped of

East wind // // Winds bowling through

trees // // fruit-laden boughs bent to earth // // apples in the gra

lear across a great river, where // //

trees , grass and flowers can stretch shore to shore. // // Of bridges

Troubled waters

// a triangle of back gardens, full of

trees . // // In our first house together // // the bedroom was again

Beds and trees and windows

around the edges of a field // // the

trees in the front garden // // a triangle of back gardens, full of t

Beds and trees and windows

// we could see the tops of // // the

trees in the front garden. // // The second was at the back // // of

Beds and trees and windows

ometimes venture. // // Beyond the fir-

trees lies // // a bracken-covered heath. The summer fronds // // r

of light, the glowing // // grass and

trees outside her window, warming // // in the sun? Or maybe nothing

Cape Cod Morning

wide. // // The sun and wind upon the

trees outside… // // I try to listen, but my musing strays. // // Hi

use // // demolished and rebuilt. The

trees remain. // //

ng the foreshore, // // the remains of

trees // // that once grew on the hill above, // // and bits of buil

Covehithe, Suffolk

the distance, // // gnarled broadleaf

trees with twisted limbs // // shed leaves with perfect sculpted edge

million: Pacific Ocean // // Marianas

Trench , Macquarie Ridge, Mendocino Seascarp // // the shape of the wo

ty except our own. // // His senseless

trenches death at twenty three // // reminds us of so much we’ll neve

Sculpting the vortex

mbler, you take part // // in the mass

trespass on Kinderscout. // // Meet a dashing young fellow rambler. /

Ninety-six and counting

ng now. // // How will these transient

trials pass? // // It’s really hard to know. // // We have no crysta

the trees in the front garden // // a

triangle of back gardens, full of trees // // along a tree-lined road

Beds and trees and windows

ut from the table we could see // // a

triangle of back gardens, full of trees. // // In our first house tog

Beds and trees and windows

he back // // of a London terrace in a

triangle of streets. // // From the bed the window was hidden // //

Beds and trees and windows

/ curl around, leaving two small raised

triangles // // of city herbage in city clag // // —a handful of tre

South London standoff

ove will germinate and grow, // // all

tribulations to displace, // // far away and long ago, // // the wor

The world just so

o mark the beach. // // Now I start to

trickle back // // over wet ground, under sky, // // from marsh just

// The tide is out, the creek a gentle

trickle // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // the drying sand wit

e flood’s return // // push against my

trickle home, // // to creep back in when I have gone. // // It’s ti

ts the sea-winds bring // // becomes a

trickle . On the soft, receding // // Hear the marsh-birds calling //

e scents the sea-winds bring // // The

trickle slackens, changes in the harbour; // // Hear the marsh-birds

ve to cut straight to synthesis. // //

Tried // // hard // // to write // // a fib on // // achievement,

Fibonacci series

Ever tried // // // //

tried to accept // // tried to climb // // tried to find // // trie

d // // // // tried to accept // //

tried to climb // // tried to find // // tried to forget // // trie

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

tried to find // // tried to forget // // tried to hear // // tried

ed to climb // // tried to find // //

tried to forget // // tried to hear // // tried to ignore // // tri

d to find // // tried to forget // //

tried to hear // // tried to ignore // // tried to learn // // trie

d to forget // // tried to hear // //

tried to ignore // // tried to learn // // tried to live // // trie

d to hear // // tried to ignore // //

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

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

tried to live // // tried to love // // tried to make // // tried t

ed to learn // // tried to live // //

tried to love // // tried to make // // tried to mend // // tried t

ied to live // // tried to love // //

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

ied to love // // tried to make // //

tried to mend // // tried to reach // // tried to recall // // trie

ied to make // // tried to mend // //

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

ed to mend // // tried to reach // //

tried to recall // // tried to see // // tried to sleep // // tried

to reach // // tried to recall // //

tried to see // // tried to sleep // // tried to speak // // tried

ed to recall // // tried to see // //

tried to sleep // // tried to speak // // tried to think // // trie

ied to see // // tried to sleep // //

tried to speak // // tried to think // // tried to understand // //

d to sleep // // tried to speak // //

tried to think // // tried to understand // // tried to write // //

d to speak // // tried to think // //

tried to understand // // tried to write // // tried to write a poem

understand // // tried to write // //

tried to write a poem // //

think // // tried to understand // //

tried to write // // tried to write a poem // //

tried // // // // tried to accept // // tried to climb // // trie

// // The tide is high, and every wave

tries hard // // to breach the wall. And when it hits just right //

Walking in winter

trifle (with double cream) // // // // Dr Foster went to Gloucester

so ill. // // Seldom now the skylark’s

trill ; // // No longer do the people fill // // The wharfs and ways

The Lady’s Maid

// // need a new project to keep me in

trim — // // now the Gurkhas are happy—some shiny erection to // // b

Troubled waters

t out on a voyage, a full round-Britain

trip . // // I’ll need a ton of words to fill each line from side to s

// Or in payment of taxes? Or was I a

trophy of war? // // I cannot now recall. // // On the lands borderi

Troubled waters // // The good Lady Lumley is pondering glumly. “I /

Troubled waters

Feel something… // // Shit! The wrong

trousers ! // // “Was it there? // // It was in the corresponding poc

Another senior moment

was in the corresponding pocket of the

trousers which he had worn on the day but one preceding.” // // —Jame

Another senior moment

the year // // we listen to Schubert’s

Trout Quintet. // // Listening to Schubert’s Trout Quintet // // the

Quintet. // // Listening to Schubert’s

Trout Quintet // // the slow movement is of course the second. // //

eauty or the maiden’s death, // // the

trout that dart and pause and flicker under // // the bubbling brooks

ringwold or savage ground // // smoked

trout , wevet, bone, calamine // // lichen, brinjal, radicchio, citron

into that good night. // // … and one

true fib // // Here, // // now, // // in this // // extended // /

Fibonacci series

in gloves and war, though the course of

true gloves never did run smooth. No glove lost. // // We have nothi

Vagrant monosyllables

face, // // the world just so. // //

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

The world just so

t it will // // occasionally not breed

true . Now strife: // // the different dittoes must compete for life.

ises-to-go // // inspired by our local

Trump . // // The light is failing now. // // The surgeons trying to

grows too, // // spirals round itself,

trumpet -like. // // Can this go on forever? // // Softness grows sti

train moves on, // // the guard’s van

trundles at the back. // // The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

the Suffolk countryside, each tall bare

trunk // // gnarled and twisted by the wind, supports // // a wild,

ine of ancient oaks // // (one blasted

trunk is hollow through, and can be climbed // // inside) mark out th

/ // by clambering the branches by the

trunk // // or (better) by the real rope-ladder, which // // we can

ht pines reach for the sky, // // dark

trunks against the blue, // // shed long thin needles. // // In the

t // // always provides a bridge. The

trunks // // of fallen trees, fresh from the winter’s storms // // o

three thousand three hundred and sixty:

Truro and Falmouth // // Mevagissey; Mingoose; Mabe Burnthouse // //

the journey is seamless // // and, in

truth , a little dull. // // From Brussels by local train to Ghent: ca

A poem for free

ll-known unknown. // // Oh tell me the

truth about x. // //

The truth about x

about x // // // Relate to me now the

truth about x. // // Is it enormous or small? // // Does it pass thr

The truth about x

he heights? // // Relate to me now the

truth about X. // // Is it going to stay or to go? // // Is it reall

The truth about x

truth about x // // // Relate to me now the truth about x. // // Is

The truth about x

e’d add a note to his remark— // // in

truth , how cheesy is the sometime chalk. // //

For Robert Graves

truth // // // ‘Oh Mirror that hangs on the wall // // who is the f

t she was!) // // I am not cruel, only

truthful — // // The eye of the little god, four cornered. // // Some

All done with mirrors

n // // is possible at all. I have to

try . // //

an and refugee— // // is worth another

try . A son. // // Council house the other side of Sheffield. // //

Ninety-six and counting

o the bottom tray. // // Of course you

try // // many marbles at a time. // // Sometimes they jam // // an

d wind upon the trees outside… // // I

try to listen, but my musing strays. // // His voice is lively, gestu

ght is failing now. // // The surgeons

trying to cut us off // // from continental flow // // seem more lik

elow, a nozzle and tap. // // Above, a

tube , a valve, a smaller tube. // // Subjective // // An invasion of

Capricorn suite

my groin and in my mind’s eye: // // A

tube inside a tube inside a tube // // —only the last lives there. //

Capricorn suite

n my mind’s eye: // // A tube inside a

tube inside a tube // // —only the last lives there. // // An inflat

Capricorn suite

nd of the lollipop and the squeezed out

tube of toothpaste // // that the saxophonist left behind. // // Thi

e: // // A tube inside a tube inside a

tube // // —only the last lives there. // // An inflated bulb to hol

Capricorn suite

/ // Above, a tube, a valve, a smaller

tube . // // Subjective // // An invasion of my privacy. // // An as

Capricorn suite

// // bite it—the seeds on your // //

tuckerbib show that it’s // // protocanonical // // fruit—as you cus

ed by the wind, supports // // a wild,

tufted crown—quite unlike // // the planted forest, serried ranks of

ting lake // // rustling forest // //

tumbling mountain // // running stream // // rambling moor // // ch

a great sea-crag in miniature, // // a

tumbling precipice of rock—or maybe ice // // from a dying glacier. /

must it flee? // // To the sea. // //

Tumbling through rocks with rainbow spray, // // coursing the straits

eks and inlets, // // rocky shorelines

tumbling under the sky. // // Sea-birds, pond-birds, dippers, warbler

ime—fix the day. // // You dance to my

tune , // // I’ll lead.” But come June // // it turns out she has fe

This may be the end

sink // // a hole to build the Channel

Tunnel link. // // A monstrous hole, quite big enough to eat // // t

Peckham 1969—1991

ed, flat wet stones // // set into wet

turf . // // Beside the path, every so often, // // a wet standing st

de Falla and Igor Stravinsky. // // A

turn , a period of change? // // Well, yes. In all the arts // // cu

January Nineteen Hundred and One

/ of waves upon the sand. Eastwards we

turn , // // along the open beach, in rich sea air. // // Look up, lo

Wells in winter

only thing to do about // // it is to

turn back and traverse the table from the bottom to the top // // so

ds bring // // makes another lingering

turn , begins // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // retreating bac

e a secret inside. // // Feel the air.

Turn in the four winds. Broadcast the secret // // to earth, as far a

we have come, // // of when we should

turn . // // Now, on the glowing map, the glowing // // blue dot reve

the digital era // // we will take the

turn on the zero, not the one // // making the twentieth century only

January Nineteen Hundred and One

hes, churches // // and buildings that

turn out not to be churches. // // Wonderful mechanisms in the civic

A poem for free

other, // // switching favours at each

turn . // // (Stay close to the carved bank // // for the deeper chan

and hissing // // at our approach. We

turn tail and flee // // as fast as breath allows us, not to feel saf

pulate and die. // // But for the real

turn , the cataclysm // // which will both inspire and destroy // //

January Nineteen Hundred and One

go the whole hog, the full nine yards:

turn the paper onto its side and write each line // // in something a

nside anything they might be in. // //

Turn the place upside down. // // Bedroom again, more drawers and cup

Another senior moment

uld unfold, // // something hard would

turn to something good // // some dormant thing would wake and sprout

s way from the sun, // // bright spot,

turn white hot and burn. // //

e sun. // // Bright // // spot // //

turn // // white // // hot // // and burn. // // Tanka // // Bend

// one window; but one young man half-

turned // // across the rest, looking with unfocussed eyes // // int

. // // But a new piece of four by two

turned it into // // a perfect workbench—the cuts and holes and scars

the dark of the night // // I would’ve

turned on the light... // // But now no more— // // your gentle snor

head, I see them // // rearing up, up,

turning over // // and hear them crashing down. // // What is this c

// I’ll lead.” But come June // // it

turns out she has feet of clay. // // On the continent // // My cont

This may be the end

is too narrow for a full report // //

Turns out† that the seventh layer consists mostly of ones that do not

teen Hundred and One // // The century

turns . // // Right on cue, Queen Victoria dies. // // (Next time aro

January Nineteen Hundred and One

the sea-winds bring // // the channel,

turns the boats around once more // // Hear the marsh-birds calling /

Natural History museum. // // You take

turns to flick your marble // // across the asphalt. // // If you hi

ross the road // // from the Victorian

turrets // // of the Natural History museum. // // You take turns to

haffinches // // were twittering. The

twain // // with anglo-saxon attitudes // // then to Caerphilly came

the style of that wonderfully eccentric

twentieth -century American poet, // // Mr Ogden Nash, and carry on wi

e and brimstone // // that will be the

twentieth century— // // for this we have to wait // // another thir

January Nineteen Hundred and One

the zero, not the one // // making the

twentieth century only // // ninety-nine years long.) // // Béla Bar

January Nineteen Hundred and One

tpaths; phone boxes; inns // // One to

twenty five thousand: The Broads // // Westwick; Woodbastwick; Winter

regretted, felt cheated by // // that

twenty -minute hiatus. // // But the fire bore us no grudge, // // an

d us back into its glow. // // Another

twenty one years, // // another crematorium. // // This time Judith

e; so what would he have made // // in

twenty -ten, of all the flesh reviewed // // in magazines, on billboar

For Robert Graves

// // His senseless trenches death at

twenty three // // reminds us of so much we’ll never see. // // Life

Sculpting the vortex

// I feel the heat upon my face. // //

Twenty three years later, when my mother died // // we had the proper

he geese are flying out // // on their

twice -a-day migration between feeding grounds // // in lop-sided vees

// Settle. // // Pause. // // Repeat

twice daily. // // (Not by the sun // // —use moontime // // instea

Twice daily // // Start. // // Tiptoe. // // Probe. // // Grow. //

trike match // // flame unfurls // //

twigs catch // // smoke curls // // flame unfurls // // smoke grows

/ strike match // // tiny light // //

twigs catch // // strike match // // flame unfurls // // twigs catc

ossed an edge, // // and two seemed to

twist into one, // // right there, beneath the bridge. // // If we c

pole // // all around the stone // //

twist to separate. // // Orange, lemon, lime: // // equatorially //

each tall bare trunk // // gnarled and

twisted by the wind, supports // // a wild, tufted crown—quite unlike

ce, // // gnarled broadleaf trees with

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

eddar Gorge the chaffinches // // were

twittering . The twain // // with anglo-saxon attitudes // // then t

aking an approximate relation // // by

tying beta up with mu and lambda. // // I can’t see clearly: I’ll ne

ks // // zipping up your jacket // //

tying up your shoelaces // // topping up the tank // // tearing up t

Locking down too

Type right // // The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog // //