Index of first lines

• A corner of a tree-bordered square
• A crescent moon
• A quarter of a mile or more
• After that single fact of life, a death
• After the climb
• Almost accidental, but carefully composed
• Alone in the dark of the night
• Alpha, beta, gamma, delta
• An ordinary suburban junction
• Another day
• As I drift on mirror water, following the bend
• As you stare down the line till you squint
• At one end of the bench in the garage sits
• Autumn
• Autumn wind is bowling on
• Bend the light
• Board anywhere
• … but if the chicken
• Cambridge–Camden 59 miles
• Change in my pocket
• City sounds float up from down below
• Cold and clear.  The tide runs out, the creek
• Consult me in the morning if you will
• Cut a kiwi
• dark forest
• Dark night
• down, not up—as in
• Dr Foster went to Gloucester
• each new beginning
• Earth
• Earth, air
• Epic
• Far away and long ago
• Farringdon Without (north side)
• Fast asleep
• Fin de siècle
• First I carefully let go
• Five days after Charlie Hebdo, I learn
• flour, water, mix well
• For Robert Graves, the naked and the nude
• From Ilkley’s old stone bridge I trace a path
• From random junctures in primeval winds
• Hanging garden.  Send a letter
• Here’s a first-rate opportunity
• High overhead, the geese are flying out
• High up above, at the edges of the air
• Hills?  Well, dunes
• —Hold on!  It’s going to be a rough ride
• Holiday cottage, the edge of the Lake District
• Homer, there’s something here that puzzles me
• How and where does it all begin?
• How little I really know of your life!
• How many miles to Barnard Castle?
• I can see, on his roamings, Don Pedro
• I could not see what he saw; but I saw him see
• I think
• In any season, some young man will wander
• In far-off times, my best-beloved
• In her very own month of May
• In Norfolk the sign reads slow you down
• In some far-off place we know but little
• In stasis, what’s to do?
• In the beginning was the third
• In the summer of fifty-six
• Jacob’s Rock Drill pierces through the brain
• Jump willing into every word-filled well
• Later, age maybe eight or ten
• Later, my mother will describe the house itself
• london clay, blackened, arsenic
• Looking backwards, I can see
• Lose pay cap
• Lying on my back in the middle
• Margaret Thatcher
• Maybe, for some, the resolution lies
• Milk
• More!  I want some more!
• Morning is always the morning
• My sign is Aries.  Though it seems a poor
• My sixtieth birthday is nearing
• nanigan brannigan
• No, the singularity is quite absurd
• No time
• North.  Go west
• Not distance but weight—that’s how they decide
• November: nights are drawing in
• Of course we’d like to understand
• Of eighteen sixty vintage, the house is flat
• ‘Oh Mirror that hangs on the wall
• On rishi’s watch, this is the sitch
• One day
• One Friday morning when we set sail
• One of our cushions is missing
• One to forty-five million:  Pacific Ocean
• Pessaries burn you
• Please choose from the following nine
• Pocket
• Pribble and prabble: as
• Raisins are all very well in their place
• Relate to me now the truth about x
• Run all the sails up the mast
• See the crescent moon
• Seven syllables would be
• Shapeless, navy blue or fawn
• shave again
• Sir Gawain he’ll quote in a trice
• Something out there, shining, under the sky?
• South wind today.  So the breakers
• Start
• Stupidity, I think the gods themselves
• —Tell me
• Tennison’s stream, we know, goes on for ever, his
• That reality in which I live
• That scratching?  A poltergeist behind the skirting?
• The beginning is the end and
• The Bendix washing machine was already elderly
• The century turns
• The day after tomorrow
• The depths of south London, 1969
• The dream I dreamt, the dream I dreamt
• The garlic slices the beef granule
• The good Lady Lumley is pondering glumly.  “I
• The latest growths are long and barbed
• the Lucy Lavers
• The night mail rattles north to the border
• The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
• The railway line passes near
• The rule: we should not
• The sea is never still.  Even in my sleep
• The tide is out, the creek a gentle trickle
• The winding trails
• There is a forty-one year tale to tell
• There was a war
• There was an old Fellow of Girton
• There was an old fellow who swallowed his hat
• There was an old man called Michael Finnegan
• They used to say “hold the front page”
• This train terminates here
• This year it snows on Boxing Day
• Tiny hardness on tiny softness
• Together and together and together
• tried to accept
• Under a gray and lowering sky
• under changing skies
• Under the door the glow is peeking
• Voices far across the valley sound
• Wake
• We take the path beside the wood—the fir
• What do they know, the rain and the air?
• With those first six notes it finds its voice
• Yellow neon light
• Yes, there will be more
• You all know the story that once