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

A

tly that the second derivative of xx is

aa and the second derivative of yy is -gg. // // Those who did manage

ree tetrameter and one trimeter, rhymed

ABAB . How prosaic! My judicious removal of selected line breaks was

concrete, // // Rejected love letters

abandoned . // // I want you to feel the same, but— // // I’ll call y

Fall for————

e. // // I thought I’d fledged, // //

abandoned the embarrassment of home, // // but now I’m back // // to

A Room of Her Own

he wet grass; he and she, // // Having

abandoned their shoes some time ago, // // Print a wide arc, then slo

full spate. // // Now my headlong dash

abates —where I once was, the waders team, rich foraging is // // in t

k up the river Wharfe, // // to Bolton

Abbey , and the Strid beyond, // // and Barden Bridge—and now I flick

Daydream Dale Journey

// Not the blind fury // // With the

abhorred shears // // But this is what I fear; // // The stealthy sc

The Cutting Edge

unsullied by my insides, // // By the

abjected charging cables, // // And my missing teeth, // // And the

Frighteningly Inert

ing further in, she finds a tree // //

ablaze with fragrant lemon-yellow suns, // // and, picking four of th

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

gician’s hat the rainbow bunny of being

able to remember the names of the metrical forms, // // So easy to le

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // Per second, and I’ll finally be

able to stand again, // // And stop falling to my knees. // // It do

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

rly attempted, with many candidates not

able to understand fully the situation being studied. A large proporti

gondolier, dipping his hands // // For

ablutions , kneels on the slender deck, makes oblations // // Of shorn

em to shatter. // // I’m sure it’s not

abnormal . Otherwise OK Cupid would think twice // // About having one

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// // Watching others, irregularities

abound , and you realise how very different we are, // // And the lone

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ent towards contemplation // // Of its

abounding moment // // And that the creature, transfixed by its time-

[At the coinciding point of the years]

// They jostle and press ’til, // //

abrading the bolt-rust, // // they burst through their binding // //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

again the next day. // // A clockwork

Abraham , ready every morning with his flint // // At six o’clock. Sha

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

estone humming and spectral, // // The

absence , eerie, of mountains, of people. // // Just you, steady tread

trip early. // // “Sorry” // // Your

absence , far more valuable // // Than your self, leaves me reversing

The Notes You Have Left

there’s no such thing as cold, just an

absence of warmth? // // That can’t be right. // // Let me check the

Three Pieces of Advice

er day // // to feel your ever-present

absence , still // // to find a way. // // I hear you say, // // “Bu

Who am I, Bernard? // // Welcome to

absence , these open // // Arms stretched as sundown. // // Echo call

Who am I, Bernard?

er // // While we’re all fixing // //

Absences with cream, whiskey, // // Guinness, the whole room // // A

Wild Mountain Thyme

a place to be // // and a place to be

absent from, // // at once somewhere that is home // // and somewher

[The sash rattles up]

h the mail // // and was an inveterate

absentee , // // he never could care for the sender or sent, // // so

The Dead Letter Office closes down

y sleeves and the drowning page. // //

Absentmindedly I missed the jar of water, swirling brushes in my coffe

[I often think of that January morning]

of your stomach // // Is the fear, the

absolute dread of what may be. // // Words run slipshod, all across t

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

aïre // // Further in, the darkness is

absolute . // // Fronds and furtive things unfurl while forest // //

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

coffee that leaves rings // // slowly

absorbed by paper // // as I am threatened to be absorbed // // by t

why i’m getting into Christmas

y paper // // as I am threatened to be

absorbed // // by the temerity of this Alaskan scene. // // It may b

why i’m getting into Christmas

aiting for its clay; // // Because the

abstractions of experience // // Make the metaphor of photography lit

How and Why I Should Have Looked You in the Eyes:

upreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be

Abstract ’ // // 1. // // Don’t think. Look. Just look, look around!

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

day of the year // // but no Murder of

absurd black penguins // // congregate this afternoon as my leg // /

why i’m getting into Christmas

ectacled in laptop moth-light. Rendered

absurd — // // warmed by un-canned laughter and crackling fire-breath

r youth // // To be fed to that Cretan

abuser . // // I’m a man at his best where there’s fighting // // (Ha

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

think. // // I know not if this is an

abyss , // // A joke, // // Or the place I used to know. // // All I

Abyss . A nanosecond’s blazing light, // // The herald to a straining

s a broken bridge—now we’re both in the

abyss . // // In the darkness I keep rewriting ‘is this the poem?’ //

// // too carelessly into the hopeful

abyss // // please come and claim it—take it back— // // you wasted

The Dead Letter Office closes down

us shadow cast by earthly forms of that

abyssal goddess. // // ’Tis pity he’s a bore. // // How he strides,

’Tis pity he’s a bore

Acapulco // // The girl poised and primed, // // ground crumbling be

inside. // // I feel carved out when I

accept . // // He maps out his face and hair // // In creams and gels

hing common in the earth or air, // //

Accept it all and let it be for good. // // Start with the very breat

yet unsigned. // // Will my new friend

accept that I mix with you lot // // Just as much for detection and w

Wednesday Evening

ay up. // // ‘War is not nice’, but we

accept the battles // // In return for our shiny new lives, however l

// Whose sibling stood guard (to keep

access barred) // // In a stench that should make her a sick sis. //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ive. // // The man does not experience

accidence . // // His poetry is perfect. // // I sit here, and regard

art 2b (i-ixx) // // I fell into it by

accident . // // A barrier was missing contrary // // to the mountain

This Boy’s in Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx)

// that he had dropped on the floor (by

accident ) // // simply because it was so expensive. // // The man do

Cape Cod Morning // // Almost

accidental , but carefully composed: // // the sky behind the trees be

Cape Cod Morning

on random patterns form—until // // an

accidental spiral sequence finds // // that it can make itself again,

s not sorely missed from the critically

acclaimed world of the immortal rhymists // // It would take a poet w

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

g // // to … // // [exit stage right

accompanied by the ineffectual whirring of defunct machinery] // //

the windmill’s lament—a short play

suspending patterned navy seats. // //

Accompanying us: families, workers, couples, // // Phone-paralysed an

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

y instinct, taking // // left or right

according to our whim, or how the light // // was caught. After time

the Rise // // The plaintive notes of

accordion -song on the waters, // // The voices straining from the win

rple sage to lie. // // A Cheshire cat

accosted them, // // then walked his wild way // // alone. In Swale

not really know how to create poetry or

account for its spontaneous creation. Look, really look—we are nothing

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

f a blinded time // // Cutting through

accretions of the past // // Dully and daily deleting, whatever is no

The Cutting Edge

ve o nine, // // Swiss time; // // An

accurate // // Fate. // // Shift essential, // // Tangential // /

Small Particles in the Small Hours

. Such a loser // // To marry Medea. I

accused her // // Of suppressing the truth—so condemning our youth //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

// I’ll-settle-for-a-jack-in-lieu-of-an-

ace ; // // You’re dumber than most, and that’s a hell of a lot // //

e a song of our first // // spring; an

ache and burn. // // How sweet and clean was that return. // // How

// // To perfect brew’d. My bones grow

Ache and Lack; // // But drown’d out is their path—it floats adrift.

[What have we done]

ing from a clifftop grave // // Curved

ache of a clear horizon // // Could I foretell the future // // The

he wake of light on water // // Curved

ache of a clear horizon // // You hold your hand in mine // // The w

Like chestnuts in an oven. // // Bums

ache on floors, // // Perch on arms of chairs, // // Settle into lap

Wild Mountain Thyme

s return to comfort the shore. The pain

ached in waves. // // I painted my feelings in layer upon layer of bl

[I often think of that January morning]

// // Carrying your burning wails into

Acheron // // Your river of woe and death. // // Never to taste, nev

he ground, // // And look up at what I

achieved . // // Disappointment, often, when // // Faced with the end

Falling Is Like This

by night and day—for me. // // Now my

achievement’s lauded as the best: // // To get inky fingers in a Camb

r for elsewhere. // // Athlete’s foot,

Achilles ’ heel, mouth ulcer, // // one for the stomach, two for the m

where just past my horizon. // // Body

aching , waiting, for my chalk outline. The last mark I’ll make, // //

Snapshot Endings

lgar arrival. // // Those old eyes are

achingly familiar. // // —‘Please change here, for…’— // //

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

, // // As if my veins weren’t pumping

acid yet, // // I carry on, as though I’m craving more. // // My sho

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

am sure we all can attest he would have

acknowledged mastery with silence // // For had cheesy words ravaged

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

of selected line breaks was universally

acknowledged to be the making of this poem. — AG // //

ole, unshaven merchants, and // // the

acne -crusted vicar’s son— // // the old podiatrist next door, // //

[the typist puts her knickers on]

and fall in ash and cinders, // // In

acrid conversation with the dead, // // whose ghosts go round in circ

r real- and rightness) makes // // the

act of meaning something no great shakes. // // So, plummeting down C

/ // // // // // // // As if the

act of moving weren’t a chore, // // As if my veins weren’t pumping a

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

ing // // in between. // // For every

action there is an equal and opposite reaction. // // In between //

h with several options describing those

actions that might be permitted and/or recommended if barriers are not

This Boy’s in Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx)

f-jokingly on holiday in Singapore, but

actually just very sound advice. // // Nothing to argue with here. //

Three Pieces of Advice

/ the left one, I think. // // I don’t

actually remember that well. // // and the girl says: why did you pec

And so they thought of what two-day-old

Adam must have done: // // Alone in brand new Paradise with infinite-

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

ake riverrun, past Eve’s and

Adam’s // // sins of the sons are visited upon the fathers

hose systems down: // // It’s open and

adaptive and it’s free: // // The dodo royals are dragged about the t

In Defence of Evolution

// first, secure firmly to large rock,

add eagle and serve hot liver with vengeance // // second, store in c

Voices, ipods, phones speak out— // //

add to the road’s cacophony. // //

Voices, ipods, phones speak out— // //

add to the road’s cacophony. // // Through air and ether people mutte

that only I saw // // Fit you ill, and

added to your breaking; // // True predators fear this world’s raw //

lost the receipt on which I wrote your

address and, as such, will be leaving this letter here, on this

ching eyes and violent kisses // // To

adjust myself, realise // // That Life’s not all drinks deals and dru

head from pallor, save // // you from

admiring recognition as your // // skin faded, white. That was not yo

Sestina to an English Teacher

scream them until I’m hoarse, // // to

admit my narcissism behind the twinkling guitar riff // // and yell m

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

instead of typing // // and deleting,

admit my ugly want as the drummer // // sweats because it’s supposed

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

pretend you are // // still there when

adolescence was the end // // what do we become? And now someone new

oody ingrown nails and an incorrection.

Adonai , Adonis, open my sword lips, then my mouth will praise you. the

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

rown nails and an incorrection. Adonai,

Adonis , open my sword lips, then my mouth will praise you. the wild do

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

he rubrik of Boris the Mad. // // He’d

adore such a grand and flamboyant adventure—to // // jump on the band

Troubled waters

se my eyes I still see // // A harbour

adorned with lights // // On the festival of Ferragosto // // If I c

trips and is under way // // A harbour

adorned with lights // // Shoeless feet and unsteady ground // // If

is scratched into my face. // // He is

adrift in the sea. // // I am glad of the sheltering waves // // Unt

attention. // // Again, again. // //

Adrift on spewing, insipid, lusting waters, // // Aren’t I porous and

Frighteningly Inert

Frighteningly Inert // //

Adrift on waters // // Stagnant, charged, ion wet, // // The pumice

Frighteningly Inert

But drown’d out is their path—it floats

adrift . // // They crumble in atop themselves, debris // // From som

[What have we done]

icit // // engagement from responsible

adult figures. // // and the girl’s like: oh, shit // //

he fish, the dinosaurs, the apes // //

advance across the generations. Each // // sentient being touches and

e // // (The survivor of technological

advance , // // Its virtual descendants grace // // The screen on my

He’d adore such a grand and flamboyant

adventure —to // // jump on the bandwagon he’ll be glad.” // // The B

Troubled waters

Brideshead Revisited: // // Nostalgic

adventures // // Of Ryder and Flyte // // Awestruck Oxonians, // //

sixteen forty-five // // Fends between

adversaries . Old tongues, // // Grown grave, recite the Prayer Book a

Sixteen Forty-Five

rhymes were fortune’s perk— // // They

advertised who wasn’t made for work. // // Now, blank verse seems to

In Defence of Evolution

ing contrary // // to the mountains of

advice // // contained in The You Only Live Once Manual. // // My li

This Boy’s in Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx)

Three Pieces of

Advice // // 1. Heat always travels from hot to cold. // // 2. Never

Three Pieces of Advice

Singapore, but actually just very sound

advice . // // Nothing to argue with here. // // 3, told over the pho

Three Pieces of Advice

eem unperturbed // // your red coat an

aegis to lift // // cigarettes to your many mouths that // // breath

why i’m getting into Christmas

air. // // He tells us he is having an

affair . // // Like I’d know // // I think— // // He is no loathsome

or, // // The shredded evidence of our

affair // // Our old, embarassing affair with God. // // And God him

The Cutting Edge

our affair // // Our old, embarassing

affair with God. // // And God himself will follow soon enough; // /

The Cutting Edge

ursue his creation with // // care and

affecting mathematic precision to // // better her dear husband’s sti

Jonathan’s Deathbed

// // Smile’s phantom echoing inchoate

affections , // // A tongue, dark and delicate, from a peak dangling,

they patternize to someone else’s eyes,

affirm a thing, touch a cord // // ‘umbrellas meeting sewing machines

// Horrified by the naïveté of younger

affirmations : // // I am in control of my desires // // I am unsulli

Frighteningly Inert

ks // // And settles each morn, // //

Affirmed by sun, love, and drinks // // Tell me, is there anything wo

I could never be (ready)

mouth, the gold on her head, // // To

afford the crowns of Cain, the trademarks of Hester, // // Until she

ke’s tongue. // // But her stylish-yet-

affordable boots // // Do sometimes quake. // // Her high school sit

creek // // bearing loose things left

afloat . // // Behind each moored boat runs a wake: time to gush full

mall fish, big pond. // // But staying

afloat ? // // I move a little, and the ripples run. // // Spill? //

Whales sing because they have a song

ng chest, // // the shivering sceptic,

afraid , at last, of ghosts? // //

the moment // // of departure, are you

afraid do you // // understand Karagiozis the lantern // // behind a

// We can’t touch or even speak, // //

afraid of the reflections; // // and when the moment’s gone, we’re lo

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

ipi, pass // // The red to Gordon. I’m

afraid the view just now // // Is rather badly marred by smoke but, a

d dog-wise against the rumour // // Of

Africa . // // The sky stretched, // // A dirigible anchored to demot

w!)— // // because he couldn’t see the

afterlife of that Word. // // Speckled by starlight: You smoke-sigh a

d black penguins // // congregate this

afternoon as my leg // // slumbers in the warmth of the radiator //

why i’m getting into Christmas

d, I wish // // We could waste another

afternoon // // away. // //

en of course it snows again. // // One

afternoon for one brief hour // // the air is warm enough to melt //

Walking in winter

ory or another dream // // That golden

afternoon in which we walk // // Together through the meadow? Touch a

Is it a memory?

ge, circa 1966 // // One cold winter’s

afternoon // // we walk to the edge of town and on // // the mile ac

Walking in winter

clustered into the clothes, some // //

afternoons when the sun // // presses through the dusty window // //

In a charity shop

// // in servile severance. // // One

afterthought // // of comfort might assuage the sharper pain – // //

// a Beethoven string quartet. // //

Afterwards Colin and I go down to the basement // // —the real cremat

edged to be the making of this poem. —

ross the page: // // Love, Time, Ever,

Age . // //

began // // // // or I // // Iron

Age bred, // // now stuck, // // cinder at last ebb // // ignites a

Hercules et Oracle

undulating ring-lines breathing // //

age into you // // and sighing into the ground; // // But now // //

// I need the poets now, who match my

age , // // Like Coleridge I could become a sage, // // And I bet I’d

the concentric rings that signify your

age — // // Meanwhile, the wind whistles in the chimney. // //

to know. // // All I know is that the

age of legends is reduced to droplets of pity wept by the few that can

n micro, soft, paint— // // Art in the

age of mechanical reproduction. (Fleshly reproduction is draining.) //

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

/ // The bearded wonders from a bygone

age // // Of yellow Victorian tobacco-stains upon the creamy-white //

Bearded Thoughts

voice brought old words to life, // //

age only antique, frailty perceivable only // // by sight. For you th

Sestina to an English Teacher

the hollow forest, who binds // // The

aged with their heart’s desire, the rose // // With senseless fear: y

Sixteen Forty-Five

kill the dead. // // They are stuck in

agelessness ; // // She has to clamber out. // // Change // // Is wh

ick as one // // intent on small house

agents ’ clerks // // and busted city slickers on // // the dole, uns

[the typist puts her knickers on]

Ageor A Study of Reading Habits // // At first I used to wish that I

es were // // myself: // // different

ages , different // // moods, different company, // // but me nonethe

[The sash rattles up]

cs are defaced with algae and refuse of

ages , // // Sounding over black waves of the sunset hour. // // Soft

at might have saved you all those years

ago . // // Conserved and published, now at last you know // // We ho

, // // Of poems half-remembered, long

ago destinies rolled up and placed in possibility // // For time upon

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

. // // I should have gone a long time

ago , // // Feet, turning, past sloppy kisses // // And out the door.

s lying next to us // // Only a second

ago , // // Finding only shorter grass, // // A coloured strip made /

I think about the time we met, how long

ago // // It was, before we ever knew the flow // // And ebb of love

[My face is old now]

Having abandoned their shoes some time

ago , // // Print a wide arc, then slope down towards // // A still c

tside. // // (But that was forty years

ago // // —these days his hair is white all through.) // // ‘Every m

Walking in winter

tian, // // Nailed to pine in ecstatic

agony . // // ’Tis pity. // // Some ancestral memory is unseated //

’Tis pity he’s a bore

or empathise. // // For the writer may

agree , but he lies, // // He put no thought into that verb, // // Bu

vern // // so unknown but home. // //

Ah but before little hands can tear at tissue // // Stille Nacht must

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

ny erection to // // burnish my halo.

Ah , I have a whim // // to build a fine bridge clear across a great r

Troubled waters

ves pounding // // they charge… // //

Ah ! Nihilist nil, // // nil desperandum. // // Bannockburn dreaming

Nil Charge / Nil Return

snack—not my feast on my plate. // //

Ah ! this one looks chipper—it’s bigger and fitter // // And should ke

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ronterrorbinladenbombingssuicide // //

Ah , to dream perchance to sleep … Brrng! Brnng! // // No time f

// // serve cold and forgotten // //

Ah what do they know? // // “The Romans were honest // // they thoug

n’t taste it anymore. // // Let’s see,

ah yes, here we are: // // three recipes for Prometheus (a lá Kafka)

ssed under mask // // with steel miles

ahead in wait // // and then a new city. // // Now you are relegated

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

waits, pontificates. Time and flux goes

ahead of him, leaving him in the dust. He revels joylessly and mechani

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

hes and the sea. The sun // // is low

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

Wells in winter

aid // // ‘take care, ail road’ // //

ahead , on the rail road // // a deer had stopped // // ‘it’s gonna d

// // Oozing towards the battlegrounds

ahead . // // The clash where flesh meets wire and no-one wins // //

The Other Side of the Line

// // What will you trade for an eye?

AI might be cis, white, male, hetero, // // but at least it won’t tal

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

with a hand or description - no visual

aid , // // No images allowed, the written word is paramount, the univ

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // but he wasn’t quiet // // ‘it’s

ail road rail road!’ // // he kept on talking // // and couldn’t be

oticed the sign said // // ‘take care,

ail road’ // // ahead, on the rail road // // a deer had stopped //

and we’re losing the key. // // If you

aimed a card, or a note, or a cry // // too carelessly into the hopef

The Dead Letter Office closes down

. Gaza, 2009 // // The tank commander,

aiming well, // // Took out the vacant ground floor flat, // // So t

still flickering on the tree, // // I

ain’t sleepy either. // // The angel then sings out, “Amen, // // Ca

A Hymn to a Loved One

re, // // leaving us the water and the

air . // //

l my shame hangs, heavy, in the frosted

air . // // A mile away, the ideal me, // // A little less wary, a li

// Call nothing common in the earth or

air , // // Accept it all and let it be for good. // // Start with th

dream drops my hand through // // the

air , and back to the little room where October seeps through // // th

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

re frantic - no record seems to fit the

air , // // And down, way down in the pit of your stomach // // Is th

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

to the road’s cacophony. // // Through

air and ether people mutter, shout, // // voices, ipods, phones speak

reath // // And left it in the shining

air // // And left his stiffened body there // // The boy without a

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ll, all are floating // // through the

air and out // // of reach. I want the rest. // // I want to hold th

Stone, Paper, Scissors

slow // // black treacle of the night

air // // and see the simplicity // // moonlight // // brings to an

[The sash rattles up]

// High up above, at the edges of the

air // // and the beginning of space // // the sky is dark, but the

t, and breathe some more the cool clear

air . // // Beyond the scree the open path leads on, // // a gentler

Daydream Dale Journey

// The others too I love—Earth, Water,

Air —but Fire // // is something else again. // // A memory // // (n

valley sound // // through still, warm

air , // // clear to my vantage point on higher ground. // // Voices

// Three X-rays and a CAT scan for an

air - // // Conditioned corpse. A quality of care // // That might h

weeds.] // // Make sure to come up for

air . // // Course. // // Good one. // // I use humour—I’m used to h

Whales sing because they have a song

/ to lie on the earth, // // smell the

air , // // feel the warmth of the fire, // // listen to the lapping

ems to concentrate // // From light to

air , from pigment into paint // // In increments of incarnation down

The Magic Apple Tree

ou up. // // My hands snip snip in the

air . // // Ha ha ha. // // Great things I can destroy, // // Look,

[So snow falls outside]

wasn’t it? // // Like a breath of old

air . Hear from you soon? // // Course. // // [I missed you] // //

Whales sing because they have a song

it stinks. I’d give gold for some fresh

air . // // I can see that I’m one of the wonders, // // Can’t fault

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

e glass // // snatch its sound out the

air . // // in little hessikaner we fell in (or down), // // little h

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

afternoon for one brief hour // // the

air is warm enough to melt // // the topmost layer. The frost return

Walking in winter

slatable pain. // // What taste on the

air // // Led you here? See her red hair // // Last night, gaping sm

Here be dragons

/ // along the open beach, in rich sea

air . // // Look up, look up, my love—the sky is calling. // // Dark

Wells in winter

ing itself across my vision, and in the

air my grey // // scarf waving like a distress signal—fossilised. The

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ater, sky and earth // // and rock and

air ; no fire and no gold, // // no gems nor coins nor jewels; just th

Daydream Dale Journey

your public with an even- // // handed

air of gravitas. Our thanks, and come again’. // // The Envoy. Gaza,

valley sound // // through still, warm

air . // // On the top deck of a 68 // // Voices, ipods, phones speak

// // the spray rises a mile into the

air // // (or so it seems to me), to crash back down— // // you must

Walking in winter

nd signal fires // // blazing into the

air . // // Our space is the earth, // // time lives in fire, // //

The sweltering smell of morbid recycled

air . // // Our viewing of the cinema landscape in that filthy glass /

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

good things go to die. Light // // and

air , pools and palaces, sanity // // of men and kings—all rot away, w

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

// // The ghoulish form’s tear in the

air re-sewn // // So through it dancing branches from roots grown //

[What have we done]

ed in inky water, // // the cool night

air // // slows down time. // // Now is the time // // to lie on th

mops our toes // // // // the cold

air stings my lips // // … // // i have a strong urge to tell you ho

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

the smell in order to // // inhale the

air that you’ve // // just dropped. // // This is where I hide below

ime, // // Were kindred panters of the

air ; // // The dead lived on in my genes and my hair // // And the t

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

m to fall from Eden’s light, // // The

air they shine through breathes a change in them, // // Breaking thei

The Magic Apple Tree

ming sunlight. Soak up the rays and the

air . // // Transform the coloured flower into coloured flesh // // a

ore. // // How he strides, // // Warm

air turbulent // // expanding billowing fabrics, // // Exquisite tim

’Tis pity he’s a bore

d hide a secret inside. // // Feel the

air . Turn in the four winds. Broadcast the secret // // to earth, as

dawn. // // It completes a turn in the

air // // with slow brute grace, // // then passes, // // catseyes

nted and timed. // // Philosophies are

aired , // // temple columns spaced, // // lightning rods earthed. //

s the waters // // blow the evanescent

airs // // moistening the many-coloured earths. // // In forests and

/ // Blowed and bumbling along, // //

Airwards words off the tongue. // // The sky was blue. // // That sh

[The sun flattened]

wn shades, // // Liquid time daubed on

air’s pale vellum, // // Us in the warm, in the yellow, // // The ou

ne came. Time passed. She left the door

ajar — // // She thought she’d heard the breath of the unknown— // //

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

ome alphabet soup // // Served iambic,

al dente, but as yet unsigned. // // Will my new friend accept that I

Wednesday Evening

avels crashing crudely over cor- // //

al , usurping canoes claim to the crests, each sullen swelling rock- //

ing, caravels cresting over cor- // //

al , usurping canoes control of the crests, each rippling roll rock- //

/ // I hope this finds you // // Dear

Alan // // Dear Alan, // // I hope this finds you well // // Dear A

ou have often thought of me // // Dear

Alan , // // I don’t suppose you have often thought // // Dear Alan,

s bench, for you to collect // // Dear

Alan , // // I don’t suppose you have often thought of me // // Dear

I hope this finds you well // // Dear

Alan , // // I have lost // // Dear Alan, // // I have lost the rece

ar Alan, // // I have lost // // Dear

Alan , // // I have lost the receipt on which I wrote your address and

w he couldn’t have been you // // Dear

Alan , // // I hope this finds you // // Dear Alan // //

Dear Alan // // Dear

Alan , // // I hope this finds you well // // Dear Alan, // // I hav

e bus who I thought was you // // Dear

Alan , // // I knew he couldn’t have been you // // Dear Alan, // //

pose you have often thought // // Dear

Alan , // // I saw a man on the bus who I thought was you // // Dear

absorbed // // by the temerity of this

Alaskan scene. // // It may be the coldest day of the year // // but

why i’m getting into Christmas

within. // // Oak and hazel, beech and

alder , // // What news borne on the wind? // // Just a list of weddi

leaves might fall

i // // Where mosaics are defaced with

algae and refuse of ages, // // Sounding over black waves of the suns

ching great dark shoals // // of rain,

algorithmic complexity // // that flexes // // and envelops us, //

Trinitaria, holy // // Trinity. Let’s

alight now and claim her in the name of God’s grace. // // TWO // //

compact mist, all soft, // // My heart

alight , the ember grown aloft, // // My skin feels ’kin to a burning

[What have we done]

es will clatter. // // I don’t want to

align my chakras; I want to them to shatter. // // I’m sure it’s not

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// You’re sure our threads are finally

aligned , // // So why do mine feel ready to unwind? // //

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

es remind me // // of what it is to be

alive . // // “Hold me tight” you say // // and my fear is I will not

musing if I’m wanted now // // by you

alive or dead? Live I could raise // // a cool half million. Dead it

Between Life and Death

/ // Harder, longer. Trying to be less

alive , // // To lose this odium before I lose myself entirely. // //

n some. // // Higgledy Piggledy // //

Allan S. Konigsberg // // Knew that he wouldn’t // // Go far with th

ht. Clancy got loose and ran through an

alley with keef, kefir, with champagne on the nightstand, and four doz

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

nty of a familiar shore? // // Please,

allow me to fade this way: // // Wind-beat cotton, holes at the knee,

I could never be (ready)

ption - no visual aid, // // No images

allowed , the written word is paramount, the universal word, a thrifty

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

cakes were taboo. I wasn’t even // //

allowed to bring up the subject of Lindt. // // All of which left jus

Chocolate Sonnet

// were magnificent, but could not be

allowed // // to remain in occupation of that space. // // And so, f

ste fate does discard. // // Yet, time

allowed , what seems fine chance will be // // And, likewise to two fa

[What have we done]

Cape Cod Morning // //

Almost accidental, but carefully composed: // // the sky behind the t

Cape Cod Morning

billion random changes: all // // —or

almost all—are duds. Nevertheless // // ten thousand different specie

peated // // On a weekly basis, // //

Almost as often as him trying to teach me to change the laces in my sh

Three Pieces of Advice

words that Pol Pot said, // // and he

almost did best her // // with a slice of Red Leicester, // // but h

The Failing of the Cheese

unch-huddled, // // a child-like smile

almost // // discernable beneath the map // // of her skin, like //

In a charity shop

// HAMLET Do you see that cloud? That’s

almost in shape like a camel. // // POLONIUS By th’mass and it’s like

plane tree’s drop-earrings // // Have

almost reached their seventy-percent // // Of newly-broken foetus-lea

almost 25 years old] // // I am almost 25 years old. I cannot remembe

[I am almost 25 years old]

[I am almost 25 years old] // // I am

almost 25 years old. I cannot remember a time // // When I didn’t fee

[I am almost 25 years old]

he water channelling below. // // Held

aloft by spray // // she floats above the curl and spume of sea, and

// // My heart alight, the ember grown

aloft , // // My skin feels ’kin to a burning fire’s waft, // // Sizz

[What have we done]

ching home. // // I find that I am not

alone // // As streetlights guide my yellow path: // // Your silhoue

when the moment’s gone, we’re lost and

alone . // // Do we understand each other? // // Stars and earth and

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

// Give themselves to pleasure, and are

alone happy. // // Shadowed-masses in the depths hum through the reed

t-ruled. // // Pacing for the exercise

alone . // // HB // // ‘Hard Black’ appears as grey: // // The unive

Three Ways of Walking

trial of fire and fire, for fire // //

Alone holds fast that which hell’s fire unbinds. // // But now our cr

Sixteen Forty-Five

rhythm of a bell… // // Were I to wake

alone I would be weeping // // With shiftless sorrow, restless, rootl

two-day-old Adam must have done: // //

Alone in brand new Paradise with infinite-ish time. // // And so they

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

// // then walked his wild way // //

alone . In Swale- and Wensleydale // // they passed the following day

tiful way for a predator to die, // //

Alone in the desert, strangled by a tie. // //

t sorry for it, because although it sat

alone in the watercloured skies, the moon could never be king. And I w

[So the moon was there]

say // // That though he finds himself

alone , // // Life’s pawn at lifetime’s darker edge, // // The one wh

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

mean. // // Course. // // You always

alone ? // // Not in fair weather. // // [My heart is a convertible w

Whales sing because they have a song

Signature Flaw // // We are not

alone . The apple core // // left faceless perfection’s shackles to ru

/ // Until you’re gone. // // Wake up

alone to empty thoughts, // // In the early evening now, day dead, //

Sweet like shalimar. // // We were all

alone with our // // Camel lights watching the floating moon. // //

in the sky, // // Blowed and bumbling

along , // // Airwards words off the tongue. // // The sky was blue.

[The sun flattened]

the bursar grief— // // Have protests

along her (warm) corridor. // // Every Girtonian burrs like a Scot, /

BURR (or Brrrrr)

ue. // // That she knew, had known all

along // // It seemed, only it wasn’t blue today, // // It was deep

[The sun flattened]

Will come back to you. You knew it all

along , it seems. // // And we can walk smugly, the both of us, into t

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]

moor. // // The treasures to be found

along my path // // are elemental: water, sky and earth // // and ro

Daydream Dale Journey

shackle myself to the peddles and roll

along quietly // // Only to return to gobbets of that holds

h to the Martello tower, // // we walk

along the banked-up track // // behind the wall, level with the top,

Walking in winter

ning, we left the school. Wandering out

along the darkening lanes we went to cross the river, black and cruel.

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

he wood—the fir // // and silver birch

along the dunes that run // // between the marshes and the sea. The

Wells in winter

// // First light and then first lines

along the east // // To touch and brush a sheen of light on water //

d thistle bloom // // We pick our path

along the hollow way // // Handfast; we unscroll your youth // // Wh

on the sand. Eastwards we turn, // //

along the open beach, in rich sea air. // // Look up, look up, my lov

Wells in winter

ant concrete blocks // // on piles all

along the shingle beach. // // The mile south to the Martello tower,

Walking in winter

ng in A going to B. // // Words fumble

along the way, // // From there to here, // // Ringing in my ear. //

[She points to the sky]

I have tried // // (as I trace my hand

along the wood-grain // // which falls from the mantelpiece in rivule

coffee left by my side. // // You sing

along to your favourite lyrics, // // Hazy summer light filters throu

ow the cedar tree // // Shook its head

along with me, // // Blankly dismissing the old sublime; // // The d

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

the tang of good-humoured sweat // //

Along with the crispness of a river’s skin. // // I taste the content

you sideways // // drawing my thoughts

along your wooden wave-shapes // // dipping into knot warps and sande

s. // // She looks up, // // thinking

aloud like a dream, // // ‘There are some days,’ she says, // // ‘wh

In a charity shop

. // // Re-call the river-tongues from

Alph to Styx, // // summon the summoners, the shaping shapes // // t

ng supernovae; helium flame // // From

Alpha Caeli’s rim; the Pleiad mass // // Of gas and dust that veils,

, // // While we help disentangle some

alphabet soup // // Served iambic, al dente, but as yet unsigned. //

Wednesday Evening

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

already // // between the end of the Chatterley ban // // and the Be

wing. // // Somehow you fill your name

already , // // Cast in white marble by two gentle breaths. // // How

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

// Of proud practicality. // // We are

already comfortable // // In each other’s company: // // Ready to co

t taste anything, // // Because you’ve

already finished yours. // // Would you like a top up? // //

t with you at each table? // // You’re

already looking at me, somehow knowing, // // Somehow wisdom in fresh

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

stalks for fear of fresh // // blooms:

already one says: “mankind cannot // // bear very much reality (wink

Aubade to Girton

/ See from up there, // // The fight’s

already started. // // Look from above, // // We’re on the losing si

[She points to the sky]

aved me— // // // // But you’d

already swallowed it. // // I know, and that’s how it saved me.

[So the moon was there]

Fairy Tale // //

alright : once upon a time, // // a girl in a cloak of symbolic colour

he magic apple tree. // // And journey

also , darkling, through your past // // Journey through your seed tim

The Magic Apple Tree

all the while // // the crafty sea is

also digging down // // beneath the piles. Then one stormy night //

Walking in winter

sure to produce a fine plan. // // We

also need money—of course private finance will // // jump to join in,

Troubled waters

. // // You joined relations that they

also threw // // Into the asp-bored sand to rest for two millennia. /

rooms as a muscle, // // is as much an

altar draped in bells and mistle- // // toe as an instrument whose st

s the same: // // It turns but doesn’t

alter // // Its alterations; // // Then why do you stagnate and //

[The world moves the same]

n by // // Mapping its every minuscule

alteration — // // By changing everything. // // Tiny fingertips. //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

/ It turns but doesn’t alter // // Its

alterations ; // // Then why do you stagnate and // // fade, longing

[The world moves the same]

to the ground. // // Fresh as the day

although freckled and browned // // And frowned. // // With the roya

The Mango Tree // //

Although I have long been away, I can still see // // The canopy of g

white. And I felt sorry for it, because

although it sat alone in the watercloured skies, the moon could never

[So the moon was there]

and suddenly I could fit it again. And

although the skies never really liked the moon, they loved it enough t

[So the moon was there]

a—chamomile tea—because I was cold. And

although you’d been sat there for days and days waiting for me to come

[So the moon was there]

// Then the light changes or goes out

altogether // // and I can’t quite remember the first way I saw it; /

what I mean. // // Course. // // You

always alone? // // Not in fair weather. // // [My heart is a conver

Whales sing because they have a song

your blood // // In the water—they’ve

always been lying. Is this the poem? // // The cloud shadow passes, b

you’ll see the truth. // // That we’ve

always been satellites // // Going around, and around, // // Passing

[She points to the sky]

s. // // The ink I wrote to you in was

always black, never blue, // // and I’d imagine you sitting and readi

[I often think of that January morning]

K. // // So when the silver thief (who

always came // // on Thursdays) took our memories, why did // // he

Compass Reading

sy to learn. // // I digress. // // I

always digress. // // I apologise. // // It is tragic, it is all tra

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

nd the snows and skies of memory // //

always diminishing make it seem // // that right now sitting here co

why i’m getting into Christmas

My heart is a convertible with the roof

always down.] // // I have to go. Drive safe. // // I will, don’t wo

Whales sing because they have a song

re, but I’m still here // // Where I’d

always dreamed of staying before // // Everything snapped and you lef

The Other Side of the Line

// // Isn’t Daddy proud? // // I was

always earth-strewn, // // A brief interlude of disequilibrium. // /

Frighteningly Inert

without anything, // // For something

always exists - // // Watching others, irregularities abound, and you

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

tem with the light // // That emanates

always from her eyes. // // I want her to cut me open at the waist wi

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

es that say about us? // // That we’re

always going to give our heat away? // // That passion never gains, w

Three Pieces of Advice

t. Clothes pegs. // // He, of course,

always hated sentiment, // // and she never had much time for times p

ing Edge // // At my back, like you, I

always hear // // The edge, the cutting edge is coming near. // // N

The Cutting Edge

me. // // For at my back, like you, I

always here // // The cutting edge, the edge is coming near. // //

The Cutting Edge

mories resurfaced in echoes, // // and

always I found myself staring at the sea. Waking, sleeping, dreaming.

[I often think of that January morning]

On nature // // To write on nature is

always ironic. // // These are leaves I write on, // // Where the de

oodlands court // // is the same as it

always is: // // at once a place to be // // and a place to be absen

[The sash rattles up]

urn // // that little gap where we had

always kept // // your compass with its swinging fleur-de-lys // //

Compass Reading

is a given // // And given things can

always live again. // // The stone is rolled away, the rocks are rive

An Easter Triolet

was an old Fellow of Girton // // who

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

// to take him to the house. // // I

always regretted, felt cheated by // // that twenty-minute hiatus. //

y you never came back. The waves // //

always return to comfort the shore. The pain ached in waves. // // I

[I often think of that January morning]

Poker face // // // // My mother

always said, “one day you might // // Play when the stakes trump the

Chocolate Sonnet // // You

always said you’d sooner chew nettles // // than touch anything brand

Chocolate Sonnet

rry to let them go.’ // // The pace is

always // // slow, // // charitable, // // sad. // // ‘Yes,’ I tho

In a charity shop

// // The smallest matryoshka doll is

always so hard to open. // // Hold it to your ear, do you hear someon

ion. // // You tell me there is // //

always something I could have done differently. // // There is // //

// // nothing, // // there is // //

always something I could have done differently. // // You tell me the

have seen him do this before, and he is

always surprised. // // I have never been this close. // // The pond

he poor folk of Greece. // // But I’ve

always thought // // that there’s something to be said // // for the

Three Pieces of Advice // // 1. Heat

always travels from hot to cold. // // 2. Never eat at an empty sushi

Three Pieces of Advice

that got through to me. // // I don’t

always want to be having this conversation with myself. // // For yea

at an empty sushi restaurant. // // 3.

Always wash blood off in cold water. // // 1, given to me for the fir

Three Pieces of Advice

he future pain. // // But hindsight is

always wise, // // Whereas such beautiful moments, // // Rarely pres

Mosquito nights

I mean, sure, to be frank, part of me’s

always wondered // // What it might be like to be tied up, or otherwi

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

re, read the part // // marked, and am

amazed at my predictability. // // // // In a new city and in love,

// But never those things that have the

amazing audacity to contain nothing more than their visible capacity /

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// With this aura of warmth // // Its

amber hues remind me // // of what it is to be alive. // // “Hold me

like watching rain fall // // In burnt

amber light, // // With an old movie in the background— // // I’m no

Fall for————

pale memory, // // Pendant in silicon

amber . // // Plain and varied multitudes of senses strung out in seri

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

papery layers, // // and probably seep

amber . // // She’s shedding her leaves for // // the winter now, //

iter’s goodbye, smile of cabbie; // //

Ambient objects. // //

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

Ambient objects surrounded me] // // Ambient objects surrounded me. /

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

[Ambient objects surrounded me] // //

Ambient objects surrounded me. // // In no-color, no-shape cup waiter

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

ssembles with Ikea instructions. // //

Ambient objects surrounded us. // // Long into night we’re sitting ti

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

y, pantomime mystery // // ruled their

ambitions , now dead and now done with // // since no-one remembers—no

Jonathan’s Deathbed

ther. // // The angel then sings out, “

Amen , // // Casablanca’s on again.” // // Play it, Sam. // // BBC1,

A Hymn to a Loved One

in triune harmony you ascended. // //

Amended death. I wish I could be faithful. // // Lover, brother, I ha

nded; // // its pupils were graves dug

amid sapphires… // // Of course its parents were disappointed // //

/ // as your letters arrived, tangible

amidst my dreaming. // // I huddled by the flickering fire and read i

[I often think of that January morning]

r to taste, never to touch // // Drift

amidst the scattered echoes // // Of long forgotten lust; // // Dea

ngue // // That speaks the Word // //

Amidst the tympanum. // // But hard by the rood-screen here, // // H

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

// And seeds fall to the furrow, // //

Amidst the tympanum, // // Hard by the rood-screen here. // //

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

The Green Man, Mid-Winter // //

Amidst the tympanum // // His stone hair startles from // // A face

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

r tongue— // // I’ve been busy. // //

Amidst these love letters littered, // // Lost in curdled red // //

Fall for————

ring earthly leas, // // Serenading us

among our garden’s yields, // // When flying to their messy, tree-top

[Walcott begins Omeros]

Someone please // // Make a gap // //

Among the passengers) // // Take out the book before the faceless pas

Poems on the Underground

touch and instinct you descend to hide

among // // the seeds spun by the breeze, between lines of sonnets, /

eneath the willow // // In June he lay

among the yarrow // // Pollen gilding him with yellow // // Yellow c

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

, hush’d // // lull brown, // // deep

among your dusk // // heavy sockets. rust // // me down // // withi

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

get my brain on line, // // Searching

amongst my fact-debris. // // In the inky hall where I’m confined //

Exam Room Villanelle

arm the space around it, // // Hide it

amongst the blooming heather, // // Warm it, // // Pick around it. /

Wild Mountain Thyme

ch was hard, strong cheese // // taken

amongst the bums // // in the silence of exiles. // // No surprise a

Tridente, 10th September

d. // // The poor must grow their food

amongst the sand // // Whilst colonists enjoy resplendent views: //

// // I’m searching for a word // //

amongst the wine stained lips and glasses, // // teabags gone furry i

y eye. // // And I know you are there,

amongst them all. // // They took you away, at night I lie awake and

[My face is old now]

f time and space, // // in overlapping

amplitudes of bliss, // // pattering into patterns, into persons, int

ne // // Controlled by the wrist of an

amputee , // // I fear I am not in my perfect mind. // // The questio

Exam Room Villanelle

he bathroom. // // Mock anti-Semitism,

amusing Islamophobia. // // My smile is scratched into my face. // /

ed shirts, // // A break from labs and

analysing dirts; // // A break from hoping father just would guess. /

Three gay rituals

y a tragic loading, // // Something to

analyze here. // // Nothing can stand for itself, you know, nothing c

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

t a lot on. // // Concluding this long

anamnesis // // And to gather up all of the pieces: // // He turned

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

r name, // // This is how you lose the

ancestral breath, // // This is how you lose home. // //

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

ic agony. // // ’Tis pity. // // Some

ancestral memory is unseated // // From its place on our shared books

’Tis pity he’s a bore

ng bone // // clavicles fuse in birds’

ancestral night // // in this revision one and one makes one // // i

eeds dried blood in spring // // blood

ancestry // // phantoms // // graveyard cadavers // // spicing the

yew needs dried blood in spring

/ The sky stretched, // // A dirigible

anchored to demotic towers - // // Half-deserted, effluvial. // // A

ecognise. // // This is your own, your

ancient apple tree // // And here the light you buried for so long /

The Magic Apple Tree

the garden wall, // // The image of an

ancient apple tree, // // The fall of light through branches and the

The Magic Apple Tree

e rose // // With senseless fear: your

ancient hexagram // // Is riven oak, for sixteen forty-five // // Ha

Sixteen Forty-Five

m a slab of stone // // the size of an

ancient kin’s era // // he sees my lips as archaeological tools // /

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

ge // // And pilfer the noble classes’

ancient knowledge. // // I think again of coal-dust in the chest. //

and mathematicians // // draw from an

ancient well of that which can’t be spoken, only sung // // can’t be

Same but differenT

breath? // // I am one of those dread

ancients // // Dispensing justice, not mercy // // I grant you, then

his life— // // It’s been well-spent,

and’s gone exactly as he meant it to. // // And he has some years lef

— // // An open habit jointly stitched

anew . // //

Three gay rituals

ust change my heart, must build my soul

anew . // // As old as the oak, as this oak tree grew // // What I kn

ck. // // I know now you walk as a man

angel hunter. // // I could vomit // // Blood and water upon my feet

ite, determined, and remote— // // His

angel sisters keep watch over // // The stillness of their mother’s h

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

ne with discordant violence. // // The

angel -song, the music of the spheres // // You left, for stinging sla

/ // I ain’t sleepy either. // // The

angel then sings out, “Amen, // // Casablanca’s on again.” // // Pla

A Hymn to a Loved One

avour, or discard; not feed the eternal

angelic fight. // // Still I turn from peat-smoke laughter and librar

// Icons for his orphaned heart, // //

Angelic messengers in clay— // // Angelic messengers who say // // T

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

// Angelic messengers in clay— // //

Angelic messengers who say // // That though he finds himself alone,

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

up to Radio 3, // // Hark! the herald

angels . // // Float downstairs, put on the tea. // // Ding dong, din

A Hymn to a Loved One

/ Where, lying side by side, // // The

angels of our planets weep // // To see two worlds collide. // //

The Daily Planet

readied // // By the mothers and God’s

angels // // The evening before Christmas day. // // Men and listeni

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

han our circled self. // // I know the

angels were the first to fall, // // Cherub and Seraph spiralled down

The Cutting Edge

// My Grandmother says she saw // //

Angel’s feet once, through the key hole. // // That was before she wa

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

ever did, god-won // // Arrêt. // //

Anger // // art // // Lunar // // vos rêves Roma: // // Erde… //

Hercules et Oracle

vement, // // Bristles forced to comic

angles . // // A pigeon’s slow, ungainly steps // // To cross the roa

Urban bird watching

were twittering. The twain // // with

anglo -saxon attitudes // // then to Caerphilly came. // // They ling

Horrified by the refrain of his digital

anima , // // Luminescent soul between muddied fingers // // —now usb

Frighteningly Inert

e lung-stinging surface? // // My base

animal is out for blood // // But my saccharine breath pleads for a h

banely monochrome; // // A real social

animal . // // Strip off the civility // // And you change skin; //

I roared my name to the surprise of the

animals to the surprise of the quiet couples and the wistful young

[I whispered my name into the trees]

‘umbrellas meeting sewing machines on (

animated ) dissecting tables’, as it were. // // But yesterday, waking

opper about a girl’s wrists, her // //

ankles , her throat. It squatted, watched her, penned // // a tribute

. I could // // see the whites of your

ankles . // // Lunch was hard, strong cheese // // taken amongst the

Tridente, 10th September

s // // and stand in the temple // //

announcing // // UNESCO // // world // // heritage // // status //

be a freshers’ event? // // You’re not

annoyed at the fish. // // Anyways, how was your today? // // I woke

Whales sing because they have a song

ttle while, looking in this way becomes

annoying . It just comes and goes—we are forever anxiously on the edge,

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

g their ledgers and pens // // for the

annual nil return. // // Nil, wild-eyed and woolly, // // pent in a

Nil Charge / Nil Return

ise lost between her knees. // // Feet

anointed and seven demons rise, // // Let him without sin cast the fi

rter too, // // no need to hide behind

anon // // or to reflect a man // // at twice his natural size. //

A Room of Her Own

question which was generally very well

answered . // //

your mouth to mine and mine // // was

answering , and time // // stilled, and out of the heart // // came a

// // the lame // // looking for folk

answers // // to folk problems // // and finding // // the man //

from the hills // // looking for folk

answers // // to folk problems // // and though they were wrong //

/ // the rabid // // looking for folk

answers // // to folk problems // // hoping today // // she’d speak

f // // step with happiness. You human

anti // // climax, nothingness. You are mewling death. // // In trut

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

// // Out of the bathroom. // // Mock

anti -Semitism, amusing Islamophobia. // // My smile is scratched into

Snapshot Endings // // // // …The

anticipated ending stretches forward, dripping hungrily on the path //

Snapshot Endings

Anticipation // // Yes, there will be more. // // More hills, dales,

doing it, but I // // Shut my ears to

Antigone , blot out my dear’s words. // // They can’t be talking to me

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ught old words to life, // // age only

antique , frailty perceivable only // // by sight. For you these words

Sestina to an English Teacher

onto which developing minds can project

anxieties // // and sexual confusion without any explicit // // enga

ssolving into the bed, // // The stain

anxiety leaves, I cannot remember // // A time when my shadow didn’t

[I am almost 25 years old]

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the

Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling // // Love set you going like

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

e bottles unfolded in the house, // //

anxiously mourning red petal fingernails. You looked sadly through //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

. It just comes and goes—we are forever

anxiously on the edge, on the look out; never can we rest and say that

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

waves, // // and to the place where I

anxiously waited with my coffee. // // Hours later we lay on the floo

[I often think of that January morning]

we’re not in Kansas,

anymore // // I watched my grandfather die in his voice. hurry boy, “

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

I like it. // // But I can’t taste it

anymore . // // Let’s see, ah yes, here we are: // // three recipes f

// // And people don’t look at the sky

anymore , not unless it is tragic, // // And even if you thought it wa

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

here but it just doesn’t feel like home

anymore // // yeah, tell me about it, but just don’t tell me she was

omising and frightening and // // Does

anyone notice that I’m staring? // // Pity. // // Now his sumptuous

’Tis pity he’s a bore

of his soul. // // And so, unknown to

anyone , // // This still life has two untold names: // // It is: The

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

rella, richelieu and brie // // Fixing

anyone who disagrees with an impenetrable stare, yes a million times y

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

e what it is. I never could // // meet

anyone’s eye. // //

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

the wicker chair. // // I need not say

anything because // // she fills the silence of the room // // with

specially today. // // You don’t taste

anything , // // Because you’ve already finished yours. // // Would y

d sooner chew nettles // // than touch

anything branded by Nestlé, // // that a hand-grenade of barbed calor

Chocolate Sonnet

/ // Thinking of what she’d have given—

anything but her dignity // // To be there in the crook of the crown

// And it’s shouting and you can’t hear

anything else // // And nothing can drown out this voice and its word

ow, nothing can even be a thing without

anything , // // For something always exists - // // Watching others,

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

were any doors still left locked // //

anything not yet broken, so tell me // // contrary poltergeist what i

k too large // // To make contact with

anything other than // // Words. Each man seeks to draw eyes to his /

Vicious or Virtuous?

is wrong. We cannot control nor predict

anything . They preceded us, autonomous. Poetry is not made by Man, as

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

beyond // // or below // // that has

anything to say // // to the poor folk of Greece. // // But I’ve alw

odes // // Without a sound or sight of

anything unusual - // // And the sheets creak in the night as you wra

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

/ Yeah. Drink water? // // Can’t drink

anything without it. // // You know what I mean. // // Course. // /

Whales sing because they have a song

// Or lack thereof, because there isn’t

anything worse // // Than boredom. Except the non-existent tick // /

The Notes You Have Left

ve, and drinks // // Tell me, is there

anything worth more // // Than the light dancing on this face? // //

I could never be (ready)

st then. // // Inside it was a nothing

anyway , // // Surprising really how small it was, // // How narrow i

[So snow falls outside]

You’re not annoyed at the fish. // //

Anyways , how was your today? // // I woke up at 5. // // [P.M.] //

Whales sing because they have a song

here’s to fear, // // Here’s to being

anywhere but near. // // Here they want to leave, // // There, the s

Ode to a map of the world

. // // The moment passes, and we turn

anywhere : // // fear reflects between our eyes, // // without words

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

before. Even now, after all these years

apart , // // I can look inside, and find you here, // // Like spring

[My face is old now]

ked at // // immobile open ripped

apart . // // Then the light changes or goes out altogether // // and

red; // // I’ve loved and now I’m torn

apart … // // These whispers of our unquiet hearts // // I wonder wha

creaming from tear gas // // Thrown by

Apartheid police. // // And me realising that he was three years olde

Three Pieces of Advice

Apathy // // I could die here, I think. // // I know now your real n

ce of Work” // // A-rise, you poyson’d

ape , and stay the same, // // you weasel without words, uncouth, unki

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

he plants, the fish, the dinosaurs, the

apes // // advance across the generations. Each // // sentient being

sunrise with a net of silver crunching

aphids . // // I will char those swatches dotted with herds of woollen

Aubade to Girton

// // Everybody occasionally dreams of

apocalypse . // // Sometimes your routine just gets a bit monotonous.

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

ock (watch!) ticking // // Boxes on an

Apollo checklist; stuck at some point, still. // // Don’t worry Karl

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

nature’s murmuring, Dionysus rules and

Apollo is asleep! // // 7. // // The awkward heavy giant is the figu

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

winkling guitar riff // // and yell my

apologies instead of typing // // and deleting, admit my ugly want as

I’ve listened to too much Midwest emo and now I can’t remember how to write poems

ress. // // I always digress. // // I

apologise . // // It is tragic, it is all tragic, // // At least, tha

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

familiar waiter pouring wine, awed and

appalled // // by our own consistency, but back where we started. //

It takes its time to warm up, and can,

apparently , cause a rash, // // But you’d roll your eyes and tell me

I’ll never work for Hallmark

would greatly disturb // // The poem’s

appeal or mystery. // // As the importance is not whether it was mean

t, a face, the clouds ’come snow // //

Appear and I do choose to open all, // // The gate, the door, the fac

[What have we done]

cur, // // A sonnet or tetrameter will

appear as if by magic, // // Out of the magician’s hat the rainbow bu

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

e table and children and paper and dust

appear // // Recycled as the morning’s front-page news, // // And

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

// // Believed you were more than you

appeared , // // But a realisation falls upon me, // // And reveals t

The Tree of Wisdom

// It was deep and grey when // // It

appeared , the sun jumping // // From cloud to cloud. // // The world

[The sun flattened]

I feel like letting go, // // My home

appears , a home that I can keep. // // Your Fair Isle-knit embrace in

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

holds until // // a single truck tyre

appears , // // a sudden coalescence of storm and tar // // shudderin

se alone. // // HB // // ‘Hard Black’

appears as grey: // // The universal, standard and // // Unthinking

Three Ways of Walking

praise // // Of how masterful his pen

appears , // // When it brings its audience to tears // // Or lets th

/ // Tarweed takes root and // // Its

appetite carves sharp to sign the paper, // // Cleave the land. // /

re // // In to its heart : the arching

apple boughs… // // The sky is dark, intense, a stormy grey, // // B

The Magic Apple Tree

ature Flaw // // We are not alone. The

apple core // // left faceless perfection’s shackles to rust. // //

Apple Sunday // // Dog-days in autumn—what other days were there, rea

. // // This is your own, your ancient

apple tree // // And here the light you buried for so long // // Le

The Magic Apple Tree

December // // A journey to the magic

apple tree. // // And journey also, darkling, through your past // /

The Magic Apple Tree

corn. // // The loaded branches of the

apple tree, // // Glow red and ripe and gold and bow themselves // /

The Magic Apple Tree

Apple Tree // // Someday make a journey through the rain // // Throu

The Magic Apple Tree

en wall, // // The image of an ancient

apple tree, // // The fall of light through branches and the fling /

The Magic Apple Tree

nation down // // to burn within these

apples and this bough, // // Which here and now at last, you recognis

The Magic Apple Tree

t with them, nor comfort me // // with

apples , for I am well of love. // // The usual translation is not rai

The well of love

s, in a flurry of speckled limbs lobbed

apples her way. // // She spat the pips, for they could choke you, ye

flagons, for I am well of love. // //

Apples may perhaps be comforting // // as any fruit, though Suliman’s

The well of love

t food. But comfort me not // // with

apples , nor with pilaf. I can’t speak // // for Suliman, but I am we

The well of love

n assess my scanty nuts of coke, // //

apportion rationed quires and dilute ink. // // The snow has reached

A Room of Her Own

// And crush this evil force. We did

appreciate // // Your quiet support, as well as generous supplies //

m bereft. // // Slowly, time makes its

approach // // On this idle breeze, // // And summons me with gentle

I could never be (ready)

g below. // // And you, voyeur, // //

approach the ledge to find // // the girl poised and primed // // as

how how we might speak // // Or write,

approaching her in skill and elegance. // // New arts are needed now:

three removed their clothes, as seemed

appropriate , // // The boys scrambled up, toecurling-wise and like tw

or maybe Christmas cake, // // or more

appropriately , Suliman’s pilaf. // // But stay me not with them, nor

The well of love

and // // on—the noise the dream-world

appropriates for its own // // but you Break it with a smile and port

AQOH // // // // ]I[ // // // // // // // // Cooki

A Tribute to AQOH

f they catch the what, water? Why would

aquarium be a freshers’ event? // // You’re not annoyed at the fish.

Whales sing because they have a song

hoes some time ago, // // Print a wide

arc , then slope down towards // // A still canal, laced with rust tha

// // signs of the Mystery, inscribed

arcana // // runes from the root-tree written in the deeps, // // le

aturity // // to an iron-gated pointed

arch // // piercing the wall, built like the house // // of weathere

the buried light. // // Boughs form an

arch , the painting draws you in // // Under its framing fringe of ric

The Magic Apple Tree

ent kin’s era // // he sees my lips as

archaeological tools // // extracting and brushing each letter // //

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

efore this have claimed you, // // The

archaic gods will make you // // An example in your death. // // Cur

what it means. // // Perhaps it seems

archaic , rather like a caveman or some troglodyte. // // We are too s

Bearded Thoughts

kull, my black eyes my light eyes, this

arched spine, // // do you remember what Kierkegaard said, // // am

is a hymn to Cupid; // // He is in its

arches and secluded pathways. // // Each crescendo blasts my mind to

urch spire // // In to its heart : the

arching apple boughs… // // The sky is dark, intense, a stormy grey,

The Magic Apple Tree

// these three hills awash in blooms,

arching heavenwards in certain praise // // state His glory. This lan

/ or those three hills awash in blooms,

arching skyward only to praise // // nature’s glory. He renamed you L

/ // cinder at last ebb // // ignites

arena morn: // // I war dirt-up, image-bled, // // if nine demon eve

Hercules et Oracle

st very sound advice. // // Nothing to

argue with here. // // 3, told over the phone last week, with me comp

Three Pieces of Advice

is never not there. // // Feel free to

argue with me. // // At least when you read me I’m not there to reply

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

e were sharing, // // And our new-born

argument is furrowing your brow, // // So I glance instead at your mi

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ck sails, and now I’m in clover. // //

ARIADNE // // I blame that bronzed hulk and his vanity // // Claimed

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

// Just please arrive too late. // //

Ariel . I am a wait. // // So light a fire to the fang // // that can

l’esprit d’escalier

Fire // // My sign is

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

rned on the charm: made her help me to

arm — // // And reel in my return once I’d knifed him. // // The prob

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

our nightbed briefly vacated. // // My

arm fading back now, rocking with wheels’ folly, // // Gliding over c

ght, from time to time, consent a tawny

arm to drape. // //

Café oh late // // Doze on my

arm while it fades, // // Sodium light slit sliding through part-draw

// And swell around // // The sunken

armchair left // // Empty since last December, // // Just over twelv

Wild Mountain Thyme

’s a bore // // I imagine he’d wear my

armour well, // // And send sandal’d feet scuffling back on the dirt

’Tis pity he’s a bore

L-shaped the house; enclosed within its

arms // // a walled garden, left untended // // for maybe thirty yea

// I watched you, crossing // // your

arms . At the Railroad // // we were stopped, // // and had long stop

// Bums ache on floors, // // Perch on

arms of chairs, // // Settle into laps of relatives. // // Fields of

Wild Mountain Thyme

/ Welcome to absence, these open // //

Arms stretched as sundown. // // Echo calls of words unspoken— // //

Who am I, Bernard?

-five— // // Until the Lord of Liberty

arose // // And drew the temple down on English tongues. // // Hunts

Sixteen Forty-Five

died up upstairs, // // let the flower-

arrangers in when they came at one, // // locked up behind us when we

if nine demon ever did, god-won // //

Arrêt . // // Anger // // art // // Lunar // // vos rêves Roma: //

Hercules et Oracle

ut blotted quickly by a tunnel’s vulgar

arrival . // // Those old eyes are achingly familiar. // // —‘Please

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

: // // had died three hours after his

arrival , // // was buried in an unmarked grave. // // There were no

Black September

is was the only way. // // Just please

arrive too late. // // Ariel. I am a wait. // // So light a fire to

l’esprit d’escalier

athless, // // Waiting for a moment to

arrive , // // When out of your body comes understanding, // // And

The Tree of Wisdom

The Box // // The box

arrived — // // Crumpled cardboard, // // Raw-edged— // // Wrapped w

that white page // // as your letters

arrived , tangible amidst my dreaming. // // I huddled by the flickeri

[I often think of that January morning]

gle, streams gas against // // Earth's

arrogance , its invitation to descend. // // A face has been fixed, an

[A spinning spider]

serpent-words // // You heard hissed ‘

Arrogance . Omnipotence,’ // // Augmenting the fourth line with discor

tten. // // Now I wish that I had, the

arrogant cad, // // But time passed—and I hadn’t a lot on. // // Con

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

/ Grey in the wattle, scabbed about the

arse // // Eating us out of chicken feed. // // But that was to miss

[No point, she said]

pot // // of thrilling, but too quick,

arson — // // under the brown fog of a winter noon // // Tiresias the

[the typist puts her knickers on]

looking // // I don’t know what makes

art Art // // maybe it’s that once I’ve seen it // // I can never no

them all in micro, soft, paint— // //

Art in the age of mechanical reproduction. (Fleshly reproduction is dr

Hail, Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling

d-won // // Arrêt. // // Anger // //

art // // Lunar // // vos rêves Roma: // // Erde… // // Sol… // /

Hercules et Oracle

king // // I don’t know what makes art

Art // // maybe it’s that once I’ve seen it // // I can never not se

o believe that men can desire more from

art that cheese // // They want their soul to be gently stroked; they

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

time, our blood coloured autumn. // //

Artifice // // Risks going against the grain. // // The hardest part

now, at this. // // Eyes, rolling, at

artificial sparkle // // And hearts as target practice. // // I shou

once you’d left. I became blue, // //

artificially structuring my days around coffee // // before falling a

[I often think of that January morning]

eaming, lost in reverie. // // And the

artist who is showing us the scene // // —does he know what it is she

Cape Cod Morning

g her in skill and elegance. // // New

arts are needed now: can they enhance // // That fine-boned beauty, l

/ // Called you; in triune harmony you

ascended . // // Amended death. I wish I could be faithful. // // Lov

feet remember // // And, half in mind,

Ascent of Cascade start. // // Behind the flow I knew there to be ice

[What have we done]

and Geoffrey Hill is sour // // Larkin

ascerbic , Tennyson has power // // (But only late at night, taken wit

Cheese is the medium

ied, seasoned, laid out, sprinkled with

ash . // //

ead; // // Dry voices sift and fall in

ash and cinders, // // In acrid conversation with the dead, // // wh

etters not claimed will be chastened to

ash // // and the smell of their burning will herald the day. // //

The Dead Letter Office closes down

body beneath my hands. // // Rings of

ash are black MIDI: // // All that is left of bird song. // // Phoen

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

opy, // // and her clipped trunk is an

ash boomerang. // // Old woman wobbles back to her old man. // //

ast; we unscroll your youth // // When

ash -keyed branches dipped and prayed // // Not to hollows, but hellos

hoenix // // risen from old coal-grate

ash // // so I can shift my gaze // // from keys to coots // // whi

A Room of Her Own

ttles, glassware, cruets, // // Vases,

ash trays, cups, and bowls. // // What does he see in jugs and jars?

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

every day // // the embers beneath the

ash were darkly glowing, asking only // // a slight encouragement. A

/ This man, at least, has nothing to be

ashamed about. // // Certainly, he would never even dream of eating m

and hoping. grind me up and scatter my

ashes , Ba’al Hadad, I submit. I lie to you like a dog, like Shaitan or

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

/ funeral pyres.) Later we scatter the

ashes // // in a wild part of the old South London cemetery. // // P

Folds into itself. // // A cloud steps

aside for a second. // // The sun hits. // //

[The sun flattened]

bed. // // ‘Couldn’t you just sit,’ I

ask , // // ‘and watch the street outside change, // // and the peopl

In a charity shop

softness of her hair. // // I want to

ask her something (“how are you?”) // // and I want her to say someth

, still you bewail // // my loss – but

ask my cooling corpse to rush // // you finite proof ‘within three wo

Between Life and Death

but not like these did they ever

ask the question // // What we cooking for tea? We could have Pro

phant, and presently, a bear. I did not

ask them to come, I did not even want them to come. You feel this too

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

peak // // common Greek. // // No one

asked // // if she had any interest // // in sour milk // // the si

g for the gong // // and one day to be

asked . // // My own—a set of two— // // shared only with my Euclid /

A Room of Her Own

// // (at least for a while) // // We

asked ourselves: // // Had we been deceived— // // or deceived ourse

Magnetic Mountain

f solid pavement in smokefilled grey. I

asked you why you seemed so sad, but all you did was turn, leaning ove

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

ce, // // Reflex that deflects skilful

asking darts, // // I wonder if I have no choice but to be selfish, p

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

e of conversation fills the room // //

Asking meaningless, roundabout, questions for the sake of making // /

Vicious or Virtuous?

rs beneath the ash were darkly glowing,

asking only // // a slight encouragement. As the day went on, // //

// // how could you // // fall // //

asleep ? // //

Bright, Pale Yellow

awberry mints // // must mean a sentry

asleep at the post: // // how else to explain, sheltered by the brimm

ays around coffee // // before falling

asleep in the hope I would avoid dreaming // // of you. The thoughts

[I often think of that January morning]

murmuring, Dionysus rules and Apollo is

asleep ! // // 7. // // The awkward heavy giant is the figure who suc

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

ns that they also threw // // Into the

asp -bored sand to rest for two millennia. // // Haloed by Hawara sun

resents, crib, Christ Kind: // // tree

aspark and fizzing, in a cavern // // so unknown but home. // // Ah

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

er Easy // // I don’t wish to cast any

aspersions // // upon your nature, the way you nurture, // // but as

ays are far between, // // In restless

Asphodel . // // If what they sing for is undone, // // I’ll grasp th

Who am I, Bernard?

// Is not something to which you should

aspire , // // Do you not know that mercy // // Is the spider’s web t

mbrace. // // If only I could feel its

assault , maybe // // This landscape wouldn’t remind me of you. // //

The Other Side of the Line

, // // the crisp, exhilarating // //

assault // // of night-time on my radiator-warmed skin // // And the

[The sash rattles up]

completion guarantee. // // My reality

assembles with Ikea instructions. // // Ambient objects surrounded us

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

/ // On the dithering herds that daily

assert // // Their dependence on this concrete desert. // // They sh

// My maths proves useful: // // I can

assess my scanty nuts of coke, // // apportion rationed quires and di

A Room of Her Own

fined, // // Tell us to start the task

assigned // // For three grim hours. For my degree // // I fear I am

Exam Room Villanelle

// Note by the senior author: When my

assistant first presented this poem, it was in fairly strict ballad fo

d was to be free // // from any of the

associated risks and hazards. // // You see it differently. // // Yo

This Boy’s in Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx)

ne afterthought // // of comfort might

assuage the sharper pain – // // some, having parted, choose to wed a

have a very real fear // // there’s no

assured escape from there. // // The light of other days can shine //

ckering between needling trees; history

assures me it’s a house. // // If I can only reach the red front door

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

tūs with fingers stunt’d; // // numb’d

ass’nance , ’lision; laziness, it shows. // // Descend, true nature sp

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

will never be found. // // His talents

astound : // // Listen // // to // // His // // Voice // // Openin

// // The triumphant honk of a goose (

astray ) // // Or the farm-wife, with clippings from the youngest ewe,

// Sceptics will tell you that, // //

Astrologistically , // // This is convenient // // In more ways than

// // but the thing is, she so rarely

ate it. // // His confidence shaken, near shot dead, // // he though

The Failing of the Cheese

/ // // You did what? // // I

ate it up. // // // // The moon? // // Yes. I just pul

[So the moon was there]

nto laps of relatives. // // Fields of

Athenry tails off, // // (Too slow, // // Too sad) // // Leaving us

Wild Mountain Thyme

e great hereafter for elsewhere. // //

Athlete’s foot, Achilles’ heel, mouth ulcer, // // one for the stomac

ro te se lucreh* // // * ‘You flesh to

atone ’ (Google Translate, 2014). // //

Hercules et Oracle

t floats adrift. // // They crumble in

atop themselves, debris // // From some controll’d explosion: dry and

[What have we done]

e rain. Staining stones darker as words

attempt to fill the gap // // Between this point and somewhere just p

Snapshot Endings

. A large proportion of candidates only

attempted the first part and were unable to earn any of the marks. Of

his question was generally quite poorly

attempted , with many candidates not able to understand fully the situa

eep on course, despite // // The best

attempts of two wheels // // To end this trip early. // // “Sorry”

The Notes You Have Left

// the duty to be paying calls, // //

attending prayer // // and, dressed for dinner, // // waiting for th

A Room of Her Own

optic nerve and all those that seek its

attention . // // Again, again. // // Adrift on spewing, insipid, lus

Frighteningly Inert

ive, // // I don’t want her to pay any

attention . // // She’s too busy cavorting around space, gay as Galact

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// // No, in fact I am sure we all can

attest he would have acknowledged mastery with silence // // For had

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

ing. The twain // // with anglo-saxon

attitudes // // then to Caerphilly came. // // They lingered long in

t, // // at the moment where opposites

attract , // // for this is where we begin. // // We were both made f

n, // // at the moment where opposites

attract . // // Oh take me back to the start. // //

gnetic Mountain // // It was a strange

attraction // // That brought us here: // // A glisten from your sul

Magnetic Mountain

the citronnier // // and bakes a tarte

au citron meringuée. // //

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

Aubade // // the morning after // // I’m searching for a word // //

Aubade to Girton // // We must not speak now of etherised spread- //

Aubade to Girton

ever those things that have the amazing

audacity to contain nothing more than their visible capacity // // So

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

pen appears, // // When it brings its

audience to tears // // Or lets them feel or empathise. // // For th

hissed ‘Arrogance. Omnipotence,’ // //

Augmenting the fourth line with discordant violence. // // The angel-

indles stick to socks a silent great-

aunt and the queen’s speech, naturally // // drink to Christmas! an

Drink and be merry

d stay a hundred years // // With this

aura of warmth // // Its amber hues remind me // // of what it is to

onstellation lost // // We navigate by

auspice // // And the night stared back // // Perseid gleams between

between the stars // // We navigate by

auspice // // The fire which leapt over us // // Perseid gleams betw

the bareness of eternity // // At the

austere edge of the real // // And in the lengthening shadow of the u

[At the coinciding point of the years]

ner of war // // Then casualty of blue

austerity ; // // Just so my father, labouring before // // The furna

end has come. // // Note by the senior

author : When my assistant first presented this poem, it was in fairly

// // Wrote of his life in his // //

Autobiographies , // // Loved for his funny // // As well as his Kind

nor predict anything. They preceded us,

autonomous . Poetry is not made by Man, as you might think, but by It.

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

y // // Is in time, our blood coloured

autumn . // // Artifice // // Risks going against the grain. // // T

ts—fade like leaves // // In fashion’s

autumn , following this rule. // // And well they do, for both were cl

In Defence of Evolution

ty // // moonlight // // brings to an

autumn frost. // // 1am, and Woodlands court // // is the same as it

[The sash rattles up]

streams under fluorescent light. // //

Autumn in Cambridge, and the stars wouldn’t shed me as much light //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

Renewal // // Good time for it,

autumn . // // Now we’ve stooked up in a corner and shed a skin or two

things // // as I today: you look and

autumn springs. // //

Autumn // // The day breaks slowly on the hills of green // // Every

Apple Sunday // // Dog-days in

autumn —what other days were there, really? // // All three removed th

-hearted rust remains // // Of another

autumn’s dying. // // But now the planes are suddenly spread. // //

like a robot filled them in? // // The

avenues just run as ‘First’ to ‘Tenth’ from right to left. // // Mila

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

e golem // // On and off again, // //

Averse to new versions, // // Soldering patches over kneed corduroys,

Frighteningly Inert

nithologists with shears make for irate

avians // // With wings clipped, // // Clipped wires and frames, //

Frighteningly Inert

fore falling asleep in the hope I would

avoid dreaming // // of you. The thoughts still hurt. Like bruises, e

[I often think of that January morning]

roughly // // if I’d truly intended to

avoid falling. // // Now we’re “an item”, // // and you think it’s o

This Boy’s in Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx)

s warrior will cross the road // // To

avoid the reminder that success is fleeting // // Eventually we all s

ally comes to Gaza (with chums). // //

Avoids being distracted where it’s ‘badly impacted’ // // But meets ‘

irs drawn out from table’s edge, // //

Awaited those who knew how to be guests. // // The page, like linen f

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

lls around my head, // // Tuxedoed and

awaiting recognition // // Of how bizarre the night can be, // // Ro

// They took you away, at night I lie

awake and call. // // I think about the time we met, how long ago //

[My face is old now]

// // as they did over the sea. I lay

awake and kept them company with honey // // sweetened coffee, a pali

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ecstasy and the trembling of love could

awake him from his fantasy. True awakening floats on the ocean of slee

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

eginning and a calling; // // “Sleeper

awake , the darkness was a dream // // For you will see the Dayspring

stalline tarmac. // // The limestone’s

awake , the vestibules are glowing, // // The Sun, gentle, is rising i

could awake him from his fantasy. True

awakening floats on the ocean of sleep. // // 8. // // MacCullough m

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

/ your driving licence, swimming // //

awards , your grade three flute— // // all, all are floating // // th

Stone, Paper, Scissors

r His majesty, // // these three hills

awash in blooms, arching heavenwards in certain praise // // state Hi

for majesty // // or those three hills

awash in blooms, arching skyward only to praise // // nature’s glory.

the same familiar waiter pouring wine,

awed and appalled // // by our own consistency, but back where we sta

ntures // // Of Ryder and Flyte // //

Awestruck Oxonians, // // Transgenerationally, // // Can’t help but

en’s lust and rage. // // I’ve glanced

awhile at poets on the shelf, // // Desiring this man’s style or that

no longer seems so big // // The fall,

awkward // // And unspectacular. // // But, once in a while, after /

Falling Is Like This

// // Both those who fit and those in

awkward guilt. // // A soft man from the oddest matter built, // //

Three gay rituals

Apollo is asleep! // // 7. // // The

awkward heavy giant is the figure who succumb to Its challenge. He slo

A Translation of Wallace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme Fiction’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’

night I cut // // Myself with familiar

awkwardness // // Of searching eyes and violent kisses // // To adju

// // And what is it your presence has

awoken ? // // Your glance is like a blessing on the broken // // I t

so strange to me // // That any given

Aztec would carve a prayer // // Into a child’s chest, and tear out h

[And, hey, maybe if I continue to sing]