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

F

ome. // // This is where I am. // // .

F .M, the one I sometimes

[She points to the sky]

ters on silent stone— // // And in the

fabric of life, I weave my name // // For these are the things we can

ir turbulent // // expanding billowing

fabrics , // // Exquisite timpani of sole on pavement. // // How he g

’Tis pity he’s a bore

// To the stone steps, the lions, the

façade , // // The white Museum with its plate-glass doors. // // Thr

The Magic Apple Tree

hour they saw // // The boy without a

face . // //

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ng pin, // // Solid as her steel-stern

face — // // A battleship floating // // Above the diaphanous sea //

mean if all we saw were beards upon the

face , // // A Mr. Twit complex, the psychologists (clean-shaven and i

Bearded Thoughts

rm, // // And though at start I find I

face a swarm // // Of loosen water rocks, I soon surmise // // The m

[What have we done]

t when I accept. // // He maps out his

face and hair // // In creams and gels. // // His teeth are polished

under you today.” // // You spat in my

face . // // And swiftly it scratched across the scene, // // Barrica

The Other Side of the Line

et // // With a smile, plastered on my

face , // // As I traced our path to this point. // // “Feel better s

The Notes You Have Left

// // Shining direct into eachother’s

face , // // Beaming an endless web around my field, // // Housing my

[What have we done]

reath ran cold // // The boy without a

face . // // Between the shining silver trees // // He waited for the

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

t, // // I wish a witch would show her

face . // // But, Christ! From the West to the East, // // All I can

Ode to a map of the world

ts in my skin as I strike // // At her

face , connecting with the glass and falling, // // Kneeling on a cush

t // // we will. But who gave you your

face ? // // Dig, let loam glaze the // // pain, till we // // forge

Wandlebury Hill

ce, its invitation to descend. // // A

face has been fixed, and focuses below, // // yet diurnal as a druid,

[A spinning spider]

en our wishes // // And the reality we

face // // Has never seemed greater // // Then when sat around this

a. // // My smile is scratched into my

face . // // He is adrift in the sea. // // I am glad of the shelteri

ned body there // // The boy without a

face . // // His only keepers were the fox, // // Crouching in the pu

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ill see you before I die // // Face to

face . // // I do, // // I suppose, // // Still love you. // //

/ His stone hair startles from // // A

face in the foliage, // // Not just the bearded barleycorn // // But

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

[My face is old now] // // My

face is old now, frost and snow // // Crustate my hairs and eyebrows,

[My face is old now]

face is old now] // // My face is old now, frost and snow // // Crus

[My face is old now]

ard by the rood-screen here, // // His

face is set like flint, // // For stony silence. // // He gives his

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

place of tears // // The boy without a

face . // // July came, and the woods grew pretty // // Local people

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

face // // // // My mother always said, “one day you might // // P

smoothly // // I reapply to the inside

face of the box to make // // An inventory of items, // // A registe

carding the moving-you- // // over-the-

face -of-the-water wings, // // detaching the head, and ploughing //

elting dawn, // // stretched her gauzy

face on mine // // so that, by painted mouth and fresco eyes, // //

// conscious harmonics, singing face to

face . // // Resounding into music now, we trace // // in touches of

e // // Than the light dancing on this

face ? // // Than the certainty of a familiar shore? // // Please, al

I could never be (ready)

kind words // // fixed to a comforting

face that could // // keep its humour through elegy and tragedy, coul

Sestina to an English Teacher

aps we’re scared to look history in the

face , // // The bearded wonders from a bygone age // // Of yellow Vi

Bearded Thoughts

leep: a gate, // // A door, a light, a

face , the clouds ’come snow // // Appear and I do choose to open all,

[What have we done]

pen all, // // The gate, the door, the

face , the light, I fall // // Upon a bed of compact mist, all soft, /

[What have we done]

// I will see you before I die // //

Face to face. // // I do, // // I suppose, // // Still love you. //

us, // // conscious harmonics, singing

face to face. // // Resounding into music now, we trace // // in tou

a token // // Of what cannot be spoken

face to face; // // Your glance is like a blessing on the broken, //

sors to cut // // a square around your

face // // to frame. These are sharp // // scissors, new scissors:

Stone, Paper, Scissors

ll its tendrils, // // Unfold from the

face , // // Trip from the tongue // // That speaks the Word // // A

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

ven now, // // I feel the heat upon my

face . // // Twenty three years later, when my mother died // // we h

oud our sight, // // Surrounding ev’ry

face we meet with Blight, // // Whose knived line carv’s out a trace,

[What have we done]

en you clear your throat, // // Or the

face you pull in the mirror when fiddling with your hair. // // You c

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

// // Of what cannot be spoken face to

face ; // // Your glance is like a blessing on the broken, // // Your

more would you, // // but each of us,

faced by the juggernaut, // // chucked in the towel and had to join t

/ // But nowadays it’s stubble or baby-

faced gangster chic, // // How many Walts do we see in Market Square

Bearded Thoughts

// // The cascade I had ’fore in-gazed

faced me, // // Wide-as-the-horizon, an endless hill. // // The top

[What have we done]

// Disappointment, often, when // //

Faced with the end result // // The big idea no longer seems so big /

Falling Is Like This

ss fucks and love celestial. // // Two-

faced words incarnate, bastard breed of loathing and love. // //

rs) // // Take out the book before the

faceless passengers // // And fill my mind // // To bridge the gap /

Poems on the Underground

e not alone. The apple core // // left

faceless perfection’s shackles to rust. // // The shuttle flits throu

tary flashes of white coats and pitying

faces // // And her, sobbing, while our future drains away. // // Sh

’t // // Look out at me, because their

faces are // // Rubbed out. In Beit Hanoun, the sun seems spent: //

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

// // Invasion. // // A loop of stern

faces around a desk too large // // To make contact with anything oth

Vicious or Virtuous?

red // // doll-like bodies, their tiny

faces // // far too clear. // // A wave breaks over us like a stage

at around this table, // // A crowd of

faces linked by tinsel and blood, // // While the ideal me waves from

othing but a blackened gloom, // // Of

faces lost and undefined. // // A word that initiates thoughts in the

e in the virtual // // but supervision

faces // // seem too near—and yet too far. // //

A Room of Her Own

Urban Warfare // // Nameless

faces tell us we’re going to war, // // I wonder where they think we’

a Friday night? // // We distrust this

facial hair perhaps, or what it means. // // Perhaps it seems archaic

Bearded Thoughts

in on line, // // Searching amongst my

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

Exam Room Villanelle

would have been the best // // No, in

fact I am sure we all can attest he would have acknowledged mastery wi

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

nd so thought she might // // hide the

fact // // in stale jumpers // // and behind // // shelves of chipp

In a charity shop

moralise that hill. News of // // the

fact of you (your real- and rightness) makes // // the act of meaning

maginations stoked // // Some want the

facts as hard and cold, as they very thing cheese! as it is growing ol

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

soft, and in this tired state // // I

fade into a peaceful sleep: a gate, // // A door, a light, a face, th

[What have we done]

school. // // Pointy hats—and couplets—

fade like leaves // // In fashion’s autumn, following this rule. //

In Defence of Evolution

// Then why do you stagnate and // //

fade , longing to change the world? // //

[The world moves the same]

sses through the dusty window // // to

fade the colours of the carpet, // // and people come in, // // binb

In a charity shop

iliar shore? // // Please, allow me to

fade this way: // // Wind-beat cotton, holes at the knee, // // Day

I could never be (ready)

s a buried memory of light // // Whose

faded trace no photograph records. // // You glimpsed it once within

The Magic Apple Tree

nto a liquid form, they blend. // // A

faded wash seemingly moves o’er all; // // A slight light pigments th

[What have we done]

dmiring recognition as your // // skin

faded , white. That was not your life. // // That shadow of your life

Sestina to an English Teacher

oh late // // Doze on my arm while it

fades , // // Sodium light slit sliding through part-drawn shades, //

nightbed briefly vacated. // // My arm

fading back now, rocking with wheels’ folly, // // Gliding over cryst

a throng // // moves north against the

fading evening light. // // Slanting lines are forming, breaking, for

Wells in winter

etherised spread- // // eagle evenings

fading skin histories // // from violent to -et to rose-risen blush.

Aubade to Girton

ointing debris of the world: // // Its

fag ends and canisters of laughing gas. // //

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

ree therapists and a college counsellor

failed to spot, // // But I feel like I want to be entirely destroyed

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

Failing of the Cheese // // A hungry old cat (Siamese) // // tried t

The Failing of the Cheese

ay of fresh cigarette burns, // // not

failing to hit the side of a barn // // but falling far short of a ne

can see is the Beast. // // Here’s to

failure , here’s to fear, // // Here’s to being anywhere but near. //

Ode to a map of the world

to a map of the world // // Here’s to

failure , here’s to fear, // // To the monster, old fiend, that I can

Ode to a map of the world

te’s unsure. // // All enduring is our

failure , // // Let us keep it near. // //

Ode to a map of the world

ice is closing down // // because of a

failure of management, // // and all the not-quite-never-yet notes //

The Dead Letter Office closes down

conceptual // // joke // // about our

failure // // to realise // // that riddles // // are just riddles

// I’m trying to be cheerful, but can’t

fain it: // // With every line I hate the bugger more. // // And so

In Defence of Evolution

ess suit can’t hide. // // And I still

faint from nosebleeds. // //

Three Pieces of Advice

and thirsty flowers. // // I taste the

faint rustle of grass as I sit on it, // // The tickle of its many sp

// in the light of a fire, // // and

faint starlight from space // // reflected in inky water, // // the

diator // // and the snow is no longer

faintly falling // // but grows into ice as my hair is chilled // //

why i’m getting into Christmas

e beach. We hear // // the gulls, and

faintly , far away, the churn // // of waves upon the sand. Eastwards

Wells in winter

rs, a home that I can keep. // // Your

Fair Isle-knit embrace invites me in. // // Like everything you wear,

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

// // tendering process was not at all

fair . // // The pledges from business are far from what’s needed. Th

Troubled waters

What will our children think, and is it

fair // // to leave them, as the offspring of divorce, // // with bu

// // You always alone? // // Not in

fair weather. // // [My heart is a convertible with the roof always d

Whales sing because they have a song

nt first presented this poem, it was in

fairly strict ballad form—four-line stanzas, three tetrameter and one

: ruthless in cutting off waste! // //

Fairy -free gardens have as many colour purples raining; // // Bet we

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

Fairy Tale // // alright: once upon a time, // // a girl in a cloak

ye, magpie? // // and the magpie says:

fairy tales formally feature // // insufficient details to impart one

scape wouldn’t remind me of you. // //

Faith , as delicate as I, can // // Tear with a sharp breath or viciou

The Other Side of the Line

tions told you otherwise, you kept your

faith // // that all of life still boils down to love. // //

// // Amended death. I wish I could be

faithful . // // Lover, brother, I have done you wrong. // // Only an

eld deep but soft, // // I let my body

fall again, be wash’d // // Into direction mapp’d by playing drums. /

[What have we done]

the ever-flowing flow // // And let us

fall , and let us grow, // // One thought, one heart, one voice, one s

ten thousand different species rise and

fall // // and rise again. Great populations press // // against the

your eyes, // // how could you // //

fall // // asleep? // //

Bright, Pale Yellow

r than I could fathom and far enough to

fall at from a height in swift surrender. // //

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

idea no longer seems so big // // The

fall , awkward // // And unspectacular. // // But, once in a while, a

Falling Is Like This

// I know the angels were the first to

fall , // // Cherub and Seraph spiralled down // // In circling curli

The Cutting Edge

Fall for———— // // Passing Fall in tattooed cold, // // Misted breat

Fall for————

ey spring. // // These colours seem to

fall from Eden’s light, // // The air they shine through breathes a c

The Magic Apple Tree

eaming head; // // Dry voices sift and

fall in ash and cinders, // // In acrid conversation with the dead, /

rk, // // You smell like watching rain

fall // // In burnt amber light, // // With an old movie in the back

Fall for————

, and I can change. if it will make you

fall in love easier I can change for you. I will be your umbilicalised

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

it with me, // // We pick this time to

fall in love. // // Lights still flickering on the tree, // // I ain

A Hymn to a Loved One

Fall for———— // // Passing

Fall in tattooed cold, // // Misted breath on misted grass. // // De

Fall for————

and your summer // // And through the

fall of every fruiting time. // // Journey through the pictures packe

The Magic Apple Tree

e of an ancient apple tree, // // The

fall of light through branches and the fling // // And curve of colou

The Magic Apple Tree

spense // // to capture the flight and

fall of // // the girl poised and primed. // // Evadne the unseizabl

too have roads that swerve and rise and

fall , // // So why does New York City from the heavens look so flat?

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

he razor might not last, the bomb might

fall , // // Then all we’d have left would be beards to compare, // /

Bearded Thoughts

might pull me from my sphere // // Or

fall to me from yours, // // Were I, perchance, in Venus // // And y

The Daily Planet

harness and the harrow // // As flails

fall to split the bearded husk // // And seeds fall to the furrow, //

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

split the bearded husk // // And seeds

fall to the furrow, // // Amidst the tympanum, // // Hard by the roo

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

// // Giving a final dull thud as they

fall to the ground. // //

gate, the door, the face, the light, I

fall // // Upon a bed of compact mist, all soft, // // My heart alig

[What have we done]

// // All buried in the rubble of your

fall . // // Walk through the present darkness till you come // // To

The Magic Apple Tree

fall // // What news borne on the wind? // // What winged seed has t

leaves might fall

the world. // // Careful, things might

fall // // Where the senses cannot feel— // // This is where I hide,

Teach her dutifully that // // A woman

fallen has no reason to live, // // But do beware // // Something’s

didn’t feel, beneath my clothes and the

fallen // // Leaves of my skin, the seeping rot of loneliness. I walk

[I am almost 25 years old]

w // // and the blight // // that had

fallen on the vineyard. // // A few self-confessed skeptics // // pr

Fallen // // Scarlet skins and serpent leaves, // // A paradise lost

// // To commit love to memories less

fallible than our own, // // To find new ways to hold, // // To hold

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

ing my days around coffee // // before

falling asleep in the hope I would avoid dreaming // // of you. The t

[I often think of that January morning]

fell in puddles // // Like a building

falling // // Brick by brick. // // I couldn’t make it out. // // Y

[So snow falls outside]

/ // and the snow is no longer faintly

falling // // but grows into ice as my hair is chilled // // by all

why i’m getting into Christmas

red // // I’ve been busy, too, // //

Falling — // // Could you come over? // // Then it’s your happiness a

Fall for————

w bizarre the night can be, // // Roof

falling down, // // The sound of the lawnmowers // // Outside the wi

ng to hit the side of a barn // // but

falling far short of a neat bull’s-eye. // // Not quite seeing the wo

Falling Is Like This // // Teetering on the edge of // // A big idea

Falling Is Like This

her face, connecting with the glass and

falling , // // Kneeling on a cushion of broken shards, // // All tha

y // // if I’d truly intended to avoid

falling . // // Now we’re “an item”, // // and you think it’s out of

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

t a Babel enough crane. // // Bums are

falling off our kids: ruthless in cutting off waste! // // Fairy-free

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

ir eyeballs rolled heavenward, phonemes

falling thick and fast // // their babble: tongues, their diphthongs

Same but differenT

be able to stand again, // // And stop

falling to my knees. // // It doesn’t seem so strange to me // // Th

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

eep // // Around our dying sun, // //

Falling towards the verge of sleep // // When all our wars are done,

The Daily Planet

// When all our wars are done, // //

Falling towards the verge of sleep // // Where, lying side by side, /

The Daily Planet

on misted grass. // // Dew dappled on

falling trees, // // Dancing shoes over broken shards. // // Burnish

Fall for————

nce will be // // And, likewise to two

falling trees, my bone, // // Unseen or seen, did spark a tiny fire.

[What have we done]

star roll’d dice // // I plucked from

falling world two daggers cold. // // My eyes obscured by wash, I bli

[What have we done]

flower in your // // Cries, but falls

fallow ? // // Go hungry dear fox // // Do not bloody my door, there

Here be dragons

// the sedge, the princes’ steeds lie

fallow , // // la belle dame. // // In thrall to notions of her name,

that you were. // // The morning still

falls // // And squalls through your hair // // Like the wind that I

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

// // Too hot. // // Delirium freely

falls around my head, // // Tuxedoed and awaiting recognition // //

ain trying to crystallize, but so often

falls at the first hurdle, // // Snaps like a rope whipping in a bree

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

/ it skates // // it skates! // // It

falls away // // Through water’s edge // // To depths unknown (in fe

g brakes and crunching metal as gravity

falls away. // // Tumbling upwards, being pulled by an invisible str

Snapshot Endings

trademarks of Hester, // // Until she

falls dead. // // O reputation, reputation, devour and swallow her wh

oks to flower in your // // Cries, but

falls fallow? // // Go hungry dear fox // // Do not bloody my door,

Here be dragons

hand along the wood-grain // // which

falls from the mantelpiece in rivulets) // // I have tried // // (as

g wetness of your mouth. // // My hand

falls on your waist // // your body is so familiar // // yet I have

falls outside] // // So snow falls outside, // // So they say I shou

[So snow falls outside]

[So snow falls outside] // // So snow

falls outside, // // So they say I should be happy now. // // Succes

[So snow falls outside]

bs against the wall // // And the tree

falls silent after receiving no entry. // // // // …If you come t

Snapshot Endings

e’s whisk’d out my hand, flies back and

falls ; // // The other comes to slush within the marsh, // // Meltin

[What have we done]

you appeared, // // But a realisation

falls upon me, // // And reveals the truth that I had feared. // //

The Tree of Wisdom

// // Noise. Repetitive exchanges of

false // // Smiles and bravado that shield the truth // // From the

Vicious or Virtuous?

flaw. // // Creation stutters through

faltering hands // // —The shuttle shatters on silent stone— // // A

ave danced by now, and yet // // Legs,

faltering , when I see you // // And her in that embrace. // // I sho

// and trade with her their needs, (all

fame , // // all hopes will doubtless end in shallow // // graves), s

imself Woody, // // And promptly found

fame . // // Higgledy Piggledy // // Christopher Isherwood // // Qui

night’s night I cut // // Myself with

familiar awkwardness // // Of searching eyes and violent kisses // /

ld these things in my hands— // // The

familiar blunt fingers and shallow nails // // Of proud practicality.

val. // // Those old eyes are achingly

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

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

is face? // // Than the certainty of a

familiar shore? // // Please, allow me to fade this way: // // Wind-

I could never be (ready)

strange words were sung // // by few,

familiar voices. // // For some reason I remember this, // // Not th

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

ed in the same bar // // with the same

familiar waiter pouring wine, awed and appalled // // by our own cons

ls on your waist // // your body is so

familiar // // yet I have never known you before. // // I could stay

ned navy seats. // // Accompanying us:

families , workers, couples, // // Phone-paralysed and book-engrossed,

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

s house, // // The full, Catholic-size

family , // // Cramped into the front room // // Like chestnuts in an

Wild Mountain Thyme

// Horrified by the profanities of his

family god, // // Horrified by the refrain of his digital anima, //

Frighteningly Inert

tle one mild. // // Lunchtime with the

family , // // Lead on, Spirit. // // Dad balances the turkey, // //

A Hymn to a Loved One

ndered to the caresses of that pen most

famously tender // // Forever stained with the Bard’s loving lines, s

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// Ooh go on then, treat ourselves to a

fancy dress daydream // // and puff that renovation brick-dust from o

this throat. // // Light a fire to the

fang . // //

l’esprit d’escalier

m a wait. // // So light a fire to the

fang // // that cannot be reached, // // So that I do not have to se

l’esprit d’escalier

-up, grass-cutting, // // Swaying like

fans // // Or parroting particulars // // Drowned in champagne. //

pring sunset, // // Because this is my

fantasy , and Freud said you’re everyone in your dreams. // // Of cour

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

mbling of love could awake him from his

fantasy . True awakening floats on the ocean of sleep. // // 8. // //

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

me to meet— // // now my flesh becomes

fare : // // meat for man. He’ll greet my coat with the least of conce

e know we can’t go on like this. // //

Farewell —farewell—our time is gone, // // A farewell kiss and then we

[A Farewell Kiss]

Farewell Kiss] // // A farewell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We k

[A Farewell Kiss]

ell—farewell—our time is gone, // // A

farewell kiss and then we’re done // // One last kiss,—and another on

[A Farewell Kiss]

[A Farewell Kiss] // // A

farewell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We know we can’t go on like

[A Farewell Kiss]

aps just one more little kiss, // // A

farewell kiss—and then we’re done, // // We know we can’t go on like

[A Farewell Kiss]

can’t go on like this. // // Farewell—

farewell —our time is gone, // // A farewell kiss and then we’re done

[A Farewell Kiss]

d, // // And all the fruits of forest,

farm , and field // // Are lost forever in the coming dark, // // Imp

honk of a goose (astray) // // Or the

farm -wife, with clippings from the youngest ewe, // // who cursed as

houghts // // Beards seem to be out of

fashion nowadays— // // The domain of eccentric professors or men wit

Bearded Thoughts

rly.’ // // In days gone by it was the

fashion , Sweeney did bad business. // // You can tell a lot about a m

Bearded Thoughts

d with rust that blooms // // From old

fashioned , swan-necked cycles. // // The pinked sky of dinner has giv

his open sore: // // Verse forms, like

fashions , fit the time they fix— // // You can’t revive a worn-out bo

In Defence of Evolution

and couplets—fade like leaves // // In

fashion’s autumn, following this rule. // // And well they do, for bo

In Defence of Evolution

st, // // Half giving and half holding

fast : // // A green knot slowly untying // // Itself from the harde

ill last and last, // // the future is

fast disappearing. // //

han // // I, in the belly of the whale

fast , // // fasting, feasted on the sea: // // its scales, its tales

ne // // bones, feather-forming in the

fast - // // ness of your mother’s side. And now, at last, // // you’

ring sea, // // For soon we leave that

fast -receding shore // // And revelries like this will be no more. //

ge bird. // // The burr-sore want some

fast relief: // // Heat-treatment is the only cure; // // Everyone s

BURR (or Brrrrr)

blankly at me, like a globe spinning so

fast that all the colours blurred into white. And I felt sorry for it,

[So the moon was there]

in a single second straight, // // So

fast that my eyes explode in their sockets, // // And as I’m limping

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

e and fire, for fire // // Alone holds

fast that which hell’s fire unbinds. // // But now our cropped, unciv

Sixteen Forty-Five

heavenward, phonemes falling thick and

fast // // their babble: tongues, their diphthongs dripping, from //

Same but differenT

s hush-parched silence. // // You held

fast , though those rattling serpent-words // // You heard hissed ‘Arr

. // // At the slow end of a forty day

fast // // unpeel the digits from your onion fist // // and mask you

in the belly of the whale fast, // //

fasting , feasted on the sea: // // its scales, its tales, and its bit

de of stone. // // Away dropp’d all my

fat as up I rose, // // Away dropp’d loosen hairs, my sweat it froze

[What have we done]

/ drink to winter! and be merry! // //

Fat boar bubbling in oil spit, and the lamb is bled // // drink! to w

Drink and be merry

filing // // Love set you going like a

fat gold clock (watch!) ticking // // Boxes on an Apollo checklist; s

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

tripped in your unmaking, // // Of the

fatal black suit, that only I saw // // Fit you ill, and added to you

harr’d, // // Destin’d to be the waste

fate does discard. // // Yet, time allowed, what seems fine chance wi

[What have we done]

Swiss time; // // An accurate // //

Fate . // // Shift essential, // // Tangential // // To the Jura //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

y is gonna come to make us all meet our

fate , // // You’d best make a bet I’d want that wave to be set // //

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// Oedipus Tyrannus // // Murdered his

father // // And knocked up his mum. // // Question his fitness as /

ysing dirts; // // A break from hoping

father just would guess. // // In Eastern Cape men show their worth b

Three gay rituals

ty of blue austerity; // // Just so my

father , labouring before // // The furnaces by night and day—for me.

ks of coal and grit. // // Just so his

father , prisoner of war // // Then casualty of blue austerity; // //

// you’ve got that in you not like your

father . // // Stiff from the night before and still drunk // // I sh

ider] // // A spinning spider, Sputnik-

fathered // // and strung up to struggle, streams gas against // //

[A spinning spider]

Fatherland // // He is an island offshore. // // There are no bridge

// By a clenched fist, soon to become a

fatherly // // Embrace between insubstantial beings who feel too much

Snapshot Endings

/ sins of the sons are visited upon the

fathers they had wars but not like these did

ms of oily debris, further than I could

fathom and far enough to fall at from a height in swift surrender.

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

burden of the desert of the sea. // //

Fatness sluiced clean, // // Streets emptied utterly into pits // //

at I’m one of the wonders, // // Can’t

fault the regime that I’m under: // // Meals: fourteen a year—all fro

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

my side. // // You sing along to your

favourite lyrics, // // Hazy summer light filters through torn curtai

the wind? // // Just a list of wedding

favours // // And a line not drawn on paper. // //

leaves might fall

pit. // // A sense of hope, a sense of

fear , a bough // // Cracks like fire, burning so bright, a bird // /

sun will shine, // // And through the

fear , all will be fine? // // North of here, climate’s unsure. // //

Ode to a map of the world

And the tea-leaves showed me nothing to

fear ; // // But I cried a splashy Victorian tear, // // Finding the

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

/ Meals: fourteen a year—all frozen (by

fear )— // // But the service gets slow when it blunders // // Around

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

the Underground // // Rush hour and my

fear for how I would // // Negotiate the other passengers // // With

Poems on the Underground

and be merry. // // silence unspoken

fear gritting the teeth and fingers // // the forbidden room //

Drink and be merry

st. // // Here’s to failure, here’s to

fear , // // Here’s to being anywhere but near. // // Here they want

Ode to a map of the world

Exam Room Villanelle // // I

fear I am not in my perfect mind: // // As examiners so cruelly, //

Exam Room Villanelle

hree grim hours. For my degree // // I

fear I am not in my perfect mind // // As I try to get my brain on li

Exam Room Villanelle

-written sheets, but as for me // // I

fear I am not in my perfect mind // // In the lonely hall where I’m c

Exam Room Villanelle

ed by the wrist of an amputee, // // I

fear I am not in my perfect mind. // // The questions posed are so un

Exam Room Villanelle

/ “Hold me tight” you say // // and my

fear is I will not live up to the task. // //

// We shall not sever hydra stalks for

fear of fresh // // blooms: already one says: “mankind cannot // //

Aubade to Girton

nt passes, and we turn anywhere: // //

fear reflects between our eyes, // // without words or comforts. //

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

ne pockets and grease palms. // // The

fear that we will not get up and over // // The latest life hurdle me

// But they miss the glimmer of primal

fear , // // That you master, as if it wasn’t there. // // I foresee

n the pit of your stomach // // Is the

fear , the absolute dread of what may be. // // Words run slipshod, al

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// joy, pride swelling in the belly

fear // // the forbidden room // // groans and secrets // // blood!

Drink and be merry

horred shears // // But this is what I

fear ; // // The stealthy scissors of a blinded time // // Cutting th

The Cutting Edge

rmholes lead, // // I have a very real

fear // // there’s no assured escape from there. // // The light of

to your breaking; // // True predators

fear this world’s raw // // Venality that spurns your natural law. //

rld // // Here’s to failure, here’s to

fear , // // To the monster, old fiend, that I can hear, // // Whispe

Ode to a map of the world

wn. I was so scared that I could feel a

fear trembling and leaping between my synapses. In all six hundred and

[So the moon was there]

the vitality of your present. // // I

fear what was will not be again. // // I once held you close; now I h

The Other Side of the Line

// Again. // // Men are too foolish to

fear you, // // I suppose. // // I will die here, I think. // // I

desire, the rose // // With senseless

fear : your ancient hexagram // // Is riven oak, for sixteen forty-fiv

Sixteen Forty-Five

// // And reveals the truth that I had

feared . // // I sit beneath your branches, breathless, // // Waiting

The Tree of Wisdom

ar husband’s still-mortal guess. // //

Fearless and shameless and hopeless, pathetically // // wanting no mo

Jonathan’s Deathbed

of a bank balance. // // The brave and

fearless warrior will cross the road // // To avoid the reminder that

stand motionless within a frame. Wading

fearlessly through // // the cold receding sea, with hair the colour

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ght // // So it ends as a snack—not my

feast on my plate. // // Ah! this one looks chipper—it’s bigger and f

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

elly of the whale fast, // // fasting,

feasted on the sea: // // its scales, its tales, and its bitter // /

Misshapen, shitten, and matted with old

feather . // //

[No point, she said]

’s past, but of your fine // // bones,

feather -forming in the fast- // // ness of your mother’s side. And no

rner and shed a skin or two, // // old

feathers and splinters litter our floorboards. // // Ooh go on then,

it painted // // over their scales or

feathers as they slept // // and rolled them howling down a rocky slo

// Catch at only half way there. // //

Feathers blacken and unpeel // // With the mourning of the wheels. //

Urban bird watching

stretch out, like a wingspan // // And

feathers form the funeral parade. // // A sparrow snatched from fligh

Urban bird watching

Unmaking // // Neither fur,

feathers nor scales ever clad // // A perfectly honed piece of mortal

ved-son yawn. // // Warm flesh through

feathers pressed // // like a sponge-print. // // The last breath ou

d the magpie says: fairy tales formally

feature // // insufficient details to impart one specific viable //

light, // // The herald to a straining

fecund mass // // Unleashed. A tongue of blinding, whippèd flame //

aze. Then late into the night // // I

fed it all the bits that it had missed: // // fragments around the ed

y second of our lives, and // // blood-

fed , or starved to oblivion // // in five minutes. // // The pattern

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

r, // // but history judged he was not

fed . // // So the cat sat, so thin and impatient, // // but then… bi

The Failing of the Cheese

th—so condemning our youth // // To be

fed to that Cretan abuser. // // I’m a man at his best where there’s

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

they came // // nonetheless // // the

feeble // // the old // // the rabid // // looking for folk answers

elf // // and the poor came // // the

feeble // // the rabid // // the lame // // looking for folk answer

he arse // // Eating us out of chicken

feed . // // But that was to miss the glory of it— // // The warm egg

[No point, she said]

o eat // // For, if it could, it would

feed even Tantalus. // // The frequent sticky thrill of that first bi

/ these days to savour, or discard; not

feed the eternal angelic fight. // // Still I turn from peat-smoke la

write essays that in some wise start to

feed us, // // When from the trees in Girton’s driveway come the caws

[Walcott begins Omeros]

ees, // // Choosing, building, flying,

feeding in the fields, // // Walking, hopping, stirring earthly leas,

[Walcott begins Omeros]

// I am a fool without wisdom, // //

Feeding on borrowed wit. // // Your voice echoes off my skull. // //

ttering // // from plastic tubs // //

feeding yew // // crooked elbow // // no gravestones // // poor yew

yew needs dried blood in spring

h me down. I was so scared that I could

feel a fear trembling and leaping between my synapses. In all six hund

[So the moon was there]

hings? // // With dreams you wake, and

feel as if you’d never shut your eyes, never ever not been seeing word

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ot remember a time // // When I didn’t

feel , beneath my clothes and the fallen // // Leaves of my skin, the

[I am almost 25 years old]

left. // // You’d have to be a fool to

feel bereft // // Because old verse forms rarely see the light // //

In Defence of Evolution

traced our path to this point. // // “

Feel better soon” // // Wrapped in layer after layer, like I’m // //

The Notes You Have Left

from your next cigarette, // // And we

feel bored and lazy, // // And my parents can’t tell me enough, // /

gifts are empty on the inside. // // I

feel carved out when I accept. // // He maps out his face and hair //

y fingers of shade that you are glad to

feel , // // Especially today. // // You don’t taste anything, // //

c because it is never not there. // //

Feel free to argue with me. // // At least when you read me I’m not t

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // which I’ll never hear because I

feel // // future lights heating, burning brighter now // // that he

why i’m getting into Christmas

ng at the back of your mind. // // You

feel it growing, growing // // Until the worm is a serpent // // And

ough my embrace. // // If only I could

feel its assault, maybe // // This landscape wouldn’t remind me of yo

The Other Side of the Line

nce you’ve seen the sun? // // I still

feel its warmth. // // [You’d brighten my day more.] / [Too long.] /

Whales sing because they have a song

biro. // // I have to keep running to

feel I’m going somewhere. // // Reality eats // // slow-moving prey.

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

// Just as my memories of you began to

feel like echoes, // // you came home. Measuring the miles decreasing

[I often think of that January morning]

print’s still there but it just doesn’t

feel like home anymore // // yeah, tell me about it, but just don’t t

counsellor failed to spot, // // But I

feel like I want to be entirely destroyed by love. // // Not like tha

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

l my knees are at my ears, // // and I

feel like if I rock back and inch, I’ll tumble and my bones will clatt

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

can sleep?) // // But then, just as I

feel like letting go, // // My home appears, a home that I can keep.

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

// Of white from top-to-toe. Each day I

feel // // My bones grow old with waiting for the feel // // Of eart

[My face is old now]

My bones grow old with waiting for the

feel // // Of earth against their sides instead of flesh, // // That

[My face is old now]

s audience to tears // // Or lets them

feel or empathise. // // For the writer may agree, but he lies, // /

// And you can’t stand it and you can

feel pounding, pounding // // But it’s only your head // // Hitting

finally aligned, // // So why do mine

feel ready to unwind? // //

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

e bed, my eyes // // are closed. I can

feel that she is there, // // I keep my eyes closed. // // My Grandm

// // and hide a secret inside. // //

Feel the air. Turn in the four winds. Broadcast the secret // // to e

e shrines were built. // // All humans

feel the change // // And, if we look, we can still see. // // Great

Before Christmas

/ Is but one of many. // // All humans

feel the change. // // Seeking the return of the light, // // Great

Before Christmas

/ Saying “Now that I’m old, // // I do

feel the cold— // // and my breathing is rather uncertain.” // //

/ // into the encroaching dark. // //

Feel the earth. Feel the water return // // to the dry ground. Let th

come in // // the roaming bees. // //

Feel the fire. Spread out a green canopy // // in the warming sunligh

time for a gentler stream. // // Now I

feel the flood’s return // // push against my trickle home, // // to

of the blaze. // // Even now, // // I

feel the heat upon my face. // // Twenty three years later, when my m

/ // behind a stretched sheet, can you

feel the rods // // are they strong enough to lift a stained glass //

letters abandoned. // // I want you to

feel the same, but— // // I’ll call you back soon. // // Warmth in 5

Fall for————

the earth, // // smell the air, // //

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

Epicycle // // Wake. // //

Feel the water. Push out below, // // tendrils into the dark and damp

ncroaching dark. // // Feel the earth.

Feel the water return // // to the dry ground. Let the cooling dark /

this place. // // I close my eyes and

feel their cacoons grow // // More pink, more soft, and in this tired

[What have we done]

ift // // The stars black—do you still

feel // // Their loss? My wife stirs, // // As our son within // //

Here be dragons

ght fall // // Where the senses cannot

feel — // // This is where I hide, // // Waiting for the smell in ord

, I did not even want them to come. You

feel this too don’t you: in your sleepless nights, clutching your pill

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

mbrace between insubstantial beings who

feel too much. // // // // …Bleached walls stare into pale skin, ea

Snapshot Endings

I think I just want to really

feel . // // Un-pause. Furl my sparrow wings poised at the precipice a

liage for their constant “go”. // // I

feel very far from home. // // Red, white. Red, white. A yellow glare

utes after our hearts stop // // we’ll

feel where we are for the first time: // // in the dark of dark, //

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

nother day // // Another day // // to

feel your ever-present absence, still // // to find a way. // // I h

e, unknown… // // But I can’t reach or

feel your fragile form. // // What kind of fool deceives himself like

The chicken and the egg

t // // Could this induce a comparable

feeling in you? // // Who’s there? BANARDO // //

So you curl up inside your head, // //

Feeling much too small, // // And yet, // // Much too large to fit i

t-white tablecloth sea. // // Daily no-

feeling recurs in identical mornings. // // Business will go as usual

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

// // I should have known by now, this

feeling . // // Stomach, clenching, so hard the butterflies // // Bru

the fields. // // We’re right grateful

feeling that evening sun through an embrace // // of scaffold. And wh

never be (ready) // // Respite, (n): A

feeling that sinks // // And settles each morn, // // Affirmed by su

I could never be (ready)

ght, // // Shunned… but I grow. // //

Feeling when it gets clear, // // This pain is very wrong! // //

A Tribute to AQOH

you hate in yourself, // // all those

feelings circling in my strange heart // // whose meaning will foreve

ain ached in waves. // // I painted my

feelings in layer upon layer of blue // // until watercolours splatte

[I often think of that January morning]

// // Don’t. No easier to describe my

feelings in scrawled letters // // Than in conversations, so the note

Snapshot Endings

for breath, but you can’t // // And it

feels like your head will explode // // And the watery sounds take co

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT

FEELS LIKETO BE HERE IN THIS PLACE // // black // // frost // // bl

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

le-burst every time. // // The cold he

feels nudges at my booted feet. // // The speckles of weed on the wat

i have a strong urge to tell you how it

feels to be standing here // // but it’s warm inside // // so we l

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

, the ember grown aloft, // // My skin

feels ’kin to a burning fire’s waft, // // Sizzling at every edge and

[What have we done]

ld vomit // // Blood and water upon my

feet // // And say never, never forgive him // // He knows, he knows

our adorned with lights // // Shoeless

feet and unsteady ground // // If I close my eyes I still see // //

hold your hand in mine // // Shoeless

feet and unsteady ground // // Whales singing the day in // // The h

paradise lost between her knees. // //

Feet anointed and seven demons rise, // // Let him without sin cast t

ter’s edge // // To depths unknown (in

feet at least) // // To Mellbreak’s deepest crest // //

r or battle wound, // // Just resting,

feet cresting // // The concrete wave. // // Days stretch out, like

Urban bird watching

oung when we smoothed the bark with our

feet // // Firm in convictions that a tree so generous // // Could n

y as peel from his moon-silvered skinny

feet . // // He coughs with surprise at the cold rigidity of the groun

g // // Those steps made in slippered

feet . // // I wasn’t sure I’d find the same route again // // Until

The Notes You Have Left

neath a sheepskin you are crow’s // //

feet in a mirror, so many questions // // interrogate me slap me try

Dimming // // Four bare

feet in the wet grass; he and she, // // Having abandoned their shoes

t effort at defence // // drops thirty

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

Walking in winter

// Existing on hot coals blisters the

feet // // Just when I found them again // // In the meat-market, we

les through my hair // // Then my bare

feet on coarse carpet, // // I hit what I head for // // And study m

Falling Is Like This

Grandmother says she saw // // Angel’s

feet once, through the key hole. // // That was before she was old en

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

mber. // // The flame brought me to my

feet remember // // And, half in mind, Ascent of Cascade start. // /

[What have we done]

y armour well, // // And send sandal’d

feet scuffling back on the dirt they earlier trod. // // His eyes are

’Tis pity he’s a bore

off of her own caked shoes. // // The

feet that passed here have passed away. // // Handfast couples picked

/ The cold he feels nudges at my booted

feet . // // The speckles of weed on the water are like chips of dark

n my maw // // to the ocean: I have no

feet . There’ll be time to meet— // // now my flesh becomes fare: //

ed, // // ground crumbling beneath her

feet // // to meet the water channelling below. // // The crowds sta

oes // // To endless death, rinsing me

feet to nose. // // But just as I did to this purpose mold, // // Th

[What have we done]

yourself at home” // // I eased my two

feet , too small, // // Into worn and ripped slippers // // And shuf

The Notes You Have Left

of milk-soaked silence. // // Darkened

feet tread over a foreign space // // Which whispers with frustration

Vicious or Virtuous?

hould have gone a long time ago, // //

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

sen hairs, my sweat it froze // // And

fell , and dropp’d beneath, pass’d ’neath my toes // // To endless dea

[What have we done]

// // To what forgotten forest are we

fell // // And how, so root and branch do both curse spell, // // Wh

[What have we done]

days were short, // // and dark night

fell as we built and lit the fire // // on the dark stones, and plant

oal-dust in the chest. // // If he who

fell at Passchendaele had seen // // My suit and gown, would death ha

ay // // Towards the edge // // Where

fell breaks // // On nothing but the shiver // // of your fresh skim

med part of the tribute // // The girl

fell for the muscular he-brute: // // Provided a thread, left her bro

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

sts. // // Foreign coin of size of 20p

fell from my wallet in stopping taxi, // // Filled that space for yea

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

the air. // // in little hessikaner we

fell in (or down), // // little hessikan, your juniper hair // // sh

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

top. // // All around me // // Noises

fell in puddles // // Like a building falling // // Brick by brick.

[So snow falls outside]

flat, // // So those I loved precipit

fell // // In pulverised procession that // // Squeezed, through con

Love—Section C Part 2b (i-ixx) // // I

fell into it by accident. // // A barrier was missing contrary // //

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

flawed. // // But then to the ground

fell the fruit to me, // // That kept the words so secretly. // //

The Tree of Wisdom

Limerick // // There was an old

Fellow of Girton // // who always made love with his shirt on. // //

gate, on her way to // // recognition,

fellowships // // (Linnean Society 1904, // // Girton College 1913).

There must be moonshine

o the house. // // I always regretted,

felt cheated by // // that twenty-minute hiatus. // // But the fire

// // I cannot remember a time when I

felt clean enough. // //

[I am almost 25 years old]

ky in place, you see, because the stars

felt so sorry for it. But once I had swallowed the moon, the stars all

[So the moon was there]

l the colours blurred into white. And I

felt sorry for it, because although it sat alone in the watercloured s

[So the moon was there]

would have been perfect, except my skin

felt too big for my bones. It just hung there softly, crumpled at the

[So the moon was there]

gentle with the strong // // Emotions

felt when read in whole. // // The writer scoffs when hearing praise

e wooden phallus, // // Sharpened with

female power. // // Poof! // // Another metaphor turns to dust. //

now prayer—in sixteen forty-five // //

Fends between adversaries. Old tongues, // // Grown grave, recite the

Sixteen Forty-Five

d with lights // // On the festival of

Ferragosto // // If I close my eyes I still see // // Fireworks like

lock painting // // On the festival of

Ferragosto // // Years from that night // // Fireworks like a Polloc

re and there. // // Only an infrequent

ferry carries me across, // // Reluctant. // // He holds his generos

f the sheltering waves // // Until the

ferry comes into harbour // // And I see that he is half of me. // /

ess, // // The year is born again. The

festival // // Of a boy-king // // Is but one of many. // // The ye

Before Christmas

rbour adorned with lights // // On the

festival of Ferragosto // // If I close my eyes I still see // // Fi

s like a Pollock painting // // On the

festival of Ferragosto // // Years from that night // // Fireworks l

any. // // The year is born again. The

festival // // Seeking the return of the light // // Is but one of m

Before Christmas

ust punish my uncle’s transgression but

feta or parmesan now THAT is the question’ // // Would our souls not

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

yellow, // // Translucent as childhood

fever // // Which once spelled time so slow. // // I hear whispers i

leaves might fall

// // Ten billion years from this. Yet

few’ll then know, // // Or knowing grasp, those glaciers of flame. //

o look at the case. // // “It’s been a

fiasco , a drain on our taxes. The // // tendering process was not at

Troubled waters

Fibbing // // Blair // // Lied, // // It’s true. // // He had to /

Fibbonacci // // Once upon a time, // // one word was all it took //

did require // // Some movement to its

fickle flame inspire. // // So moved I to my deepest depths of will,

[What have we done]

and of course // // extracted from my

fickle memory— // // elusive and illusive treasure, she. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

lace Stevens’s ‘Notes Towards a Supreme

Fiction ’, section 1: ‘It Must be Abstract’ // // 1. // // Don’t thin

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

dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // //

Fiddle -dee // // -Dee.” // //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

out their // // life’s melody. // // “

Fiddle -dee-dee,” said the minstrel, “The only thing // // Left of thi

Jonathan’s Deathbed

Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee // // Fiddle-dee // // -Dee.” // //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // //

Fiddle -dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee // // -Dee.” // //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee // // -Dee.

Jonathan’s Deathbed

// // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee /

Jonathan’s Deathbed

fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee /

Jonathan’s Deathbed

dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // //

Fiddle -dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee /

Jonathan’s Deathbed

// // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // F

Jonathan’s Deathbed

fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // F

Jonathan’s Deathbed

fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee f

Jonathan’s Deathbed

fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // //

Fiddle -dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee f

Jonathan’s Deathbed

his life is its sweet melody. So // //

Fiddle -dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-d

Jonathan’s Deathbed

its sweet melody. So // // Fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-d

Jonathan’s Deathbed

melody. So // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee

fiddle -dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-d

Jonathan’s Deathbed

fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // //

Fiddle -dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee fiddle-dee // // Fiddle-dee fiddle-d

Jonathan’s Deathbed

stealing the warmth of his ring. // //

Fiddling , jittering, spluttering, crying // // his name like a love-s

Jonathan’s Deathbed

Or the face you pull in the mirror when

fiddling with your hair. // // You could trace a line, like a long sl

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

And all the fruits of forest, farm, and

field // // Are lost forever in the coming dark, // // Impounded in

// // Beaming an endless web around my

field , // // Housing my growing self inside a shield, // // And bath

[What have we done]

// Of my screen. // // Here in Higgs’

Field // // I keep my eyes peeled, // // For each mil-billionth stri

Small Particles in the Small Hours

he blur of your // // Shallow depth of

field // // Like a spirit waiting for its clay; // // Because the ab

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

e bearded barleycorn // // But a whole

field springing, // // The vine and all its tendrils, // // Unfold f

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

g, // // We gaze across, to that rusty

field // // Where your funeral pyres still burn, // // Silently roar

Magnetic Mountain

rt the edge of Malham Cove, // // with

fields below and limestone crags above; // // descend the steps to re

Daydream Dale Journey

/ Settle into laps of relatives. // //

Fields of Athenry tails off, // // (Too slow, // // Too sad) // //

Wild Mountain Thyme

is gold: // // The slope of hills, the

fields of barleycorn. // // The loaded branches of the apple tree, //

The Magic Apple Tree

osing, building, flying, feeding in the

fields , // // Walking, hopping, stirring earthly leas, // // Serenad

[Walcott begins Omeros]

away through our empty sails, over the

fields . // // We’re right grateful feeling that evening sun through a

e’s to fear, // // To the monster, old

fiend , that I can hear, // // Whispering across the sea, // // A nam

Ode to a map of the world

aught // // in the—“today there’s been

fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes”—tv-light // // and

no plays. // // Crescendo—jump a major

fifth — // // And down the tone I never can hear— // // And rise agai

// // To name your best street simply ‘

Fifth ’ must surely be a sin. // // Maybe the new New Yorkers were jus

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

oil caster. // // The year is nineteen

fifty -five; // // The man, Bologna’s drawing-master. // // He lives

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

or there she was: weaving a registry of

fifty shades of brown. // // Ships hang in the sky much in the way br

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

, circa 1958 // // After the floods of

fifty -three // // they raised the ramparts: giant concrete blocks //

Walking in winter

// Completion of our necessary task to

fight // // And crush this evil force. We did appreciate // // Your

ts, // // the Valentine that sparked a

fight . Clothes pegs. // // He, of course, always hated sentiment, //

in my fist. // // With nothing left to

fight for, I battle. // // Your line, not for emphasis, but division,

The Other Side of the Line

r discard; not feed the eternal angelic

fight . // // Still I turn from peat-smoke laughter and librarian’s pl

ink into the caressing depths // // Or

fight to the lung-stinging surface? // // My base animal is out for b

/ talk of equality and love, // // the

fight to win our rights. // // We have the vote, // // a royal chart

A Room of Her Own

never made. // // I can be a leader, a

fighter , // // A voice of reason, an echo // // Of some thought you

Writing to explore

// I’m a man at his best where there’s

fighting // // (Hand to hand with a bull/man’s exciting), // // But

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

/ // In the offices running // // His

fighting machine. // // He whispered sweet nothings // // And proffe

y. // // See from up there, // // The

fight’s already started. // // Look from above, // // We’re on the l

[She points to the sky]

ight points to the sky”. he says it’s a

figure , a luminescent metaphor for something else, but all you can see

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

. // // The awkward heavy giant is the

figure who succumb to Its challenge. He slows down, stops, waits, pont

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

nd an end, an epilogue. // // I stand,

figureless , grey and distant, // // My frustration, ever building, sw

The Other Side of the Line

/ // engagement from responsible adult

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

es like this will be no more. // // Re-

fill my glass, and this time with Champagne, // // Drink down the las

// Do I need others’ breezing breath to

fill my happiness? // // Glances, yeses, and the mystery of mustard y

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

fore the faceless passengers // // And

fill my mind // // To bridge the gap // // And space between the //

Poems on the Underground

Revelry // // Come

fill the cup, we’ve little time to drink, // // The ship of state’s a

ining stones darker as words attempt to

fill the gap // // Between this point and somewhere just past my hori

Snapshot Endings

[Oh work] // // “Oh work, // // ye

fill the night; // // Oh time; // // ye slip, slip, slip away, // /

// that it can make itself again, and

fill // // the world with dittoed offspring. Yet it will // // occas

fresh eyes showing. // // Somehow you

fill your name already, // // Cast in white marble by two gentle brea

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

fining through fire. // // The page is

filled . I have built a pyre // // To all the words whose smoke the sk

hadow to bloom // // In the vast, dust-

filled // // Maria of a hidden // // Moon. Now your shadow // // Bl

Here be dragons

from my wallet in stopping taxi, // //

Filled that space for years—It makes no sound as it drops. // // I re

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

w, and that’s how it saved me. The moon

filled the bits of my skin that were too big and suddenly I could fit

[So the moon was there]

ing sleepy coffee // // as your guitar

filled the room with the sound of careful echoes. // // Even now I re

[I often think of that January morning]

why do all the names sound like a robot

filled them in? // // The avenues just run as ‘First’ to ‘Tenth’ from

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

… bittersweet jubilation! // // He was

filled up with bliss, ’cause // // he tracked down his Whiskas // //

The Failing of the Cheese

illed with wonder] // // Your eyes are

filled with wonder as they gaze // // so deep between the colours of

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

filled with wonder] // // Your eyes are filled with wonder as they ga

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

fire and read it with my coffee, // //

filling and unfilling the warm mug in murky waves. // // The ink I wr

[I often think of that January morning]

waiter serves // // My tea. Sugar bowl

fills not-white tablecloth sea. // // Daily no-feeling recurs in iden

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

mething. // // A cycle of conversation

fills the room // // Asking meaningless, roundabout, questions for th

Vicious or Virtuous?

in darker wood. Clear morning sunlight

fills // // the room we glimpse inside. A woman leans // // upon a

Cape Cod Morning

eed not say anything because // // she

fills the silence of the room // // with her presence. // // My Gran

ith her presence. // // My Grandmother

fills the whole room with // // her hands, the wrinkles round her eye

tions (extra legroom). // // Framed by

filtering sun, picking your lip. // // You’ve handed me back the earb

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ourite lyrics, // // Hazy summer light

filters through torn curtains. // // You shed dust from your eyes, //

viewing of the cinema landscape in that

filthy glass // // Will only pause briefly, // // Or be eclipsed by

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

There must be moonshine // //

Fin de siècle. // // Ethel Sargant, botanist // // (Girton student 1

There must be moonshine

you can do // // Than whine with your

final breath? // // I am one of those dread ancients // // Dispensin

in a furry fury // // at the nilherd’s

final demands, // // stamp in a sweep to the slope-edge: // // horns

Nil Charge / Nil Return

icked by childish hands // // Giving a

final dull thud as they fall to the ground. // //

y will // // to find a way. // // The

final fray // // remains in memory, for good or ill, // // another d

As the violin plays triplets // // The

final note is sung // // Diminuendo—soft, my love, // // We end wher

en one stormy night // // it pulls the

final prop. A hundred yards // // of man’s best effort at defence //

Walking in winter

watches from the window // // For the

final stroke // // In Lily’s masterpiece. // //

ine. // // You’re sure our threads are

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

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

per second // // Per second, and I’ll

finally be able to stand again, // // And stop falling to my knees. /

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

o years’ pay, this is the day // // He

finally comes to Gaza (with chums). // // Avoids being distracted whe

/ // ed in Portugal, but when land (oh

finally , land!) bid their seek- // // ing end, Portugal could only ti

// We also need money—of course private

finance will // // jump to join in, but needs time to come through. /

Troubled waters

er on. // // Tomorrow—the same. // //

find a bunch of flowers for a suffering friend // // —cancer, poor de

car. // // Later, unpacking, // // I

find a history— // // My history— // // Of mothers and grandmothers:

fle quickly if you’re clever // // And

find a new hapless victim to con.” // // So if you think your love an

ow’s still // // another day // // to

find a way. // //

er I have the necessary skill // // to

find a way. // // And now today // // is ending. I suppose tomorrow

r ever-present absence, still // // to

find a way. // // I hear you say, // // “But life is for the living,

y head, and take away my will // // to

find a way. // // The final fray // // remains in memory, for good o

ou walked away. // // So I struggle to

find an end, an epilogue. // // I stand, figureless, grey and distant

The Other Side of the Line

sound, // // they bind and loose, they

find and are not found. // // Re-call the river-tongues from Alph to

look of all that marginalia // // you

find from the smug graffiti-writing reader: ‘Foucault!’, // // ‘evolu

ast Indies like one who // // couldn’t

find his hat in the dark so he put on the cat instead. // // Columbus

more warm, // // And though at start I

find I face a swarm // // Of loosen water rocks, I soon surmise // /

[What have we done]

ear was worth the glor- // // y of the

find in the name of God for the sake of gold. They mock- // // ed in

would pay for the glor- // // y of the

find in the name of God for the sake of gold. They mock // // him in

orning I came down, // // expecting to

find it cold, but every day // // the embers beneath the ash were dar

d pen. // // Not even Chesterton would

find it hard to believe that men can desire more from art that cheese

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// // They say that each creature must

find its way to this tree // // And that each life is a movement towa

[At the coinciding point of the years]

d by its time-blown boughs, // // Will

find itself returned to the perfect lightness of itself // // And to

[At the coinciding point of the years]

Riddle // // Come

find me in a crease sea-squalls cannot reach // // Waves are my shelt

al to your wisdom, // // But instead I

find my mind is flawed. // // But then to the ground fell the fruit

The Tree of Wisdom

dale and moor to skip across // // and

find myself in wooded Janet’s Foss. // // Upstream again to clamber G

Daydream Dale Journey

s less fallible than our own, // // To

find new ways to hold, // // To hold without hands. // // But serene

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

s though a mouthful of smoke, // // To

find new ways to no longer hold. // //

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

owed this path of destruction to // //

find out their instrument, plucked on its string with his // // cold

Jonathan’s Deathbed

write about for one. // // (but they’d

find something) // // They’d say it was tragic, most likely. // // I

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

mortal endeavour to preserve, // // To

find stability that will outlive, // // To commit love to memories le

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

Constant, never reaching home. // // I

find that I am not alone // // As streetlights guide my yellow path:

ss and up a flight of stairs, // // To

find the case and lift the dull brown cover // // To see, at first, y

The Magic Apple Tree

u, voyeur, // // approach the ledge to

find // // the girl poised and primed // // as she flees the water c

ippered feet. // // I wasn’t sure I’d

find the same route again // // Until your notes covered it like yell

The Notes You Have Left

e year tale to tell // // —could I but

find the words to make it plain. // // Two book-ends bracket our shar

rs apart, // // I can look inside, and

find you here, // // Like spring, eternal spring, inside my heart. //

[My face is old now]

ad. // // Instead I wake to warmth, to

find you sleeping, // // My living comfort, burrowed in our bed. //

/ small but unending—Ondine. // // But

finding a form to carve // // to remember you by is hard. // // It i

Stone, Paper, Scissors

to us // // Only a second ago, // //

Finding only shorter grass, // // A coloured strip made // // By the

cried a splashy Victorian tear, // //

Finding the day so new and so odd, // // With the gain of the world a

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

wers // // to folk problems // // and

finding // // the man // // who came forth // // from the earth //

Cambridgeshire last year. // // People

finding their way home. // // People leaning against this horizontal

// once the knife scores the surface,

finds a snag, and then turns— // // shearing me. Clearing me myself f

é! // // But, creeping further in, she

finds a tree // // ablaze with fragrant lemon-yellow suns, // // and

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

essengers who say // // That though he

finds himself alone, // // Life’s pawn at lifetime’s darker edge, //

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

ky I came. // // Then, as a blacksmith

finds his mold self-grown, // // My practic’d pattern forged a way it

[What have we done]

il // // an accidental spiral sequence

finds // // that it can make itself again, and fill // // the world

ou // // Dear Alan, // // I hope this

finds you // // Dear Alan // //

an // // Dear Alan, // // I hope this

finds you well // // Dear Alan, // // I have lost // // Dear Alan,

he next two months // // are clear and

fine and bitter cold. // // Every step, // // your foot upon the cru

Walking in winter

eeded now: can they enhance // // That

fine -boned beauty, linen-wrapped and masked in paint? // // How many

// not of the town’s past, but of your

fine // // bones, feather-forming in the fast- // // ness of your mo

o. Ah, I have a whim // // to build a

fine bridge clear across a great river, where // // trees, grass and

Troubled waters

d. // // Yet, time allowed, what seems

fine chance will be // // And, likewise to two falling trees, my bone

[What have we done]

/ Lover, the years have fine timing, or

fine luck, I’ve noticed: // // an old one dies, a young one stumbles

/ // And through the fear, all will be

fine ? // // North of here, climate’s unsure. // // All enduring is o

Ode to a map of the world

// // Heatherwick’s sure to produce a

fine plan. // // We also need money—of course private finance will //

Troubled waters

jo // // // // Lover, the years have

fine timing, or fine luck, I’ve noticed: // // an old one dies, a you

p-cut eye? // // It represented such a

fine -wrought craft // // and skill, and yet I never thought you deft

Compass Reading

se time, he’s carefully wound. // // A

finer example will never be found. // // His talents astound: // //

converged and it fled to the wrack in a

finflick . // // Our nets, turning weed, revealed nothing: no blenny,

Just a Small Fish

erine nights—I’d dream: // // my index

finger extended in front, walking in a straight line, tied to the inex

knuckles of your // // Ring and middle

finger , // // Taste the lies on your tongue— // // I’ve been busy. /

Fall for————

gs unfurl while forest // // palms and

fingered trees press tip and taproot // // down through decomposing l

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

se, // // anxiously mourning red petal

fingernails . You looked sadly through // // me, and I was left swallo

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

riek. // // I have never treasured the

fingerprint // // sonic resonances of a snore. // // We shall not se

Aubade to Girton

its string with his // // cold rubber

fingers and let their priest bless by its // // psalmodic tone—only h

Jonathan’s Deathbed

in my hands— // // The familiar blunt

fingers and shallow nails // // Of proud practicality. // // We are

per. // // clinch my neck between your

fingers , // // bore that small hole through. // // the marble caught

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

etry Group // // To sit on a sofa, our

fingers entwined, // // While we help disentangle some alphabet soup

Wednesday Evening

lauded as the best: // // To get inky

fingers in a Cambridge college // // And pilfer the noble classes’ an

// // Luminescent soul between muddied

fingers // // —now usb 3.0 compatible— // // Horrified by the naïvet

Frighteningly Inert

leaves overhead, // // With the clammy

fingers of shade that you are glad to feel, // // Especially today. /

at home and laugh at our crooked little

fingers . // // Promise me—don’t compromise your name, // // This is

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

prose, // // obtusely count ictūs with

fingers stunt’d; // // numb’d ass’nance, ’lision; laziness, it shows.

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

spoken fear gritting the teeth and

fingers // // the forbidden room // // groans and secrets // // and

Drink and be merry

an still see // // The canopy of green

fingers tickling the clouds // // And the saffron-yellow orbs of our

// oil-light off tarmac. As you // //

fingertipped your way through // // measured musings, down below //

luc bat to mr. beam

nd-dunes // // against the beige of my

fingertips // // against the straight planes of your edges) // // To

// Zest bittersweet scent // // Syrupy

fingertips // // Slide past lips // // Mellow touch, a kiss // // T

// By changing everything. // // Tiny

fingertips . // // (The winners in heartbreak.) // // “Biology is jus

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

// except your soft smile each time my

fingertips turned a page, // // and every night I watched your mind d

[I often think of that January morning]

you—wait, don’t kiss me, I’m trying to

finish the story. And I swam back to you, and you’d made me a cup of t

[So the moon was there]

anything, // // Because you’ve already

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

sk my cooling corpse to rush // // you

finite proof ‘within three working days’. // // In limbo here I can n

Between Life and Death

eeks and Trojans fought for, instead of

finlandia swiss, gubbeen and brin d’amour? // // And had Hamlet said

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

Finnegan’s Lake riverrun, past Eve’s and Adam’s // // sins

ch drift behind me, // // swaying in a

Finnish tango // // to the ship’s pitch and yaw, // // borrowed eyes

// We take the path beside the wood—the

fir // // and silver birch along the dunes that run // // between th

Wells in winter

// // Unseen or seen, did spark a tiny

fire . // // A lonely ember ’twas, and did require // // Some movemen

[What have we done]

This is the trial of fire and fire, for

fire // // Alone holds fast that which hell’s fire unbinds. // // Bu

Sixteen Forty-Five

of the earth, // // in the light of a

fire , // // and faint starlight from space // // reflected in inky w

d the Rose. // // This is the trial of

fire and fire, for fire // // Alone holds fast that which hell’s fire

Sixteen Forty-Five

y and earth // // and rock and air; no

fire and no gold, // // no gems nor coins nor jewels; just the old //

Daydream Dale Journey

ing. // // I huddled by the flickering

fire and read it with my coffee, // // filling and unfilling the warm

[I often think of that January morning]

h the robin // // And the snow and the

fire // // And the misting-up Dickensian window. // // Bravely, some

Wild Mountain Thyme

a poet’s hexagram // // Of ever-living

fire and unseen rose. // // This is our hexagram: the Tudor rose //

Sixteen Forty-Five

Drink and be merry // // Fur

fire and we are safe against the cold, cold night // // drink! and

Drink and be merry

each other? // // Stars and earth and

fire between them: // // these dazzling coloured images of flames. //

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

at twenty-minute hiatus. // // But the

fire bore us no grudge, // // and welcomed us back into its glow. //

med by un-canned laughter and crackling

fire -breath // // (Sound-bites for both now!)— // // because he coul

e and reel // // Back to lupine-winds,

fire burn and chthonic cauldron bubble. Incorrigible night // // in w

nse of fear, a bough // // Cracks like

fire , burning so bright, a bird // // Cozied in its nest, snuggles do

the spring rain. Throw open // // the

fire -coloured temptations, welcome in // // the roaming bees. // //

s purged the kingdom, and its men, with

fire . // // Come with your houndsmen to the household fire: // // He

Sixteen Forty-Five

Of blazing damage. Kinship, threat, and

fire // // Contend for right in sixteen forty-five— // // Until the

Sixteen Forty-Five

eded a lavatory, and I had to leave the

fire for a while // // to take him to the house. // // I always regr

e. // // This is the trial of fire and

fire , for fire // // Alone holds fast that which hell’s fire unbinds.

Sixteen Forty-Five

lace until at home // // the small gas

fire has warmed the room // // against the cold outside. // // (But

Walking in winter

me with your houndsmen to the household

fire : // // Here is Herbert, Tyndale, Eliot—rare tongues // // Who i

Sixteen Forty-Five

// // You strike flint to raise a good

fire . I tally days with snowdamp sticks. // //

must expire like Shelley, // // Or the

fire in your belly // // Will be quenched before your passing bell is

others too I love—Earth, Water, Air—but

Fire // // is something else again. // // A memory // // (nineteen-

// One kingdom with another, fire with

fire . // // Its five red petals breed six warring tongues // // That

Sixteen Forty-Five

pace is the earth, // // time lives in

fire , // // leaving us the water and the air. // //

the air, // // feel the warmth of the

fire , // // listen to the lapping of the water, // // and gaze into

Fire // // My sign is Aries. Though it seems a poor // // fit for m

// // the sky is dark, but the raging

fire // // of the sun marks passing time. // // Far down below, the

oul to be gently stroked; they want the

fire of their imaginations stoked // // Some want the facts as hard a

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

dark night fell as we built and lit the

fire // // on the dark stones, and planted fireworks // // in the da

slowly, // // will burn for ever. The

fire once begun // // would last for days and days. Each morning I c

am expands to form // // A Universe of

fire . One second’s past— // // Matter explodes. Growth’s spiraling ha

; // // strangely, though, not sex but

fire ). // // See this: // // the large, dilapidated country house //

ng from a jagged cleft. // // A wax of

fire —shrill waning hearts— // // Then silence, and my life bereft. //

/ // the roaming bees. // // Feel the

fire . Spread out a green canopy // // in the warming sunlight. Soak u

oor // // fit for me, it is at least a

Fire . // // The others too I love—Earth, Water, Air—but Fire // // i

ils, a crucible // // Refining through

fire . // // The page is filled. I have built a pyre // // To all the

do not slit this throat. // // Light a

fire to the fang. // //

l’esprit d’escalier

/ Ariel. I am a wait. // // So light a

fire to the fang // // that cannot be reached, // // So that I do no

l’esprit d’escalier

chopped and sawed and dug and then set

fire to // // the produce of our labours. // // A box or holly root,

/ // Of sixteen forty-five unfolds its

fire - // // Tongued text: this warfare is the strife that binds. //

Sixteen Forty-Five

-end; by day at poet’s sea of glass and

fire ; // // (too hopeful by half in the dawning). // // End-tale: No

// Alone holds fast that which hell’s

fire unbinds. // // But now our cropped, uncivil Samson binds // //

Sixteen Forty-Five

/ // We navigate by auspice // // The

fire which leapt over us // // Perseid gleams between the stars // /

ike seeing a humpback breach // // The

fire which leapt over us // // The ocean rolling beneath us // // Li

read it out as a punishment. // // The

fire will be lit in the dark hours of night, // // when dawn is stuck

The Dead Letter Office closes down

binds // // One kingdom with another,

fire with fire. // // Its five red petals breed six warring tongues /

Sixteen Forty-Five

ation fires. // // Pots are thrown and

fired , // // crops are watered. // // Seasons and years are counted

Firedrake // // Inspiration, lava of the imagination, // // Rises, m

plore the earth, // // and send signal

fires // // blazing into the air. // // Our space is the earth, //

e, Eliot—rare tongues // // Who in the

fires of sixteen forty-five // // Found prophesy fulfilled. Their wri

Sixteen Forty-Five

e are times // // when the imagination

fires . // // Pots are thrown and fired, // // crops are watered. //

// // on the dark stones, and planted

fireworks // // in the dark edges beyond the flickering light. // //

sto // // Years from that night // //

Fireworks like a Pollock painting // // As the thunderstorm struck th

/ If I close my eyes I still see // //

Fireworks like a Pollock painting // // On the festival of Ferragosto

had hoped // // You’d stay and see the

fireworks when they start. // // No, we quite understand. We know you

// // My skin feels ’kin to a burning

fire’s waft, // // Sizzling at every edge and spitting ’oft. // // M

[What have we done]

a time when the new year is held back,

firm by the wrist. // // // // And, lover, consider the running dow

smoothed the bark with our feet // //

Firm in convictions that a tree so generous // // Could never refuse

ea god—insanity— // // But he did have

firm pecs, and it looked like good sex— // // But I did seek a bit mo

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

theus (a lá Kafka) // // first, secure

firmly to large rock, add eagle and serve hot liver with vengeance //

// The frequent sticky thrill of that

first bite of fruit // // While propped against the tree trunk, kept

ayer, like I’m // // Experiencing that

first childhood snow. // // Humming show tunes to test my voice // /

The Notes You Have Left

// DAEDALUS // // I blame the King’s

first commission // // He just saw in me a magician // // Who could

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ret, I would banish this rubbish to the

first dustbin I met // // And the moral of this, as readers will fore

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

crystallize, but so often falls at the

first hurdle, // // Snaps like a rope whipping in a breeze on a deser

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

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

eor A Study of Reading Habits // // At

first I used to wish that I were Keats // // And then I wished I’d be

O Oriens // // // //

First light and then first lines along the east // // To touch and br

ens // // // // First light and then

first lines along the east // // To touch and brush a sheen of light

Chatterley ban // // and the Beatles’

first LP; // // strangely, though, not sex but fire). // // See this

ctant lie on the grass, // // White at

first , newly-mowed, // // Shorn beneath its reasonable limits // //

// Bravely, someone intones // // The

first notes to // // Wild Mountain Thyme, // // And our voices warm

Wild Mountain Thyme

ortion of candidates only attempted the

first part and were unable to earn any of the marks. Of the rest many

That reason why you hung around in the

first place // // Will come back to you. You knew it all along, it se

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

y the senior author: When my assistant

first presented this poem, it was in fairly strict ballad form—four-li

peace. I’m circumspect // // about my

first response. Success and joy // // may be your stated goal but saf

Between Life and Death

ipes for Prometheus (a lá Kafka) // //

first , secure firmly to large rock, add eagle and serve hot liver with

of the heart // // came a song of our

first // // spring; an ache and burn. // // How sweet and clean was

se, // // Let him without sin cast the

first stone, // // Let her without skin be the first to cry. // // R

Post-it Notes // // // // At

first they were covered in words: critical diatribes // // in small.

ly, then I end something // // For the

first time. // //

Snapshot Endings

// // we’ll feel where we are for the

first time: // // in the dark of dark, // // hungry every second of

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

// you should’ve written The Waste Land

first time round Nickerson. // //

[the typist puts her knickers on]

// The dogs that passed, for the very

first time, // // Were kindred panters of the air; // // The dead li

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

ld water. // // 1, given to me for the

first time while helping me with GCSE Physics, and repeated // // On

Three Pieces of Advice

rint. // // The last breath out is the

first to be drawn. // // Under the window, on the patio table, // //

one, // // Let her without skin be the

first to cry. // // Rosemary for remembrance and pansies for thoughts

self. // // I know the angels were the

first to fall, // // Cherub and Seraph spiralled down // // In circl

The Cutting Edge

r // // and I can’t quite remember the

first way I saw it; // // lost like all beauty. // // But knowing

// Ological boost // // Of being the

first // // Who saw the collision, // // Revealed the Higgs boson. /

Small Particles in the Small Hours

ising // // This Easter Sunday was the

first // // Without the old sun-dancing Christ: // // The bread stay

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

the dull brown cover // // To see, at

first , your image in the glass. // // You see yourself, and through y

The Magic Apple Tree

// may be your stated goal but safety

first – // // you’re in the trash dear Wayne – you wongaboy – // //

Between Life and Death

hem in? // // The avenues just run as ‘

First ’ to ‘Tenth’ from right to left. // // Milan and Barcelona and V

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

il, a gleam— // // It was just a small

fish . // //

Just a Small Fish

event? // // You’re not annoyed at the

fish . // // Anyways, how was your today? // // I woke up at 5. // /

Whales sing because they have a song

.] // // So, how are you? // // Small

fish , big pond. // // But staying afloat? // // I move a little, and

Whales sing because they have a song

ipping, nipple slip; // // uncatheable

fish ; // // in a river that eludes you, // // your essay // // will

Fish // // It was just a small fish, refracting the gold of a sunbeam

Just a Small Fish

a Small Fish // // It was just a small

fish , refracting the gold of a sunbeam // // until our shadows conver

Just a Small Fish

y, no bream— // // It was just a small

fish . // // So we lay on the rock in the heat and watched the sea’s m

Just a Small Fish

he genes around. // // The plants, the

fish , the dinosaurs, the apes // // advance across the generations. E

s. // // And houses have hollow // //

Fishbowl eyes // // Looking over sidings. // // Their peeling paint

un. // // Spill? // // All the little

fishes swim in packs, and I’m thinking, the fuck will they do if they

Whales sing because they have a song

/ // unpeel the digits from your onion

fist // // and mask yourself with the pocked palm’s odour, // // the

ng. // // Till now there’s only been a

fist , // // Half giving and half holding fast: // // A green knot sl

isible string held // // By a clenched

fist , soon to become a fatherly // // Embrace between insubstantial b

Snapshot Endings

// Gripping the tatters of hope in my

fist . // // With nothing left to fight for, I battle. // // Your lin

The Other Side of the Line

at his blood would have come from bared

fists against jaws, // // From tumbling to the concrete, eyes screami

Three Pieces of Advice

ir worth by rite, // // Both those who

fit and those in awkward guilt. // // A soft man from the oddest matt

Three gay rituals

s Aries. Though it seems a poor // //

fit for me, it is at least a Fire. // // The others too I love—Earth,

/ // And yet, // // Much too large to

fit inside your head. // // You want to escape // // But you can’t,

that were too big and suddenly I could

fit it again. And although the skies never really liked the moon, they

[So the moon was there]

And you’re frantic - no record seems to

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

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ore: // // Verse forms, like fashions,

fit the time they fix— // // You can’t revive a worn-out box of trick

In Defence of Evolution

atal black suit, that only I saw // //

Fit you ill, and added to your breaking; // // True predators fear th

knocked up his mum. // // Question his

fitness as // // Paterfamilias; // // Son-wise, he’s probably // //

o you once), // // And see if this one

fits , but // // It misfits, kills a bell in a burning crucible. // /

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

this one looks chipper—it’s bigger and

fitter // // And should keep me going for—wait…! // // DAEDALUS //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

oat. // // So, free verse, then, seems

fittest to survive. // // It’s democratic, stylish, and it’s deft: //

In Defence of Evolution

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge // // I translate Greek words from a sl

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

// // Untimely winds in sixteen forty-

five // // Blow through the windows, wake the paper rose. // // This

Sixteen Forty-Five

Once print, now prayer—in sixteen forty-

five // // Fends between adversaries. Old tongues, // // Grown grave

Sixteen Forty-Five

/ // Who in the fires of sixteen forty-

five // // Found prophesy fulfilled. Their writing binds // // Past

Sixteen Forty-Five

ur cropped, uncivil Samson binds // //

Five foxes, brush to brush, a hexagram // // Of blazing damage. Kinsh

Sixteen Forty-Five

// // Is riven oak, for sixteen forty-

five // // Has purged the kingdom, and its men, with fire. // // Com

Sixteen Forty-Five

ng mind dying with beating body. // //

Five minutes after our hearts stop // // everything (nothing) // //

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

Five minutes after our hearts stop] // // Five minutes after our hear

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

e minutes after our hearts stop] // //

Five minutes after our hearts stop // // we’ll feel where we are for

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

d-fed, or starved to oblivion // // in

five minutes. // // The patterns the night frosted on car windows //

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

l Hours // // Yawn, // // Dawn // //

Five o nine, // // Swiss time; // // An accurate // // Fate. // /

Small Particles in the Small Hours

from the worthless losses; // // That

five pence that isn’t worth the creak // // Of bones to pick up. //

Vicious or Virtuous?

ith another, fire with fire. // // Its

five red petals breed six warring tongues // // That in the silence s

Sixteen Forty-Five

ster. // // The year is nineteen fifty-

five ; // // The man, Bologna’s drawing-master. // // He lives a quie

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

the Tudor rose // // Of sixteen forty-

five unfolds its fire- // // Tongued text: this warfare is the strife

Sixteen Forty-Five

// Contend for right in sixteen forty-

five — // // Until the Lord of Liberty arose // // And drew the templ

Sixteen Forty-Five

Five // // Untimely winds in sixteen forty-five // // Blow through t

Sixteen Forty-Five

// // as saucers’ x-ray-burning to my

five - // // year infant guilt. Fruitless to plead my case // // into

Compass Reading

ond the flickering light. // // Nearly-

five -year-old Colin // // needed a lavatory, and I had to leave the f

// They simmered down when he was about

five years old, // // and she would have been, what, eight? yeah, eig

// // ‘I’ll take your coat. Ehud will

fix a drink. // // How was the flight? Few noticed that you’d slipped

forms, like fashions, fit the time they

fix — // // You can’t revive a worn-out box of tricks. // // Just lik

In Defence of Evolution

tion to descend. // // A face has been

fixed , and focuses below, // // yet diurnal as a druid, one drinks fr

[A spinning spider]

t is not that forms or words // // are

fixed , but that they slip // // and meanings multiply, // // while

Stone, Paper, Scissors

is only—the memory of kind words // //

fixed to a comforting face that could // // keep its humour through e

Sestina to an English Teacher

er mind together // // While we’re all

fixing // // Absences with cream, whiskey, // // Guinness, the whole

Wild Mountain Thyme

n mozzarella, richelieu and brie // //

Fixing anyone who disagrees with an impenetrable stare, yes a million

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

ib, Christ Kind: // // tree aspark and

fizzing , in a cavern // // so unknown but home. // // Ah but before

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

want someone whose smile makes the sun

fizzle out in modesty // // So that the Earth stops spinning dead in

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

/ As my hands grasp blindly for a white

flag . // // “I don’t know” spills from my lips in a constant litany,

l translation is not raisins // // but

flagons . Flagons might indeed // // distract me, or Suliman, from hi

The well of love

tay me not with raisins nor // // with

flagons , for I am well of love. // // Apples may perhaps be comfortin

The well of love

ion is not raisins // // but flagons.

Flagons might indeed // // distract me, or Suliman, from his pilaf. /

The well of love

To the harness and the harrow // // As

flails fall to split the bearded husk // // And seeds fall to the fur

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

Mad. // // He’d adore such a grand and

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

Troubled waters

ht // // One candle’s guttering sickly

flame // // And peer. Myopic view, fragmented past // // And impoten

stance shone—’twas my ember. // // The

flame brought me to my feet remember // // And, half in mind, Ascent

[What have we done]

// To measure scale for such a furious

flame ? // // Dark Matter reels. Imagine it just passed, // // Expa

ms // // Of roiling supernovae; helium

flame // // From Alpha Caeli’s rim; the Pleiad mass // // Of gas and

// // Intelligence, to burn a gem-like

flame . // // If you are last to leave, put out the light. // // We s

uire // // Some movement to its fickle

flame inspire. // // So moved I to my deepest depths of will, // //

[What have we done]

form, // // And looked for no eternal

flame . // // Just passed on far more heat than light. // //

ught a pot was getting hot instead of a

flame losing heat. // // So what does that say about us? // // That

Three Pieces of Advice

nleashed. A tongue of blinding, whippèd

flame // // Sears all before, while bearing all we’ll know; // // It

Like a changeling held // // Over the

flame , some strange trapped, // // Untranslatable pain. // // What t

Here be dragons

// Or knowing grasp, those glaciers of

flame . // // To measure scale for such a furious flame? // // Dark

whispers in the weather // // Tell of

flames beneath shed skin, // // The old so neatly severed // // From

leaves might fall

// so deep between the colours of the

flames . // // Drawn by warmth, I came to see you, // // which I do.

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

um— // // and see her consigned to the

flames . // // (I completely understand why people have // // funeral

uls of those modern men who bask in the

flames of that revered pen. // // Not even Chesterton would find it h

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

/ // these dazzling coloured images of

flames . // // Should I wonder if my eyes deceive me? // //

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

// From your perdition she’ll rise with

flaming hair, // // Having found grace at last in the depths of your

rcling curlicues of sacred text, // //

Flaring in ink and paper to the floor, // // The shredded evidence of

The Cutting Edge

as and ether or your man’s flesh // //

flash -fried, seasoned, laid out, sprinkled with ash. // //

Flash News // // Scientist says: meme for belief in life after death

everything. // // There was a hint or

flash of something // // Mundane, a gaudy colour. // // Like a trap

[The sun flattened]

strike with white branches in a // //

flash of white lights against // // bright, pale yellow, // // the s

Bright, Pale Yellow

nal—fossilised. The camera light // //

flashed seconds before waves flooded my boots, water breaking // // i

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

istened with my tears. // // Momentary

flashes of white coats and pitying faces // // And her, sobbing, whil

New York City from the heavens look so

flat ? // // And why do all the names sound like a robot filled them i

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

// // Took out the vacant ground floor

flat , // // So those I loved precipit fell // // In pulverised proce

nd a new gaze, // // Your palm pressed

flat to my sole, // // Your nightbed briefly vacated. // // My arm f

[The sun flattened] // // The sun

flattened // // Outside her window, // // Hardly touched the panes,

[The sun flattened]

flattened ] // // The sun flattened // // Outside her window, // //

[The sun flattened]

they bite, // // With substance and a

flavour of their own: // // So Donne is sharp and Geoffrey Hill is so

Cheese is the medium

// // Telling the future his signature

flaw . // // Creation stutters through faltering hands // // —The shu

Flaw // // We are not alone. The apple core // // left faceless perf

m, // // But instead I find my mind is

flawed . // // But then to the ground fell the fruit to me, // // T

The Tree of Wisdom

// until our shadows converged and it

fled to the wrack in a finflick. // // Our nets, turning weed, reveal

Just a Small Fish

the en-suite life. // // I thought I’d

fledged , // // abandoned the embarrassment of home, // // but now I’

A Room of Her Own

re is naught but this. // // No do not

flee ! Do not leave me! // // Stay! Desert not him who loves thee! //

he girl poised and primed // // as she

flees the water channelling below. // //

/ To avoid the reminder that success is

fleeting // // Eventually we all sit in the gutter, shot down // //

ight skims the gravel, revealing // //

Fleeting instances of milk-soaked silence. // // Darkened feet tread

Vicious or Virtuous?

sform the coloured flower into coloured

flesh // // and hide a secret inside. // // Feel the air. Turn in th

There’ll be time to meet— // // now my

flesh becomes fare: // // meat for man. He’ll greet my coat with the

roll’d // // Away to join my sweat and

flesh below, // // My knife no place to cling, my life to stow. // /

[What have we done]

ruit squeezed // // Spoon cuts crimson

flesh // // Drops spray silent // // Zest bittersweet scent // // S

// mustard gas and ether or your man’s

flesh // // flash-fried, seasoned, laid out, sprinkled with ash. //

legrounds ahead. // // The clash where

flesh meets wire and no-one wins // // Except you, you and your line

The Other Side of the Line

nnia lived together, so tangled in this

flesh — // // Survival does not equal dividing. Is this the poem? //

his immanent radiance, // // With his

flesh that resonates with echoes // // of the sublime, // // He is r

’Tis pity he’s a bore

Of earth against their sides instead of

flesh , // // That time when all that I am will slide through the mesh

[My face is old now]

// is-my-beloved-son yawn. // // Warm

flesh through feathers pressed // // like a sponge-print. // // The

// elcaro te se lucreh* // // * ‘You

flesh to atone’ (Google Translate, 2014). // //

Hercules et Oracle

in the age of mechanical reproduction. (

Fleshly reproduction is draining.) // // The quick, brown fox sticks

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

t // // your compass with its swinging

fleur -de-lys // // watched by the crystal prism’s sharp-cut eye? //

Compass Reading

sy lives explode. // // Mental muscles

flex and pose in minimalist offices. // // Soldiers making a killing

ain, algorithmic complexity // // that

flexes // // and envelops us, // // so it seems we barely move at al

ond, // // and Barden Bridge—and now I

flick my wand // // some miles of dale and moor to skip across // //

Daydream Dale Journey

// Was that? // // A quicker // //

Flicker . // // Did I just close on // // My boson? // // ‘Standard

Small Particles in the Small Hours

der blades. An unsteady light // // is

flickering between needling trees; history assures me it’s a house. //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

st my dreaming. // // I huddled by the

flickering fire and read it with my coffee, // // filling and unfilli

[I often think of that January morning]

, // // I’m counting beside // // The

flickering green // // Of my screen. // // Here in Higgs’ Field //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

rks // // in the dark edges beyond the

flickering light. // // Nearly-five-year-old Colin // // needed a la

me to fall in love. // // Lights still

flickering on the tree, // // I ain’t sleepy either. // // The angel

A Hymn to a Loved One

icate cave magic revealed // // by the

flickering torch // // of a heartbeat. // // Over the bow // // I c

// Where their quick-stirring forms are

flickering . // // We watch and hold each other’s hands till evening,

Is it a memory?

nickers on // // turns off the record,

flickers on // // the switch, grabs her car-keys, // // handbag, put

[the typist puts her knickers on]

// // Of gas and dust that veils, then

flickers past // // A Milky Way of twinkling roseate light— // // Sh

olystyrene cemetery, // // Blonde hair

flicking like a snake’s tongue. // // But her stylish-yet-affordable

// // One knife’s whisk’d out my hand,

flies back and falls; // // The other comes to slush within the marsh

[What have we done]

ess with suspense // // to capture the

flight and fall of // // the girl poised and primed. // // Evadne th

ud will fix a drink. // // How was the

flight ? Few noticed that you’d slipped away? // // The Washington dis

/ // Wake as three screams take // //

Flight , from window to shadow // // A child’s voice deepens, // // L

Here be dragons

/ // into the evolving curve of modern

flight // // now trade in futures on the wishing bone // // and floc

stard yellow tights. // // My bursting

flight of spotlit laughing on the pavement // // dries to sighs in se

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

// // Through these you pass and up a

flight of stairs, // // To find the case and lift the dull brown cove

The Magic Apple Tree

found him, petrified, // // Frozen in

flight on tarmac soar // // No scar or battle wound, // // Just rest

Urban bird watching

ed wires and frames, // // Circuit mid-

flight shorted. // // I am unsullied by the outside, // // The outsi

Frighteningly Inert

un, give Mum a call, // // and look up

flight -times for your daughter’s plane. // // Your life defined by th

// springing the bird to post-Jurassic

flight // // to trade in futures on the wishing bone // // Hall in B

parade. // // A sparrow snatched from

flight // // With wheeling thump. // // Icarus, spread-eagled in the

Urban bird watching

lickings on empty bird box // // with

flightless eggshells mouldering. // //

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

fall of light through branches and the

fling // // And curve of colour on the golden fruit… // // All burie

The Magic Apple Tree

k Abraham, ready every morning with his

flint // // At six o’clock. Sharp. // // But maybe I don’t need to s

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

creen here, // // His face is set like

flint , // // For stony silence. // // He gives his back to the smite

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

into the subtle mist. // // You strike

flint to raise a good fire. I tally days with snowdamp sticks. // //

’s shackles to rust. // // The shuttle

flits through warp and weft // // And hands recall hands from silent

At once, in shock, the cloud on which I

float , // // Does drift away, discovering below’t // // A pool of st

[What have we done]

// // Hark! the herald angels. // //

Float downstairs, put on the tea. // // Ding dong, ding dong, merrily

A Hymn to a Loved One

ng. // // Pride was a shiver. // // I

float in the blur of your // // Shallow depth of field // // Like a

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

r steel-stern face— // // A battleship

floating // // Above the diaphanous sea // // Of her Victorian dress

th our // // Camel lights watching the

floating moon. // // We went driving in your parents’ car // // To s

grade three flute— // // all, all are

floating // // through the air and out // // of reach. I want the re

Stone, Paper, Scissors

n to the source, luminate, warm, // //

Floating up seemingly by force ’gainst law // // Of Newton. Each ligh

[What have we done]

. // // Held aloft by spray // // she

floats above the curl and spume of sea, and then // // the girl poise

// // But drown’d out is their path—it

floats adrift. // // They crumble in atop themselves, debris // // F

[What have we done]

ke him from his fantasy. True awakening

floats on the ocean of sleep. // // 8. // // MacCullough must be rid

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

/ And we know that soon, // // Another

flock of birds will settle— // // Confusedly— // // Here, with us. /

Magnetic Mountain

futures on the wishing bone // // and

flocks of starlings, sparrows, swallows know // // that one for all a

ght // // flashed seconds before waves

flooded my boots, water breaking // // into damp dust around my knees

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

// Suffolk, circa 1958 // // After the

floods of fifty-three // // they raised the ramparts: giant concrete

Walking in winter

a gentler stream. // // Now I feel the

flood’s return // // push against my trickle home, // // to creep ba

n our prayers— // // sweep the kitchen

floor and the leaves off the drive, // // do the Sainsburys’ run, giv

head // // Hitting the wall, then the

floor // // As it consumes you // // And it’s not a serpent // // B

meat // // that he had dropped on the

floor (by accident) // // simply because it was so expensive. // //

well, // // Took out the vacant ground

floor flat, // // So those I loved precipit fell // // In pulverised

our stop. // // Coffee-stained plastic

floor , its frailty tuned by too bright, // // White-gold light, suspe

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ndensation // // Bolting blind the top-

floor library– // // Like a vitreous slogan of a monument, // // Rea

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

offee. // // Hours later we lay on the

floor of your house, sipping sleepy coffee // // as your guitar fille

[I often think of that January morning]

// // Flaring in ink and paper to the

floor , // // The shredded evidence of our affair // // Our old, emba

The Cutting Edge

/ descend the steps to reach the valley

floor — // // to leave behind, for now, the wilder moor. // // The tr

Daydream Dale Journey

/ old feathers and splinters litter our

floorboards . // // Ooh go on then, treat ourselves to a fancy dress d

estnuts in an oven. // // Bums ache on

floors , // // Perch on arms of chairs, // // Settle into laps of rel

Wild Mountain Thyme

ppers // // And shuffled over hardwood

floors , // // Through spaghetti-stained carpet // // With a smile, p

The Notes You Have Left

hale. // // Odd things have strewn the

floors today: quicksand clumps, capsized melon cubes, stranded sea mon

/ just as far as I can reach // // the

flotsam brought in on the flow: time to mark the beach. // // Now I

st ripest ones, // // takes yard eggs,

flour , fruit of the citronnier // // and bakes a tarte au citron meri

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

t’s the end // // Of a love that would

flourish were it not for the curse // // Of bringing her here. But no

Wednesday Evening

// // It was, before we ever knew the

flow // // And ebb of love like beaches touched by waves // // From

[My face is old now]

draw us on // // Into the ever-flowing

flow // // And let us fall, and let us grow, // // One thought, one

ent of Cascade start. // // Behind the

flow I knew there to be ice, // // For such cold worlds do not let fl

[What have we done]

ofter each stroke comes. // // So on I

flow , my breath held deep but soft, // // I let my body fall again, b

[What have we done]

uperseded. // // No heave-some ebb and

flow . // // No cramping bend to lunar bow. // // No woman ruled by o

oft soft, come down— // // The ebb and

flow of melody // // Ends on a heartfelt sigh. // // As the violin p

Crustate my hairs and eyebrows, a great

flow // // Of white from top-to-toe. Each day I feel // // My bones

[My face is old now]

And watch the minnows swim against the

flow . // // They dart between dark shadows and the gleam // // Of su

Is it a memory?

ch // // the flotsam brought in on the

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

tas, tidied up upstairs, // // let the

flower -arrangers in when they came at one, // // locked up behind us

ed for the occasion, // // we read the

flower -borne messages // // and talked to relatives not seen for year

essed between // // stormclouds like a

flower , // // holding for an instant // // it trembles // // and //

ots the sky, what is // // It looks to

flower in your // // Cries, but falls fallow? // // Go hungry dear f

Here be dragons

the air. // // Transform the coloured

flower into coloured flesh // // and hide a secret inside. // // Fee

hearts habit made can grow // // this

flower —momentary and no— // // way ever to be preserved or pressed? /

Flower // // Monday night, the tv on, // // keeping us tied to the h

// Of bushes, trees, and living, dying

flowers . // //

[Walcott begins Omeros]

s. // // Yet in determination progress

flowers — // // An open habit jointly stitched anew. // //

Three gay rituals

at river, where // // trees, grass and

flowers can stretch shore to shore. // // Of bridges traversing the T

Troubled waters

morrow—the same. // // find a bunch of

flowers for a suffering friend // // —cancer, poor dear, we’ll keep h

nt me this one wish I beg you // // No

flowers for my grave I pray you // // Mercy! I implore you // // A t

he pink heat of burnt necks and thirsty

flowers . // // I taste the faint rustle of grass as I sit on it, //

// They came with cakes, they came with

flowers // // They came to strew his grave with boughs // // But in

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

d from the Shakespearean pen // // And

flowing across the virginal canvas of the page was the fluid skill of

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// // For such cold worlds do not let

flowing be, // // so passed I through, life’s ocean dropp’d on me, //

[What have we done]

nwards, draw us on // // Into the ever-

flowing flow // // And let us fall, and let us grow, // // One thoug

of a single string, our source, // //

flowing in everything, for everything // // in the beginning, in the

ift and shimmer of another river // //

Flowing unbidden from its hidden source; // // The Day-Spring, the et

d this week. // // Play with that same

flowing vein, // // Running between the knuckles of your // // Ring

Fall for————

yeah, eight. // // Looking back, it’s

flown by. On his 13th birthday we had that big party down the pub, //

o the shattered trees // // Like water

flows down drains. // // If there had been a bird // // No doubt she

[The sun flattened]

you I’d die without you, that our love

flows through me // // Like blood, that I pine for you, and yearn for

I’ll never work for Hallmark

with pride // // And ironed shirt that

flows uneasily // // Over the tanning-bed tan that won’t glow healthi

the virginal canvas of the page was the

fluid skill of the masterful mage // // So with a sigh that page surr

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

table, // // a kestrel is plucking the

flunked corpse: // // discarding the moving-you- // // over-the-face

left swallowing saltwater streams under

fluorescent light. // // Autumn in Cambridge, and the stars wouldn’t

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

se and like two young // // Eves, in a

flurry of speckled limbs lobbed apples her way. // // She spat the pi

// bivalves blew bubbles. Beneath the

flushed sea-tail, a gleam— // // It was just a small fish. // //

Just a Small Fish

// the library, the chapel, // // the

fluster of lights // // in windows of work-stale rooms. // // Steppi

[The sash rattles up]

wimming // // awards, your grade three

flute — // // all, all are floating // // through the air and out //

Stone, Paper, Scissors

n, stops, waits, pontificates. Time and

flux goes ahead of him, leaving him in the dust. He revels joylessly a

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

is pain // // With wings too heavy to

fly // // Drenched in the love that screamed from my veins // // Wh

their trees, // // Choosing, building,

flying , feeding in the fields, // // Walking, hopping, stirring earth

[Walcott begins Omeros]

Beautifully crashing down, // // Life

flying in. // // Everything I Ever See Was Comin’ Or Goin’ Away. Same

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ucous song: // // A thousand geese are

flying into night. // //

Wells in winter

in, // // And far away green wings are

flying —is this the poem? // // In the Marianas, old souls dwell in ro

among our garden’s yields, // // When

flying to their messy, tree-top nests, // // Settling down in comfort

[Walcott begins Omeros]

ostalgic adventures // // Of Ryder and

Flyte // // Awestruck Oxonians, // // Transgenerationally, // // Ca

// // In the glaring static of hidden

foamy currents. // //

Frighteningly Inert

hard brown earth. // // Blurry, out of

focus and unfeeling // // Times, when the suns are this or that // /

uld Have Looked You in the Eyes: // //

Focus is the hinge // // Between experience and reality that you dang

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

s cut us off from looking at // // the

focus of her gaze: does he not want // // to tell? // // This painti

Cape Cod Morning

pick up. // // A camera lens whirs to

focus on a hunched // // Body. One of the crowd in particular // //

Vicious or Virtuous?

cend. // // A face has been fixed, and

focuses below, // // yet diurnal as a druid, one drinks from the Sun.

[A spinning spider]

seventy-percent // // Of newly-broken

foetus -leaves // // In the last May bursts of spring. // // Till now

ranch do both curse spell, // // Where

fog , encoal’d, imbues with cloud our sight, // // Surrounding ev’ry f

[What have we done]

est, somewhere near Chester, // // the

fog lights catching great dark shoals // // of rain, algorithmic comp

oo quick, arson— // // under the brown

fog of a winter noon // // Tiresias the stripper’s son // // turns t

[the typist puts her knickers on]

know now your real name. // // I could

fold my shattered wings // // And speak the word too mundane to say /

amed by a serpentine // // mouth; less

folded in your body and scent // // than I was fried by a blast from

it you // // see in my mind’s silvered

folds , and did I // // invite you in do I pretend you are // // stil

snaps shut, // // Creases more, // //

Folds into itself. // // A cloud steps aside for a second. // // The

[The sun flattened]

ights guide their journey, // // Light

foliage for their constant “go”. // // I feel very far from home. //

hair startles from // // A face in the

foliage , // // Not just the bearded barleycorn // // But a whole fie

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

abid // // the lame // // looking for

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

come from the hills // // looking for

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

old // // the rabid // // looking for

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

has anything to say // // to the poor

folk of Greece. // // But I’ve always thought // // that there’s som

// looking for folk answers // // to

folk problems // // and finding // // the man // // who came forth

// looking for folk answers // // to

folk problems // // and though they were wrong // // about the girl

// looking for folk answers // // to

folk problems // // hoping today // // she’d speak // // common Gre

id // // for the wisdom // // of poor

folk // // who come from the hills // // looking for folk answers //

// // Crumbling and stuffed with other

folk’s quotations.. // //

Cheese is the medium

name, // // tame linnets nibble for to

follow // // and trade with her their needs, (all fame, // // all ho

— // // there was no chance for her to

follow him. // // There was a week of waiting while they fought it ou

Black September

r with God. // // And God himself will

follow soon enough; // // A little word so easy to excise // // Anot

The Cutting Edge

gests I need not now despair // // but

follow where, by cute design, // // the wormholes lead, // // I have

ty // // shun. // // Death’s minstrel

followed this path of destruction to // // find out their instrument,

Jonathan’s Deathbed

and Wensleydale // // they passed the

following day. // // Of shoes and ships and sealing wax, // // and s

nothing // // Until a night of nothing

following that day. // // Sometimes at night I drift. // // Small an

[So snow falls outside]

like leaves // // In fashion’s autumn,

following this rule. // // And well they do, for both were classed an

In Defence of Evolution

ys. // // I see it all, like spring it

follows // // All before. Even now, after all these years apart, //

[My face is old now]

we begin. // // After the knife, there

follows the scar, // // and after the scissors, well, that's where we

m fading back now, rocking with wheels’

folly , // // Gliding over crystalline tarmac. // // The limestone’s

cales, its tales, and its bitter // //

fomenting glory in the great not-me. // // Way-hey, blow the man down

ut his scheming was built on // // her

fondness for Stilton // // when, sadly, it just made her sneeze. //

The Failing of the Cheese

r land. // // The poor must grow their

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

Suliman’s pilaf // // is real comfort

food . But comfort me not // // with apples, nor with pilaf. I can’t

The well of love

your fragile form. // // What kind of

fool deceives himself like this? // //

The chicken and the egg

rds the left. // // You’d have to be a

fool to feel bereft // // Because old verse forms rarely see the ligh

In Defence of Evolution

either will be satisfied. // // I am a

fool without wisdom, // // Feeding on borrowed wit. // // Your voice

doing // // Again. // // Men are too

foolish to fear you, // // I suppose. // // I will die here, I think

Clearing // // Miscellanea,

fool’s gold, bric-a-brac, // // bits and pieces, odds and ends, junk,

reafter for elsewhere. // // Athlete’s

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

er cold. // // Every step, // // your

foot upon the crust, you think // // ‘This time, it will hold my weig

Walking in winter

with heavy grasses. // // His pointed

foot will break the skein of water; // // I love that bubble-burst ev

y // // I shouted my name at the empty

football pitches // // I muttered my name incessantly in the supermar

[I whispered my name into the trees]

d podiatrist next door, // // ‘Eternal

Footman ’, snickers on, // // dribbles in excitement // // licks his

[the typist puts her knickers on]

pity wept by the few that can see your

footsteps in the stone. // // I will die here. // // I know. // //

where I once was, the waders team, rich

foraging is // // in their sights—time for a gentler stream. // // N

my heart with scraps of poetry, // //

Forbidden hopes and shards of mystery. // // They rustle through me i

The Cutting Edge

ting the teeth and fingers // // the

forbidden room // // groans and secrets // // and when the time come

Drink and be merry

welling in the belly fear // // the

forbidden room // // groans and secrets // // blood! wriggling life!

Drink and be merry

// and weathered hills, created by some

force // // beyond imagination; and of course // // extracted from m

Daydream Dale Journey

ask to fight // // And crush this evil

force . We did appreciate // // Your quiet support, as well as genero

, warm, // // Floating up seemingly by

force ’gainst law // // Of Newton. Each light-ray does one ice thaw,

[What have we done]

awls upon the pavement, // // Bristles

forced to comic angles. // // A pigeon’s slow, ungainly steps // //

Urban bird watching

r otherwise encumbered, // // Or maybe

forced to wear something restrictive, // // But that’s not even where

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

/ Drinking the potions // // The world

forced us // // To drink, potions which // // Were excellent (Minus

g on its sea. // // The cascade I had ’

fore in-gazed faced me, // // Wide-as-the-horizon, an endless hill. /

[What have we done]

n every reader the poet tries // // To

foreground something strange and new. // //

Foregrounded // // A starting point of sharp velars // // That cut a

by show no-texture of headrests. // //

Foreign coin of size of 20p fell from my wallet in stopping taxi, //

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

ence. // // Darkened feet tread over a

foreign space // // Which whispers with frustration at its // // Inv

Vicious or Virtuous?

of // // waiting on fronted news, the

foreplay tense, // // the hot slit in a letter, the shriek. // // I

Aubade to Girton

And the moral of this, as readers will

foresee is that passion is the stuff immortality is made on. // // No

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

master, as if it wasn’t there. // // I

foresee you stripped in your unmaking, // // Of the fatal black suit,

darkest night? // // To what forgotten

forest are we fell // // And how, so root and branch do both curse sp

[What have we done]

way, while night // // brings rumbling

forest drums that cry vanité! // // vanité! tous n’est ce que vanité!

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

rds yield, // // And all the fruits of

forest , farm, and field // // Are lost forever in the coming dark, //

s happy, really happy. I was stood in a

forest of pink trees and it would have been perfect, except my skin fe

[So the moon was there]

Fronds and furtive things unfurl while

forest // // palms and fingered trees press tip and taproot // // do

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

ded tongues // // Master of the hollow

forest , who binds // // The aged with their heart’s desire, the rose

Sixteen Forty-Five

ing the many-coloured earths. // // In

forests and in open spaces // // there are times // // when the imag

s mingling with the rain // // Could I

foretell the future // // Gazing from a clifftop grave // // Curved

ache of a clear horizon // // Could I

foretell the future // // The wake of light on water // // Curved ac

annoying. It just comes and goes—we are

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

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

ug sheets, if ink will stain your hands

forever . // // Does it wash off, I wonder, does it truly subside and

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

strange heart // // whose meaning will

forever elude you— // // tell me something else I will not forget. //

forest, farm, and field // // Are lost

forever in the coming dark, // // Impounded in some Dover Lorry Park.

I hide— // // and you can look for me

forever // // on the passing trains and platforms // // while I //

of that pen most famously tender // //

Forever stained with the Bard’s loving lines, she found herself immort

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// Thus the sonnets of Shakespeare will

forevermore consume, the beings, bodies and souls of any given room //

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

self-grown, // // My practic’d pattern

forged a way its own // // And I, the more I let my way be shown, //

[What have we done]

rehendable. A lash of light // // That

forges , through its surge, the casts of forms— // // Icons for us—of

/ // tell me something else I will not

forget . // //

// // Chopped up and worn away until I

forget how it sounds when you clear your throat, // // Or the face yo

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

es we will pray for you, and try not to

forget // // Stockings spongy carpets the window clad in lights,

Drink and be merry

/ // The horizon, I know, won’t let me

forget — // // That is its place, to encroach— // // Everything of wh

I could never be (ready)

my coffee. // // As much as I tried to

forget , the memories resurfaced in echoes, // // and always I found m

[I often think of that January morning]

// // So much happens that we miss or

forget , // // waking from dreams of the house in my head, // // that

m glaze the // // pain, till we // //

forget // // your // // name. // //

Wandlebury Hill

be destroyed before it is sent: // //

forgetting the details won’t be excused, // // and we may read it out

The Dead Letter Office closes down

pon my feet // // And say never, never

forgive him // // He knows, he knows what he is doing // // Again. /

t him who loves thee! // // Cruel one!

Forgive me! // // I know not what I’ve done! // // This passion! //

Wayne – you wongaboy – // // since you

forgot to check if I was versed // // in things grammatical, your bub

Between Life and Death

into meaningless // // serve cold and

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

this, our darkest night? // // To what

forgotten forest are we fell // // And how, so root and branch do bot

[What have we done]

green branches, // // Remembering half-

forgotten lives, // // Are obscured by Middle-Eastern tales. // // T

Before Christmas

st the scattered echoes // // Of long

forgotten lust; // // Dead gods rise and so I // // Dispense with t

ople left the city // // Moved by long

forgotten pity // // For their lovely Prince Dmitry // // Who had cr

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ke this moment and fossilise it. // //

forgotten quotations unpeel from the wall // // glide down. // //

rth into stalled world. // // Have you

forgotten the early months of silence? // // Or does that silence sit

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

hief strikes) // // again I imagine it

forked by lightening, white above again and // // the blood below. Pa

Distinct, only, because it looks // //

Forlorn enough to be a threat to // // Something. // // A cycle of c

Vicious or Virtuous?

// // Its megallanic stream expands to

form // // A Universe of fire. One second’s past— // // Matter explo

t last, the buried light. // // Boughs

form an arch, the painting draws you in // // Under its framing fring

The Magic Apple Tree

light. // // We studied mass, created

form , // // And looked for no eternal flame. // // Just passed on fa

rn, I don’t know if I’m here. // // My

form : beauty induced in smears of paint. // // Yet in this well-forme

The chicken and the egg

is poem, it was in fairly strict ballad

form —four-line stanzas, three tetrameter and one trimeter, rhymed ABAB

, // // How slowly my mind renders his

form . // // He exists illuminated in slow motion // // And I am drun

’Tis pity he’s a bore

hey settle together // // Nestled in a

form I had not meant // // Bringing a message I had not planned // /

Writing to explore

// // How miniscule we are, before we

form // // Idea that we have any power to light // // One candle’s

? // // Pity. // // Now his sumptuous

form is reduced to two lines, // // They mark the seat of disappointm

’Tis pity he’s a bore

e, // // The one who gave him tone and

form // // Is still the guardian of his life // // Is still the keep

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

// earth. // // But now // // a new

form of reverence // // is practised in Greece // // the self-confes

eflecting light through perfect diamond

form , // // Shining direct into eachother’s face, // // Beaming an e

[What have we done]

ut, like a wingspan // // And feathers

form the funeral parade. // // A sparrow snatched from flight // //

Urban bird watching

the marsh, // // Melting into a liquid

form , they blend. // // A faded wash seemingly moves o’er all; // //

[What have we done]

t unending—Ondine. // // But finding a

form to carve // // to remember you by is hard. // // It is not that

Stone, Paper, Scissors

winds // // a billion random patterns

form —until // // an accidental spiral sequence finds // // that it c

r the world to freeze // // And ice to

form upon the breeze // // And snow to lie upon the lease // // Leav

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

But I can’t reach or feel your fragile

form . // // What kind of fool deceives himself like this? // //

The chicken and the egg

scum. For us, lost Space and Earth and

form . // // Within our bubble, Hubble shows the forms // // Of roili

my mother died // // we had the proper

formal funeral. // // (She had chosen the music for the ceremony //

ing a nosebleed on // // A crisp white

formal shirt, // // And me realising that the method of erasing blood

Three Pieces of Advice

// // and the magpie says: fairy tales

formally feature // // insufficient details to impart one specific vi

sults embryonically won. // // Perfect

formation and heartless damnation // // as Paradise offers // // a t

Jonathan’s Deathbed

than doing different - // // The half-

formed house // // Of the brain trying to crystallize, but so often f

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

mears of paint. // // Yet in this well-

formed image, I’m confirmed. // // Your mind, your hands! You stroked

The chicken and the egg

make her a sick sis. // // When a Hero

formed part of the tribute // // The girl fell for the muscular he-br

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

d if it’ll happen again. // // If half-

formed thoughts will drip // // From the lips of this voice // // Li

Writing to explore

e bruises, existing as echoes // // of

former pain written across me, transforming the body’s blank page. //

[I often think of that January morning]

s simply nothing to connect you to your

former self but the concentric rings that signify your age— // // Mea

ited, blooming with the taint // // Of

former stages of my seven skins; // // A chronicle of past unbuttonin

vening light. // // Slanting lines are

forming , breaking, forming // // ordered chaos with a raucous song: /

Wells in winter

but of your fine // // bones, feather-

forming in the fast- // // ness of your mother’s side. And now, at la

/ Slanting lines are forming, breaking,

forming // // ordered chaos with a raucous song: // // A thousand ge

Wells in winter

d it starts to snow. // // A snowdrift

forms against the wire brush // // of David’s thick black hair, // /

Walking in winter

show // // Where their quick-stirring

forms are flickering. // // We watch and hold each other’s hands till

Is it a memory?

forges, through its surge, the casts of

forms — // // Icons for us—of weighed and measured mass // // Ten bil

// // Of telephonic hygiene? It never

forms // // Intelligence, to burn a gem-like flame. // // If you are

theory for this open sore: // // Verse

forms , like fashions, fit the time they fix— // // You can’t revive a

In Defence of Evolution

// Within our bubble, Hubble shows the

forms // // Of roiling supernovae; helium flame // // From Alpha Cae

ir is a lustrous shadow cast by earthly

forms of that abyssal goddess. // // ’Tis pity he’s a bore. // // Ho

’Tis pity he’s a bore

r you by is hard. // // It is not that

forms or words // // are fixed, but that they slip // // and meanin

Stone, Paper, Scissors

to feel bereft // // Because old verse

forms rarely see the light // // The truth is that they’re dead becau

In Defence of Evolution

e to remember the names of the metrical

forms , // // So easy to learn. // // I digress. // // I always digr

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

u these words // // Were nature, these

forms so often taught that you could // // chat in verse, speak in po

Sestina to an English Teacher

ok around the wood, // // The ghoulish

form’s tear in the air re-sewn // // So through it dancing branches f

[What have we done]

in d’amour? // // And had Hamlet said ‘

Forsooth , I must punish my uncle’s transgression but feta or parmesan

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

finding // // the man // // who came

forth // // from the earth // // had something to say // // that wa

/ // vainglorious hope they’ll trumpet

forth your K. // // So when the silver thief (who always came // //

Compass Reading

el: // // Embroideries and rhymes were

fortune’s perk— // // They advertised who wasn’t made for work. // /

In Defence of Evolution

e a minute. // // At the slow end of a

forty day fast // // unpeel the digits from your onion fist // // an

y-Five // // Untimely winds in sixteen

forty -five // // Blow through the windows, wake the paper rose. // /

Sixteen Forty-Five

/ // Once print, now prayer—in sixteen

forty -five // // Fends between adversaries. Old tongues, // // Grown

Sixteen Forty-Five

gues // // Who in the fires of sixteen

forty -five // // Found prophesy fulfilled. Their writing binds // //

Sixteen Forty-Five

xagram // // Is riven oak, for sixteen

forty -five // // Has purged the kingdom, and its men, with fire. //

Sixteen Forty-Five

agram: the Tudor rose // // Of sixteen

forty -five unfolds its fire- // // Tongued text: this warfare is the

Sixteen Forty-Five

ire // // Contend for right in sixteen

forty -five— // // Until the Lord of Liberty arose // // And drew the

Sixteen Forty-Five

Forty -Five // // Untimely winds in sixteen forty-five // // Blow thr

Sixteen Forty-Five

een my synapses. In all six hundred and

forty muscles, and all ten toes. But the moon saved me— // //

[So the moon was there]

Interval // // There is a

forty -one year tale to tell // // —could I but find the words to make

the cold outside. // // (But that was

forty years ago // // —these days his hair is white all through.) //

Walking in winter

/ // …The anticipated ending stretches

forward , dripping hungrily on the path // // Like rain. Staining ston

Snapshot Endings

/ In the meat-market, wearing each step

forward // // Into last night’s night I cut // // Myself with famili

And don’t go sharp— // // And onwards,

forwards , into the heart, // // And now we let our voices rise // //

/ // and find myself in wooded Janet’s

Foss . // // Upstream again to clamber Gordale Scar // // and rest, a

Daydream Dale Journey

. // // I want to take this moment and

fossilise it. // // forgotten quotations unpeel from the wall // //

// scarf waving like a distress signal—

fossilised . The camera light // // flashed seconds before waves flood

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

A trifle(with double cream) // // Dr

Foster went to Gloucester // // for a summer spin— // // and liked a

from the smug graffiti-writing reader: ‘

Foucault !’, // // ‘evolution’, ‘what?’, or ‘no!’. Now they’re wordles

as an epic cause the Greeks and Trojans

fought for, instead of finlandia swiss, gubbeen and brin d’amour? //

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

There was a week of waiting while they

fought it out. // // There was a lull— // // But he was dead: // //

Black September

wilder moor. // // The treasures to be

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

Daydream Dale Journey

light // // was caught. After time we

found coffee and wine, // // a waiter who looked like a brother, and

lled himself Woody, // // And promptly

found fame. // // Higgledy Piggledy // // Christopher Isherwood //

l rise with flaming hair, // // Having

found grace at last in the depths of your lair. // // She’ll stone yo

ained with the Bard’s loving lines, she

found herself immortalised. // // If Chesterton had been present woul

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

hingOn the Huntingdon Road. // // They

found him, petrified, // // Frozen in flight on tarmac soar // // No

Urban bird watching

d. // // A finer example will never be

found . // // His talents astound: // // Listen // // to // // His

// expresses change. Some variant has

found // // how good sex is—to mix the genes around. // // The plant

I be lost in Venus, // // Could you be

found in Mars, // // Then I might search your tender wounds // // An

The Daily Planet

ithout hands. // // But serene pain is

found in the effort to learn to relinquish, // // To let go of leaden

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

iness again, // // Lost in bottles and

found , // // In your uneven smile, sharp teeth, // // Your voice, I

Fall for————

Jane // // A crown gall, // // they

found it indide her body. // // I imagined its cross section like a b

surfaced in echoes, // // and always I

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

[I often think of that January morning]

// // Consider, no reason on which to

found // // Our release from this human pound. // //

the fires of sixteen forty-five // //

Found prophesy fulfilled. Their writing binds // // Past with present

Sixteen Forty-Five

y bind and loose, they find and are not

found . // // Re-call the river-tongues from Alph to Styx, // // summ

ls blisters the feet // // Just when I

found them again // // In the meat-market, wearing each step forward

objects are his household gods, // //

Found tokens of her whiter soul, // // Icons for his orphaned heart,

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

y preconceptions that pretend to be the

foundation of things. ‘Reality’ is clean, simple and purely luminous.

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

Four bare feet in the wet grass; he and she, // // Having abandoned t

rawing-master. // // He lives a quiet,

four -cornered life, // // Polite, determined, and remote— // // His

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

, with champagne on the nightstand, and

four dozen roses I once destroyed. I’m up in the woods, now. it’s good

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

em, it was in fairly strict ballad form—

four -line stanzas, three tetrameter and one trimeter, rhymed ABAB. Ho

arp with the earth’s slow // // Bleed,

four nights till it sheds // // Its shadow to bloom // // In the vas

Here be dragons

lemon-yellow suns, // // and, picking

four of the brightest ripest ones, // // takes yard eggs, flour, frui

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

across from me, on those // // Special

four -seater sections (extra legroom). // // Framed by filtering sun,

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

n effort // // and make her proud; and

four wax-white earplugs // // in case one snored too loud. Two bashe

nside. // // Feel the air. Turn in the

four winds. Broadcast the secret // // to earth, as far away as it wi

ind of wound, // // Kid: you’re twenty-

four years old. // // Get over it. You swim or you drown, // // Kid.

Did you bury her yet?

he regime that I’m under: // // Meals:

fourteen a year—all frozen (by fear)— // // But the service gets slow

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ce. Omnipotence,’ // // Augmenting the

fourth line with discordant violence. // // The angel-song, the music

face. // // His only keepers were the

fox , // // Crouching in the purple phlox, // // The hare whose eyes

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

but falls fallow? // // Go hungry dear

fox // // Do not bloody my door, there // // Is nothing for you //

Here be dragons

n is draining.) // // The quick, brown

fox sticks his hot sharp stink in ones and zeroes. // // We are bugge

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

aramount, the universal word, a thrifty

fox -thought, golden delighted kept at bay from the quiet and rustling

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

opped, uncivil Samson binds // // Five

foxes , brush to brush, a hexagram // // Of blazing damage. Kinship, t

Sixteen Forty-Five

waking early, I observed // // open-a-

fraction doors, down the corridors, sent shivers of sunlight in criss-

… // // But I can’t reach or feel your

fragile form. // // What kind of fool deceives himself like this? //

The chicken and the egg

kly flame // // And peer. Myopic view,

fragmented past // // And impotent. Neutrino looks on Mass. // // So

all the bits that it had missed: // //

fragments around the edges of the blaze. // // Even now, // // I fee

any spears on bare toes, // // And the

fragments that get stuck to my clothes. // // I taste the jigsaw crea

in, she finds a tree // // ablaze with

fragrant lemon-yellow suns, // // and, picking four of the brightest

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

words to life, // // age only antique,

frailty perceivable only // // by sight. For you these words // // W

Sestina to an English Teacher

/ // Coffee-stained plastic floor, its

frailty tuned by too bright, // // White-gold light, suspending patte

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

is dripping blood // // And an empty

frame . // //

—does he know what it is she sees? The

frame // // he chose has cut us off from looking at // // the focus

Cape Cod Morning

October seeps through // // the window

frame . The city is a puddle of glistening yellow and grey, // // and

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

Brian Blessed // // Squeezed into the

frame , the dusty sepia. // // We are terrified of what the beard migh

Bearded Thoughts

s, // // a green silk veil against her

frame , // // the sedge, the princes’ steeds lie fallow, // // la bel

ing branches from roots grown // // Do

frame the stars, suspended, understood // // By me, who gapes up from

[What have we done]

// a square around your face // // to

frame . These are sharp // // scissors, new scissors: // // no stone

Stone, Paper, Scissors

use, // // I stand motionless within a

frame . Wading fearlessly through // // the cold receding sea, with ha

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

some distant point outside the picture

frame . // // What does she see? Is there something there? // // Som

Cape Cod Morning

to observer, // // My gallery of waves

framed behind glass. // // And I gaze too // // At frozen events, pa

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

er my own wing, // // and more an egg,

framed by a serpentine // // mouth; less folded in your body and scen

seater sections (extra legroom). // //

Framed by filtering sun, picking your lip. // // You’ve handed me bac

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

The curly script of a generation // //

Framed by the dusty yellow // // Of that marvellous invention, // //

wings clipped, // // Clipped wires and

frames , // // Circuit mid-flight shorted. // // I am unsullied by th

Frighteningly Inert

painting draws you in // // Under its

framing fringe of rich green leaves, // // Beyond the music of the s

The Magic Apple Tree

t like that. // // I mean, sure, to be

frank , part of me’s always wondered // // What it might be like to be

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

rs, Racing To Nowhere // // And you’re

frantic - no record seems to fit the air, // // And down, way down in

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ldhood too // // When my eyes searched

frantically , // // blotted with beads of light, // // for shadowed g

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

the beauties and kitchen ovens for the

fraught , // // She’ll sell the pearls in her mouth, the gold on her h

roiling now for more // // than three

fraught years – with bitterness and bile // // sieved through our sha

// // to find a way. // // The final

fray // // remains in memory, for good or ill, // // another day. //

round. // // Fresh as the day although

freckled and browned // // And frowned. // // With the royal standar

emain, I must be heard // // I must be

free . A timed renaissance, I // // Must change my heart, must build m

contrast. It seemed // // So pure and

free , and // // Yet we deemed // // It far beyond the realm // // O

// when all I’d ever wanted was to be

free // // from any of the associated risks and hazards. // // You s

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

less in cutting off waste! // // Fairy-

free gardens have as many colour purples raining; // // Bet we can ma

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

lean. // // I am the moon-child broken

free , // // Losing mother and maternity. // //

es from the tale-tree lifted, swift and

free , // // shining, re-combining in their dance // // the genesis o

// // It’s open and adaptive and it’s

free : // // The dodo royals are dragged about the town // // And rhy

In Defence of Evolution

ause it is never not there. // // Feel

free to argue with me. // // At least when you read me I’m not there

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

just another tyrant’s coat. // // So,

free verse, then, seems fittest to survive. // // It’s democratic, st

In Defence of Evolution

nd keeps me earthed, but, if I could be

free // // You know there’s nothing that I’d rather wear // // Than

way // // With silly notions // // Of

freedom and equality, // // Drinking the potions // // The world for

and panting // // they dream of their

freedom , // // of succulent grass // // on the heights of Gwyngachu.

Nil Charge / Nil Return

to each thought // // That strides in

freedom on an edge // // Between idea and infinite beyond. // //

Three Ways of Walking

// of You. // // 6. // // Let It come

freely , and look what nonsense it writes! How it is determined by soun

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

// Hot. // // Too hot. // // Delirium

freely falls around my head, // // Tuxedoed and awaiting recognition

trees // // He waited for the world to

freeze // // And ice to form upon the breeze // // And snow to lie u

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

until hardened into rock // // third,

freeze for centuries until // // crystallized into meaningless // //

Joy Ride // // // // Oh, and to

freeze this: // // you with your hair cut day-short, // // blowing a

// From the cold wind on a bench on a

freezing night, // // because let’s not go home just yet, all right?

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

bring out the Brie, // // The precious

freight that crossed the sundering sea, // // For soon we leave that

it would feed even Tantalus. // // The

frequent sticky thrill of that first bite of fruit // // While proppe

ne // // so that, by painted mouth and

fresco eyes, // // I had to show what I wanted so to tell. // //

Where it stinks. I’d give gold for some

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

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ak from his scalp to the ground. // //

Fresh as the day although freckled and browned // // And frowned. //

r’, ‘exhilaration’ ‘beating heart’ and ’

fresh blood’. This reality is primitive, musical, and Dionysiac. Natur

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

hall not sever hydra stalks for fear of

fresh // // blooms: already one says: “mankind cannot // // bear ver

Aubade to Girton

Wednesday // // Another day of

fresh cigarette burns, // // not failing to hit the side of a barn //

rom under you. // // You look so nice:

fresh -dressed and still warm from // // Your bath—calm as the sun’s u

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

mehow knowing, // // Somehow wisdom in

fresh eyes showing. // // Somehow you fill your name already, // //

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

when he chose to cajole her // // with

fresh Gorgonzola … // // but the thing is, she so rarely ate it. //

The Failing of the Cheese

salvation and sunshine and the smell of

fresh grass with Him. // // So I’ll just sit and stare, silent, and y

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

n nothing but the shiver // // of your

fresh skimmer’s // // river-hewn back. Now bend… // // It hums // /

ss of no-brand car’s back seats. // //

Fresheners ’ smell is the only thing we can see, // // Gray street lam

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

he what, water? Why would aquarium be a

freshers ’ event? // // You’re not annoyed at the fish. // // Anyways

Whales sing because they have a song

be guests. // // The page, like linen

freshly laid for tea, // // Bid hieratic welcome to those gods, // /

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

// // Because this is my fantasy, and

Freud said you’re everyone in your dreams. // // Of course I’ll conti

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

y Walts do we see in Market Square on a

Friday night? // // We distrust this facial hair perhaps, or what it

Bearded Thoughts

n your body and scent // // than I was

fried by a blast from your snout. // //

ether or your man’s flesh // // flash-

fried , seasoned, laid out, sprinkled with ash. // //

but as yet unsigned. // // Will my new

friend accept that I mix with you lot // // Just as much for detectio

Wednesday Evening

find a bunch of flowers for a suffering

friend // // —cancer, poor dear, we’ll keep her in our prayers— // /

ade— // // and suited too. // // That

friend he’d picked // // —his tasseled hat // // and pink cravat— //

one more. // // Now it happens my old

friend is crowned mayor of London, he // // goes by the rubrik of Bor

Troubled waters

too, // // The past and custom are no

friend of ours. // // Yet in determination progress flowers— // // A

Three gay rituals

Wednesday Evening // // Brought my new

friend to the Poetry Group // // To sit on a sofa, our fingers entwin

Wednesday Evening

panic hall where I’m confined // // My

friends have piled up eight or nine // // Close-written sheets, but a

Exam Room Villanelle

ing cloud // // more meetings with old

friends // // more talks, more silences // // more sleeps, more slee

d the weather // // change // // like

friends with time.’ // // Everything’s easy. // // It slips like oil

In a charity shop

/ Orange dew drop, // // Promising and

frightening and // // Does anyone notice that I’m staring? // // Pit

’Tis pity he’s a bore

Frighteningly Inert // // Adrift on waters // // Stagnant, charged,

Frighteningly Inert

g draws you in // // Under its framing

fringe of rich green leaves, // // Beyond the music of the shepherde

The Magic Apple Tree

ked her bags, // // and hung her quiet

fripperies // // between the places where I laid my head. // // In t

u tried to control them, restrict their

frivolous dance, and escape from their transcendental intrusion, // /

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

And as we watch, our souls dart to and

fro // // Between the lights of speech and depths below, // // The s

Is it a memory?

er in, the darkness is absolute. // //

Fronds and furtive things unfurl while forest // // palms and fingere

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

use. // // If I can only reach the red

front door, porridge warm with honey // // sits upon the stove, and m

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

r we ranged // // Behind, but never in

front . // // It seemed a constant battle to // // Conform, a crime t

uit, striped tie // // Marching to the

front line, clutching our briefcases // // Like the paperwork holds t

te poem) // // After the chip from the

front of your grin, // // we'll make you a new one of china and tin.

ppear // // Recycled as the morning’s

front -page news, // // And we—we turn it over so you will not see. /

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

ic-size family, // // Cramped into the

front room // // Like chestnuts in an oven. // // Bums ache on floor

Wild Mountain Thyme

eam: // // my index finger extended in

front , walking in a straight line, tied to the inexorability of pace a

// Another having naught but shop door

front , // // Who shivers cold in sleeping bag at night // // Looks i

Three gay rituals

past the wee hours of // // waiting on

fronted news, the foreplay tense, // // the hot slit in a letter, the

Aubade to Girton

// The door of the south, // // Where

frontiersmen stand and watch // // Elbowed dog-wise against the rumou

// moonlight // // brings to an autumn

frost . // // 1am, and Woodlands court // // is the same as it always

[The sash rattles up]

is old now] // // My face is old now,

frost and snow // // Crustate my hairs and eyebrows, a great flow //

[My face is old now]

ned a whole new shade of wet. // // My

Frost -bit ears resound with words I know. // // (How many miles to go

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

HERE IN THIS PLACE // // black // //

frost // // black // // sky // // wet stones // // skittering onto

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

to melt // // the topmost layer. The

frost returns // // to make a crust. The next two months // // are

Walking in winter

// Until my shame hangs, heavy, in the

frosted air. // // A mile away, the ideal me, // // A little less wa

minutes. // // The patterns the night

frosted on car windows // // will be water and unremarkable in the mo

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

lthough freckled and browned // // And

frowned . // // With the royal standard let him be crowned. // // He’

Away dropp’d loosen hairs, my sweat it

froze // // And fell, and dropp’d beneath, pass’d ’neath my toes //

[What have we done]

nder: // // Meals: fourteen a year—all

frozen (by fear)— // // But the service gets slow when it blunders //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

glass. // // And I gaze too // // At

frozen events, pale memory, // // Pendant in silicon amber. // // Pl

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

/ // They found him, petrified, // //

Frozen in flight on tarmac soar // // No scar or battle wound, // //

Urban bird watching

reality that you dangle me from. // //

Frozen winches and stays– // // I never earnestly looked at you // /

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

nd // // Grow branching thoughts, bear

fruit . // // A song // // Where birds once chorused a dew bright daw

/ // And curve of colour on the golden

fruit … // // All buried in the rubble of your fall. // // Walk throu

The Magic Apple Tree

d cherry, and plum // // Be bearers of

fruit and cheerers of hearts— // // And a cheer for you, inkcap, and

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

d or broken, // // When will they bear

fruit ? // // Each spent page something taken // // For something to

leaves might fall

ditions of tree climbing delight // //

Fruit eating and the inevitably ripped clothes. // // Or does the man

solitarily stand // // Still constant,

fruit -laden, generous and sun-browned // // Golden, swollen mangoes u

st ones, // // takes yard eggs, flour,

fruit of the citronnier // // and bakes a tarte au citron meringuée.

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

may perhaps be comforting // // as any

fruit , though Suliman’s pilaf // // is real comfort food. But comfor

The well of love

// // But then to the ground fell the

fruit to me, // // That kept the words so secretly. // //

The Tree of Wisdom

A Song for the Planting of

Fruit Trees // // We sing waes hael, waes hael, hurrah! hurrah! // /

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

ent sticky thrill of that first bite of

fruit // // While propped against the tree trunk, kept cool in the sh

and bow themselves // // To bless the

fruitful earth from whence they spring. // // These colours seem to f

The Magic Apple Tree

er // // And through the fall of every

fruiting time. // // Journey through the pictures packed like loam, /

The Magic Apple Tree

g to my five- // // year infant guilt.

Fruitless to plead my case // // into that microphone I could not rea

Compass Reading

a drink for you, fungus, and your magic

fruits — // // And so to the magic of day and of dark // // We’ll sin

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

e’s vineyards yield, // // And all the

fruits of forest, farm, and field // // Are lost forever in the comin

oreign space // // Which whispers with

frustration at its // // Invasion. // // A loop of stern faces aroun

Vicious or Virtuous?

figureless, grey and distant, // // My

frustration , ever building, swelling, // // Oozing towards the battle

The Other Side of the Line

laces in my shoes, // // Increasing in

frustration exponentially (I think that’s the one), // // Every time

Three Pieces of Advice

es swim in packs, and I’m thinking, the

fuck will they do if they catch the what, water? Why would aquarium be

Whales sing because they have a song

magpie on the road. // // like, a big

fucking magpie. // // and this magpie says: can you help me? // // a

// // Striped with trust, meaningless

fucks and love celestial. // // Two-faced words incarnate, bastard br

t on, // // we generated quantities of

fuel // // and built a roaring blaze. Then late into the night // /

Fugue by water // // The heart trips and is under way // // A harbou

ry heat; // // Memory lost in the wine-

fugue , the beautiful // // Give themselves to pleasure, and are alone

ixteen forty-five // // Found prophesy

fulfilled . Their writing binds // // Past with present: a poet’s hexa

Sixteen Forty-Five

e’re all at my gran’s house, // // The

full , Catholic-size family, // // Cramped into the front room // //

Wild Mountain Thyme

nilly-willy their horns reap // // the

full cornucopia, // // gamboling gluttonous // // through the waft f

Nil Charge / Nil Return

r // // through box and holly grown to

full maturity // // to an iron-gated pointed arch // // piercing the

s progress” and is “bland,” // // But,

full of energy and youth, I choose // // Our dialect, sweet sister of

reat big massive enormous wide universe

full of galaxies and black holes and stars // // makes no sound // /

Same but differenT

into time. // // And when the heart is

full of quietness // // Begin the song exactly where you are. // //

moored boat runs a wake: time to gush

full spate. // // Now my headlong dash abates—where I once was, the w

time for times past. // // So the half-

full tin of strawberry mints // // must mean a sentry asleep at the p

i // // Look at you—born of halves and

fulls , // // Born of earth into stalled world. // // Have you forgot

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

many candidates not able to understand

fully the situation being studied. A large proportion of candidates on

Starting in A going to B. // // Words

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

[She points to the sky]

mock // // him in island schools now,

fumbling for the East Indies like one who // // couldn’t find his hat

, dispossessed // // by our ramshackle

fumbling // // with phonemes, come tumbling // // back across the pa

door there only swept a gust // // Of

fumes and dust and waste, and she was left a- // // mid the disappoin

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

ough. // // I’ll give it some taxpayer

funding , and get old saint // // George of the Chancel to throw in so

Troubled waters

, // // And laugh as they invest their

funds elsewhere. // // The lights are going out, drain one more glass

he third years saw // // They had just

funds enough to pay and brought you here. // // Three X-rays and a CA

a wingspan // // And feathers form the

funeral parade. // // A sparrow snatched from flight // // With whee

Urban bird watching

etely understand why people have // //

funeral pyres.) Later we scatter the ashes // // in a wild part of t

, to that rusty field // // Where your

funeral pyres still burn, // // Silently roaring // // In a late sum

Magnetic Mountain

er died // // we had the proper formal

funeral . // // (She had chosen the music for the ceremony // // —a S

I can’t do, // // That I don’t have a

funeral suit, // // And only one pair of black shoes, // // And who’

Three Pieces of Advice

in the glossy blackness // // Of Dad’s

funereal car. // // Later, unpacking, // // I find a history— // //

brittlegill // // And a drink for you,

fungus , and your magic fruits— // // And so to the magic of day and o

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

sprouts, like damp, decant- // // ing

fungus . Brutish, British, you’re out of // // step with happiness. Yo

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

/ Autobiographies, // // Loved for his

funny // // As well as his Kind. // // Higgledy Piggledy // // Brid

cold-blooded rage. // // (Nothing too

funny here, // // Uxoricidally, // // Just that his name // // Scan

Unmaking // // Neither

fur , feathers nor scales ever clad // // A perfectly honed piece of m

Drink and be merry // //

Fur fire and we are safe against the cold, cold night // // dr

Drink and be merry

ones and Cartilage has shown // // the

furcula might prove a midline split // // in this revision one makes

Furcula // // // Trading futures on the wishing bone // // clavicle

ame. // // To measure scale for such a

furious flame? // // Dark Matter reels. Imagine it just passed, //

t want to really feel. // // Un-pause.

Furl my sparrow wings poised at the precipice and reel // // Back to

my father, labouring before // // The

furnaces by night and day—for me. // // Now my achievement’s lauded a

arded husk // // And seeds fall to the

furrow , // // Amidst the tympanum, // // Hard by the rood-screen her

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

ng, // // And our new-born argument is

furrowing your brow, // // So I glance instead at your mirror, // //

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

wild-eyed and woolly, // // pent in a

furry fury // // at the nilherd’s final demands, // // stamp in a sw

Nil Charge / Nil Return

d lips and glasses, // // teabags gone

furry in the heat, // // an empty bookshelf // // what remains // /

/ // And his skin demarcates the Sun’s

furthest edge. // // His hair is a lustrous shadow cast by earthly fo

’Tis pity he’s a bore

darkness is absolute. // // Fronds and

furtive things unfurl while forest // // palms and fingered trees pre

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

eyed and woolly, // // pent in a furry

fury // // at the nilherd’s final demands, // // stamp in a sweep to

Nil Charge / Nil Return

ge is coming near. // // Not the blind

fury // // With the abhorred shears // // But this is what I fear; /

The Cutting Edge

es on the wishing bone // // clavicles

fuse in birds’ ancestral night // // in this revision one and one mak

is their Balaclava – // // heroic but

futile , // // impetuous thunder // // and ultimate payment. // // P

Nil Charge / Nil Return

aces // // And her, sobbing, while our

future drains away. // // She stands, hunched and weary, too tired //

th the rain // // Could I foretell the

future // // Gazing from a clifftop grave // // Curved ache of a cle

ed in lock-step // // To that glorious

future , // // His likeness glimmering // // On coarse woollen lapels

Magnetic Mountain

to the waiting clay; // // Telling the

future his signature flaw. // // Creation stutters through faltering

t // // will last and last, // // the

future is fast disappearing. // //

h I’ll never hear because I feel // //

future lights heating, burning brighter now // // that her kerosene e

why i’m getting into Christmas

tching now, // // And spare myself the

future pain. // // But hindsight is always wise, // // Whereas such

Mosquito nights

he clutched it and simpered. // // The

future seemed rosy— // // To her, a State Secretary // // Eyeless fo

ear horizon // // Could I foretell the

future // // The wake of light on water // // Curved ache of a clear

night as you wrap up warm with worn-out

future thoughts, // // Of poems half-remembered, long ago destinies r

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ve of modern flight // // now trade in

futures on the wishing bone // // and flocks of starlings, sparrows,

reaks upon the night // // we trade in

futures on the wishing bone // // and learn too late that one and one

Furcula // // // Trading

futures on the wishing bone // // clavicles fuse in birds’ ancestral

post-Jurassic flight // // to trade in

futures on the wishing bone // // Hall in Bones and Cartilage has sho