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.

T

ay?  Ah, that one.  // // But no.  // //
Table by door?  // // No.  // // Kitchen?  // // No.  No.  No.  // //
// 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
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
// // Desk?  // // No.  // // Bedside
table ?  // // No.  // // Kitchen again?  // // No.  No.  No.  No.  //
e window was hidden // // but from the
table we could see // // a triangle of back gardens, full of trees.  /
shire male, expecting // // tea on the
table when he returns from work // // in a Sheffield steel mill.  //
from the beginning, by the door.  // //
Tables , shelves, cupboards, hooks, drawers.  // // Places I wouldn’t h
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
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
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
to leave the fire for a while // // to
take him to the house.  // // I always regretted, felt cheated by //
/ 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
// 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
ound, in the digital era // // we will
take the turn on the zero, not the one // // making the twentieth cen
/ // 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 //
les of distant countries tell // // or
take you on a voyage through deepest space: // // fall, fall into the
well-cast spell.  // // That book will
take you o’er a stormy fell // // with her who to her lover’s side ma
// time for all the timeless moments,
taken // // out of time.  // // Afternoon in winter, on the ramparts
h a still?  Local // // excise officer
takes to // // dropping by unannounced.  // // Catch them at it – //
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’
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
// // 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.
.  // // Behind us, in the wood, // //
tall straight pines reach for the sky, // // dark trunks against the
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 // //
hite // // hot // // and burn.  // //
Tanka // // Bend the light just so // // above, below, left and righ
and velcro.  // // Below, a nozzle and
tap .  // // Above, a tube, a valve, a smaller tube.  // // Subjective
ows.  // // Subjective/objective // //
Tap left open.  // // Oh bugger!  // // The other side // // // What
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
// a gentler walk, to bare bleak Malham
Tarn .  // // Then back to skirt the edge of Malham Cove, // // with f
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
// // 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 // //
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
// 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
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
come through.  // // I’ll give it some
taxpayer funding, and get old saint // // George of the Chancel to th
// // Yorkshire male, expecting // //
tea on the table when he returns from work // // in a Sheffield steel
eel mill.  // // Daughter moves away to
teach , and then // // to marry me.  Son develops // // schizophrenia
/ // shutting down the computer // //
tearing down the barriers // // cutting down the roses // // floatin
laces // // topping up the tank // //
tearing up the contract // // pulling up the weeds // // picking up
ny front garden and the street // // a
tee -junction, and a line of sight // // along a tree-lined road into
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
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?  /
/ // 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
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
of her gaze: does he not want // // to
tell ?  // // This painting has a private life.  // //
unterpoints behind us: // // time will
tell .  // // Those are not the moments to remember: // // they can be
g nine // // options: if you want the
tempest // // please press one; for love’s labour’s lost // // pres
.  // // 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.
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
lling onwards, to wipe us out in // //
ten or a thousand or maybe a million years, // // it seems to be acti
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.  // //
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?  // /
asco, a drain on our taxes.  The // //
tendering process was not at all fair.  // // The pledges from busines
// On the island in the river, // //
Tending her cabbage patch forever, // // The hermit of Shalott.  // /
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
Ever // //
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 /
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
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
ows that // // adorn most later London
terraced fronts.  // // One of a block of four, it had been once— //
long enough for any line.  // // With a
terse verse form, you see, // // I can get along just fine.  // // Bu
They peer, they scan, they scrape, they
test , they sound; // // they write their notes, interpret what they f
eck time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7
th // // Camera in bag for Mon // // Did I submit tax form??  // //
t—check time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6
th -7th // // Camera in bag for Mon // // Did I submit tax form??  //
y?  // // Dentist appointment—week of 10
th // // Write poem for Weds // //
shore.  // // Of bridges traversing the
Thames here in London, we’ve // // just thirty three—surely room for
/ by the best actors of the age.  // //
Thank you for calling Shakespeareline. // // * pronounced ’four hundr
/ // 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
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.
gainst the wire brush // // of David’s
thick black hair, // // staying in place until at home // // the sma
ockets (useless for cold hands), // //
thick felted wool, a monk-like hood— // // and with (the most importa
plate glue east // // Grow face fa-cai
thick soup.  // // XO sauce explodes to grow the fragile bone.  // //
an’t be a student or fellow— // // the
thief’s much too cunning for that.  // // There’s only one possible an
// An exobladder.  // // Strapped to my
thigh // // with elastic and velcro.  // // Below, a nozzle and tap. 
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
od— // // and with (the most important
thing ) // // those wooden toggles, loops of string.  // // I must con
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 //
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
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 //
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
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.  // //
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
// 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
floor had been laid // // in nineteen
thirty three, the newsprint said.  // // The previous occupant, known
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 // //
// // 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
ound, and all’s fair in gloves and war,
though the course of true gloves never did run smooth.  No glove lost.
/ 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
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
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.  // //
; 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 // //
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
Two
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
bout adding space, time, love?  // // … 
three fibs about fibs…  // // One, // // one, // // two, three, //
bs…  // // One, // // one, // // two,
three , // // five, eight.  But // // “Fibonacci”’s four— // // not
ve’s labour’s lost // // press two; or
three for cymbelline; // // the merry wives of windsor, four; // //
// // But he was dead: // // had died
three hours after his arrival, // // was buried in an unmarked grave.
// 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
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
His senseless trenches death at twenty
three // // reminds us of so much we’ll never see.  // // Life and de
ow many miles to Barnard Castle?  // //
Three score, out/return // // Can I go there, with my eyesight?  // /
Many art galleries in many places. 
Three solid days in the Uffizi in Florence.  Walking in the drizzle th
ere in London, we’ve // // just thirty
three —surely room for one more.  // // Now it happens my old friend is
had been laid // // in nineteen thirty
three , the newsprint said.  // // The previous occupant, known as Mist
a 1958 // // After the floods of fifty-
three // // they raised the ramparts: giant concrete blocks // // o
// 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
l // // mollycoddle for one day // //
throw half away // // more flour, water, mix well // // mollycoddle
l // // mollycoddle for one day // //
throw half away // // more flour, water, mix well // // mollycoddle
l // // mollycoddle for one day // //
throw half away // // more flour, water, mix well // // mollycoddle
d saint // // George of the Chancel to
throw in some too.”  // // So the project proceeds with a little more
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
age // // putting up resistance // //
throwing up earthworks // // zipping up your jacket // // tying up y
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 // //
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.  // //
g Tony D about works in basement // //
Tickets for Once Sat night—check time // // Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7t
ts for Once Sat night—check time // //
Tickets to Glasgow 6th-7th // // Camera in bag for Mon // // Did I s
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 //
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
Tide // // each new beginning // // reiterates a pattern // // as o
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
d and shingle, perhaps // // (when the
tide is high enough) // // as far the cliff.  The wind // // whips t
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
// Nonnet // // 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
e are in the neaps: // // even at high
tide , with the mud cliffs // // above my head, the rest of the marsh
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.  //
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
we should not // // begin unwrapping
till it’s // // light enough to see.  // // Below the bulges, // //
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 .  // //
erlasting moments, // // there will be
time .  // //
s; she is 4 or 5 months pregnant at the
time .  A tiny middle-aged New York woman, sitting on a bench seat, obs
e timeless moments, taken // // out of
time .  // // Afternoon in winter, on the ramparts // // looking seawa
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
r away and long ago, // // once upon a
time and place, // // the world just so, // // a pretty maiden, hear
cue, Queen Victoria dies.  // // (Next
time around, in the digital era // // we will take the turn on the ze
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
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
will be time, there will be time // //
time for all the timeless moments, taken // // out of time.  // // Af
This poem eludes me // // No
time // // for flow // // or rhyme, // // no.  // // Words go // /
mber.  // // Time?  // // No!  // // No
time // // for thesis // // or antithesis.  // // Have to cut straig
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
train is carrying nuclear waste; at the
time // // it is just the timing that disturbs.  The line // // most
upon the crust, you think // // ‘This
time , it will hold my weight.’  // // But every step it drops you down
// // 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, //
— // // not a Fibonacci number.  // //
Time ?  // // No!  // // No time // // for thesis // // or antithesis
// 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
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.  // //
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
w long gone.  // // In just a few days’
time , these two will meet // // and clash — and I’m to be the battle
// // 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 //
ndeed there will be time, there will be
time // // time for all the timeless moments, taken // // out of tim
will // // jump to join in, but needs
time to come through.  // // I’ll give it some taxpayer funding, and g
// // We have the space // // and the
time // // to cross the waters, // // explore the earth, // // and
// building the clumsy barriers just in
time // // to keep the carriers of plague at bay.  // // Yet someone
// slows down time.  // // Now is the
time // // to lie on the earth, // // smell the air, // // feel the
here to stay // // morning glow // //
time to rise // // feeling slow // // rub eyes // // yawn and stret
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
/ // 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
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;
/ // a wolf crouches // // his senses
tingling , too.  // // Around them, the flowers bloom and wither // //
// // 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
Carapace // //
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
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
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
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
/ // 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 // // Together and
together and together, // // Indeed there will be time, there will be
lables // // Together and together and
together , // // Indeed there will be time, there will be time // //
ull of trees.  // // In our first house
together // // the bedroom was again first floor front.  // // Across
st important thing) // // those wooden
toggles , loops of string.  // // I must confess to having owned // //
edge, backwards?  // // Yesterday I was
told : it looks clear.  // // So life should now appear // // as it d
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
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
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
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
t // // tying up your shoelaces // //
topping up the tank // // tearing up the contract // // pulling up t
/ 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
u down // // into soft snow, up to the
tops // // of your gumboots.  The mile or two // // to the village s
g on by my fingernails // // while the
tornado raged around me?  // // Or was it just a hedge, backwards?  //
/ // Did I leap a chasm, ford a raging
torrent , // // get rolled over by an avalanche, // // fall through a
// // Oceans, rivers, narrow channels,
torrents , // // tarns, and streams slow-flowing, under the sky.  // /
ythmic staccato juddering // // with a
touch of syncopation.  // //
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
ss a mountain range?  // // Did I march
towards my fate, // // or did I merely hang on by my fingernails //
s // // out into sunlight, over grass,
towards // // some distant point outside the picture frame.  // // Wh
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
s, lighter now, // // are droning back
towards their bases, // // and fighters too.  The siren call // // i
emish weavers, pointing the rest // //
towards their major source of trade:  // // England.  // // Back the w
.  // // The mile south to the Martello
tower , // // we walk along the banked-up track // // behind the wall
once a lady’s maid // // In gracious,
towered Camelot.  // // Then, as winds of fortune blow, // // It was
edy hedgerows, by // // The once-proud
towers of Camelot.  // // Few people walk the brambled way // // And
afternoon // // we walk to the edge of
town and on // // the mile across the river meadows // // to Grantch
t world war) // // in Sheffield, steel
town .  // // Mother once ran a fish-and-chip shop.  // // A young ramb
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
toys // //
// // From Ilkley’s old stone bridge I
trace a path // // against the stream, back up the river Wharfe, //
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
wer, // // we walk along the banked-up
track // // behind the wall, level with the top, // // running the g
// a low embankment carries the railway
track .  // // (Down the slope to the end of the street and right, //
rn.  // // The five-bar gate, the muddy
track on the tarmac road.  // // The walled paddock and the orchard, /
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
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
the local rumour states // // that the
train is carrying nuclear waste; at the time // // it is just the tim
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
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
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
wound.  // // The goat // // // I am
transfixed as a horned goat // // charges towards me // // from beyo
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
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 /
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
ur, fools rush in, where angels wear to
tread .  I’ll wear not what men say.  // //
dwits, curlews search // // for hidden
treasure , long beaks buried full // // to probe deep down beneath the
kle memory— // // elusive and illusive
treasure , she.  // //
isited other places, I have found other
treasures , and regret not having had the chance to show some of them t
like lambs.  It is a memory that Judith
treasures for the rest of her life. // //
d, for now, the wilder moor.  // // The
treasures to be found along my path // // are elemental: water, sky a
A short
treatise on string theory // // The beginning is the end and // // t
age too against // // the cessation of
treatment — // // but that is a symptom, not a cause.  // // A // //
ed I looked out on // // a corner of a
tree -bordered square.  // // The second had one window, rather high— /
trees and windows // // A corner of a
tree -bordered square // // trees around the edges of a field // // t
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.  // //
k gardens, full of trees // // along a
tree -lined road into the distance.  // // The first bedroom I had to m
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
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
ams slow-flowing, under the sky.  // //
Trees and bushes, shrubs and flowers, mosses, // // ferns and grasses
Beds and
trees and windows // // A corner of a tree-bordered square // // tre
/ of an acacia, a fence and many // //
trees around the edges of a field.  // // Our first double bedsitter /
corner of a tree-bordered square // //
trees around the edges of a field // // the trees in the front garden
// 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
rbage in city clag // // —a handful of
trees , bulbs // // and other plants.  // // On one // // a stately r
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
// a triangle of back gardens, full of
trees .  // // In our first house together // // the bedroom was again
around the edges of a field // // the
trees in the front garden // // a triangle of back gardens, full of t
// we could see the tops of // // the
trees in the front garden.  // // The second was at the back // // of
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
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
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
mbler, you take part // // in the mass
trespass on Kinderscout.  // // Meet a dashing young fellow rambler.  /
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
ut from the table we could see // // a
triangle of back gardens, full of trees.  // // In our first house tog
he back // // of a London terrace in a
triangle of streets.  // // From the bed the window was hidden // //
/ curl around, leaving two small raised
triangles // // of city herbage in city clag // // —a handful of tre
ove will germinate and grow, // // all
tribulations to displace, // // far away and long ago, // // the wor
// The tide is out, the creek a gentle
trickle // // Hear the marsh-birds calling // // the drying sand wit
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,
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 // //
Ever
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 //
A
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
// // need a new project to keep me in
trim — // // now the Gurkhas are happy—some shiny erection to // // b
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 /
Feel something…  // // Shit!  The wrong
trousers !  // // “Was it there?  // // It was in the corresponding poc
was in the corresponding pocket of the
trousers which he had worn on the day but one preceding.”  // // —Jame
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 // /
in gloves and war, though the course of
true gloves never did run smooth.  No glove lost.  // // We have nothi
face, // // the world just so.  // //
True love will germinate and grow, // // all tribulations to displace
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
e’d add a note to his remark— // // in
truth , how cheesy is the sometime chalk.  // //
Post
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
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.  // //
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
my groin and in my mind’s eye:  // // A
tube inside a tube inside a tube // // —only the last lives there.  //
n my mind’s eye:  // // A tube inside a
tube inside a tube // // —only the last lives there.  // // An inflat
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
/ // Above, a tube, a valve, a smaller
tube .  // // Subjective // // An invasion of my privacy.  // // An as
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
sink // // a hole to build the Channel
Tunnel link.  // // A monstrous hole, quite big enough to eat // // t
de Falla and Igor Stravinsky.  // // A
turn , a period of change?  // // Well, yes.  In all the arts // // cu
/ of waves upon the sand.  Eastwards we
turn , // // along the open beach, in rich sea air.  // // Look up, lo
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
the digital era // // we will take the
turn on the zero, not the one // // making the twentieth century only
hes, churches // // and buildings that
turn out not to be churches.  // // Wonderful mechanisms in the civic
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 // //
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
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
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
the sea-winds bring // // the channel,
turns the boats around once more // // Hear the marsh-birds calling /
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
the zero, not the one // // making the
twentieth century only // // ninety-nine years long.) // // Béla Bar
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
// // His senseless trenches death at
twenty three // // reminds us of so much we’ll never see.  // // Life
// 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
Type right // // The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog // //