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

G

Destination(and beginning—for

G ) // // From random junctures in primeval winds // // a billion ran

bed was strewn with salvation in // //

gadgets and gizmos that soiled his mattress with // // beating his ha

Jonathan’s Deathbed

ny’s keeping herself busy // // Making

Gaelics in the kitchen, // // Keeping her mind together // // While

Wild Mountain Thyme

day so new and so odd, // // With the

gain of the world and the loss of God. // //

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

ur heat away? // // That passion never

gains , we just lose it to our loves? // // That there’s no such thing

Three Pieces of Advice

// // Floating up seemingly by force ’

gainst law // // Of Newton. Each light-ray does one ice thaw, // //

[What have we done]

chrome: // // The stars. They glitter ’

gainst my mirror eye, // // And back they swim into that mirror pool,

[What have we done]

at the Earth stops spinning dead in its

gait , // // So that I’m launched 3,000 miles in a single second strai

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

too busy cavorting around space, gay as

Galactus , // // Blowing out more stars with her laugh. // // It’s no

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

massive enormous wide universe full of

galaxies and black holes and stars // // makes no sound // // only t

Same but differenT

rs, more darknesses // // more storms,

gales , lightning bolts // // more days of sun or rain or passing clou

Jane // // A crown

gall , // // they found it indide her body. // // I imagined its cros

ou are relegated to observer, // // My

gallery of waves framed behind glass. // // And I gaze too // // At

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

reap // // the full cornucopia, // //

gamboling gluttonous // // through the waft from the grasses // // a

Nil Charge / Nil Return

t // // Play when the stakes trump the

game , and then dear // // Keep your wits about you and your hand slei

Cretan Quartet—a blame

game // // MINOTAUR // // I blame my mother, Zeus bless her. // //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ngian subtext— // // you are a child a

gang of children you // // are scales beneath a sheepskin you are cro

But nowadays it’s stubble or baby-faced

gangster chic, // // How many Walts do we see in Market Square on a F

Bearded Thoughts

uld // // Someone please // // Make a

gap // // Among the passengers) // // Take out the book before the f

Poems on the Underground

/ And fill my mind // // To bridge the

gap // // And space between the // // Ones that live as they please

Poems on the Underground

passengers // // Cross and recross the

gap // // As if they would // // Make of the mass one mind. // // S

Poems on the Underground

to the // // Carriage, step across the

gap // // Between the train and the platform, the gap // // Constric

Poems on the Underground

nes darker as words attempt to fill the

gap // // Between this point and somewhere just past my horizon. //

Snapshot Endings

This is where // // Mind the

gap // // Between your body and the world. // // Careful, things mig

Between the train and the platform, the

gap // // Constricting in a press of bodies that would // // Never n

Poems on the Underground

at please the mind, // // navigate the

gap of have-been and would. // //

Poems on the Underground

/ // To clear a seat or two and make a

gap // // There, though if it were less busy I wouldn’t mind // // S

Poems on the Underground

y do I chiefly mourn // // that little

gap where we had always kept // // your compass with its swinging fle

Compass Reading

suspended, understood // // By me, who

gapes up from my shelter home. // // At once, in shock, the cloud on

[What have we done]

wixt these lines move tight // // Into

gaping personages then, quick // // As they dance into shape, do vaca

[What have we done]

re? See her red hair // // Last night,

gaping smile, // // Sharp with the earth’s slow // // Bleed, four ni

Here be dragons

udent 1880s) // // builds a lab in her

garden // // in Reigate, on her way to // // recognition, fellowship

There must be moonshine

er chosen one // // I shall leave this

garden instructionless. // // I will slip off the window of her lily-

Aubade to Girton

nclosed within its arms // // a walled

garden , left untended // // for maybe thirty years. A winding path /

// // of pure water: a still. // //

Garden shed // // with a still? Local // // excise officer takes to

There must be moonshine

sh time. // // And so they split their

Garden up in perfectly straight lines, // // And chose a brand new na

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

// // You glimpsed it once within the

garden wall, // // The image of an ancient apple tree, // // The fa

The Magic Apple Tree

in cutting off waste! // // Fairy-free

gardens have as many colour purples raining; // // Bet we can make th

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

ly leas, // // Serenading us among our

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

[Walcott begins Omeros]

Of discounted washing powder and // //

Garish Christmas wrapping paper, // // Looking for that one item on m

The Notes You Have Left

o dead wood; // // Cremates Glede-eyes

garnet // // Tightens coils, wrenches words // // Tightens coils, a

Its fag ends and canisters of laughing

gas . // //

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

// and strung up to struggle, streams

gas against // // Earth's arrogance, its invitation to descend. // /

[A spinning spider]

Caeli’s rim; the Pleiad mass // // Of

gas and dust that veils, then flickers past // // A Milky Way of twin

six weeks’ work, either // // mustard

gas and ether or your man’s flesh // // flash-fried, seasoned, laid o

in place until at home // // the small

gas fire has warmed the room // // against the cold outside. // // (

Walking in winter

s on) // // gets her lighter, gets her

gas , // // runs down the hallway, quick as one // // intent on small

[the typist puts her knickers on]

the concrete, eyes screaming from tear

gas // // Thrown by Apartheid police. // // And me realising that he

Three Pieces of Advice

crashes over you // // And you try to

gasp for breath, but you can’t // // And it feels like your head will

// // I fade into a peaceful sleep: a

gate , // // A door, a light, a face, the clouds ’come snow // // App

[What have we done]

given // // The grave is made the very

gate of heaven // // We sowed in tears, but here’s the golden grain:

An Easter Triolet

and I do choose to open all, // // The

gate , the door, the face, the light, I fall // // Upon a bed of compa

[What have we done]

rown to full maturity // // to an iron-

gated pointed arch // // piercing the wall, built like the house //

ands and soft mudflats: time to // //

gather pace. // // Now I rush on down the creek // // bearing loose

uding this long anamnesis // // And to

gather up all of the pieces: // // He turned out a bore—I was dumped

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

// We stand as the choirs pass. // //

Gaudete . // // Candles glowing through stained glass. // // O little

A Hymn to a Loved One

or flash of something // // Mundane, a

gaudy colour. // // Like a trap the hand snaps shut, // // Creases m

[The sun flattened]

level with the top, // // running the

gauntlet of the winter storm. // // The tide is high, and every wave

Walking in winter

ric, melting dawn, // // stretched her

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

etime’s darker edge, // // The one who

gave him tone and form // // Is still the guardian of his life // //

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

// // All of which left just me. You

gave that up for Lent. // //

Chocolate Sonnet

e savagery that // // we will. But who

gave you your face? // // Dig, let loam glaze the // // pain, till w

Wandlebury Hill

// // inside your head for your // //

gawping students, that define your life. // // Your young voice broug

Sestina to an English Teacher

She’s too busy cavorting around space,

gay as Galactus, // // Blowing out more stars with her laugh. // //

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

gay rituals // // Through doors of luminescent playfulness, // // On

Three gay rituals

r, a State Secretary // // Eyeless for

Gaza , // // Blind to the consequence: // // Tabula Rasa. // //

nks, and come again’. // // The Envoy.

Gaza , 1 March 2009 // // Now we must cheer, for Blair is here. // //

Gaza Sequence // // New Year. Gaza, 2009 // // The tank commander, a

Gaza Sequence // // New Year.

Gaza , 2009 // // The tank commander, aiming well, // // Took out the

s is the day // // He finally comes to

Gaza (with chums). // // Avoids being distracted where it’s ‘badly im

// A granite sword looming, // // We

gaze across, to that rusty field // // Where your funeral pyres still

Magnetic Mountain

etween your trees and towers // // I’d

gaze away my hours // // safe from view; surrounding spectra // // b

luc bat to mr. beam

from looking at // // the focus of her

gaze : does he not want // // to tell? // // This painting has a priv

Cape Cod Morning

coal-grate ash // // so I can shift my

gaze // // from keys to coots // // while trying to turn a phrase //

A Room of Her Own

to the lapping of the water, // // and

gaze into space. // // We have the space // // and the time // // t

// // the myth of glass, // // but my

gaze keeps slipping // // to the ghosts which drift behind me, // //

buzzing of machines beneath the steady

gaze of grey // // hospital walls. Roses in empty wine bottles unfold

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

// // The pack turns their inquisitive

gaze // // On me. Questions launched from all directions // // As my

our eyes are filled with wonder as they

gaze // // so deep between the colours of the flames. // // Drawn by

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

waves framed behind glass. // // And I

gaze too // // At frozen events, pale memory, // // Pendant in silic

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

/ // Staring past the camera’s smitten

gaze , // // While Bush stares out from under you. // // You look so

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

ing, // // A curled query around a new

gaze , // // Your palm pressed flat to my sole, // // Your nightbed b

hat // // and pink cravat— // // just

gazed at Nick, // // and Nick at him, // // while he pontif- // //

oubt she would have seen it. // // She

gazed blankly at the branches. // // The world swam occasionally, //

[The sun flattened]

sea. // // The cascade I had ’fore in-

gazed faced me, // // Wide-as-the-horizon, an endless hill. // // Th

[What have we done]

// Could I foretell the future // //

Gazing from a clifftop grave // // Curved ache of a clear horizon //

Great Skellig slate grey and wet // //

Gazing from a clifftop grave // // Your tears mingling with the rain

or the first time while helping me with

GCSE Physics, and repeated // // On a weekly basis, // // Almost as

Three Pieces of Advice

with a raucous song: // // A thousand

geese are flying into night. // //

Wells in winter

curlews, more ragged, slanting lines of

geese // // more travels, journeys, voyages, expeditions // // more

his face and hair // // In creams and

gels . // // His teeth are polished by professionals, // // Shirts me

er forms // // Intelligence, to burn a

gem -like flame. // // If you are last to leave, put out the light. //

enly golden // // Hardens to wordhoard-

gems // // In the mind For the scop to shape the songsmith // //

and air; no fire and no gold, // // no

gems nor coins nor jewels; just the old // // and weathered hills, cr

Daydream Dale Journey

Exam // // This question was

generally quite poorly attempted, with many candidates not able to und

ve the early parts of the question were

generally quite successful with the rest of the question which was gen

with the rest of the question which was

generally very well answered. // //

themselves and pursue the desire that’s

generated by this ennui: the desire for Truth, something that doesn’t

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

agement. As the day went on, // // we

generated quantities of fuel // // and built a roaring blaze. Then l

om bearing // // The curly script of a

generation // // Framed by the dusty yellow // // Of that marvellous

urs, the apes // // advance across the

generations . Each // // sentient being touches and reshapes // // th

es must have stared // // Watching new

generations play. Then dared // // A young voice call: ‘who’s that?’

shapes // // the grounds of sound, the

generative gramma // // signs of the Mystery, inscribed arcana // //

, // // Reluctant. // // He holds his

generosity high // // So everyone can see, // // But his gifts are e

and // // Still constant, fruit-laden,

generous and sun-browned // // Golden, swollen mangoes unpicked by ch

// Firm in convictions that a tree so

generous // // Could never refuse us its ripe children to eat // //

e // // Your quiet support, as well as

generous supplies // // From BAE. Do please sit here and Tzipi, pass

the air; // // The dead lived on in my

genes and my hair // // And the tea-leaves showed me nothing to fear;

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

found // // how good sex is—to mix the

genes around. // // The plants, the fish, the dinosaurs, the apes //

after-night // // On the threshold of

genesis , in what purgatory shall I persist? // // To that, your panca

re-combining in their dance // // the

genesis of every utterance, // // pattering the pattern of the Tree.

e best songs had been sung, // // That

genius is destined to die young, // // That you must expire like Shel

r skin, // // Let code-lines mesh with

genotyping —is this the poem? // // Millennia lived together, so tangl

tead at your mirror, // // Rested head

gentle against the cool glass, // // But blotted quickly by a tunnel’

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ady, // // Cast in white marble by two

gentle breaths. // // How different we look—you and I, // // More da

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

vestibules are glowing, // // The Sun,

gentle , is rising in my wake. // //

// // Deep in the bosom of the // //

gentle night. // // I make no love to the girl // // on the heath, /

l’esprit d’escalier

idle breeze, // // And summons me with

gentle reproach // // Of the things I could never be: // // There fo

I could never be (ready)

inker it lands upon, // // Contrasting

gentle with the strong // // Emotions felt when read in whole. // //

ng is // // in their sights—time for a

gentler stream. // // Now I feel the flood’s return // // push again

scree the open path leads on, // // a

gentler walk, to bare bleak Malham Tarn. // // Then back to skirt the

Daydream Dale Journey

heese // // They want their soul to be

gently stroked; they want the fire of their imaginations stoked // //

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// Professorial election // // Nobel

genuflection // // …and pension protection. // // Though, just on re

Small Particles in the Small Hours

t // // (Worth mending, Nan said, it’s

genuine Limoges); // // The milk jug from bank holidays // // At Dun

their own: // // So Donne is sharp and

Geoffrey Hill is sour // // Larkin ascerbic, Tennyson has power // /

Cheese is the medium

payer funding, and get old saint // //

George of the Chancel to throw in some too.” // // So the project pro

Troubled waters

un-warmed pillowed land of // // South

Georgia sunsets, and // // bougainvillea blooms; hands to hold // //

luc bat to mr. beam

e Christmas Dolls’ House // // A house

gestated in paternal love // //

The Christmas Dolls’ House

ying eye, // // Far and away, // // I

get a point I can’t convey. // // What we say is true, // // « Quand

[She points to the sky]

, because you do crazy things // // To

get back what you need. // // So that HAL might set gravity back to n

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

s a double shot of gin // // (needs to

get her liquors on) // // gets her lighter, gets her gas, // // runs

[the typist puts her knickers on]

evement’s lauded as the best: // // To

get inky fingers in a Cambridge college // // And pilfer the noble cl

ng the cotton— // // Though to let him

get lost seemed too rotten. // // Now I wish that I had, the arrogant

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

uld become a sage, // // And I bet I’d

get more dates // // Than WB Yeats // // For all his talk of old men

t in my perfect mind // // As I try to

get my brain on line, // // Searching amongst my fact-debris. // //

Exam Room Villanelle

I’ll give it some taxpayer funding, and

get old saint // // George of the Chancel to throw in some too.” //

Troubled waters

s let it pass through and hope // // I

get one last look. // //

d: you’re twenty-four years old. // //

Get over it. You swim or you drown, // // Kid. She swims and you drow

Did you bury her yet?

nned it out like that // // (You don’t

get perpendiculars in nature, after all). // // The streets of London

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

rs. And I was scared that my skin would

get soggy and weigh me down. I was so scared that I could feel a fear

[So the moon was there]

are toes, // // And the fragments that

get stuck to my clothes. // // I taste the jigsaw created by leaves o

en we left // // and then went home to

get the dinner on. // // Tomorrow—the same. // // find a bunch of fl

skin will be stripped enough. one day I

get to cry Kri’at Shema lying down. I get unbelief. one day I will be

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

I get to cry Kri’at Shema lying down. I

get unbelief. one day I will be calx and cure, what’s inside will be m

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

rnng! // // No time for that sunshine,

get up and go // // you’ve got that in you not like your father. //

palms. // // The fear that we will not

get up and over // // The latest life hurdle means we grab and claw /

pse. // // Sometimes your routine just

gets a bit monotonous. // // But if a tidal wave as tall as the Empir

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

ned… but I grow. // // Feeling when it

gets clear, // // This pain is very wrong! // //

A Tribute to AQOH

er liquors on) // // gets her lighter,

gets her gas, // // runs down the hallway, quick as one // // intent

[the typist puts her knickers on]

// (needs to get her liquors on) // //

gets her lighter, gets her gas, // // runs down the hallway, quick as

[the typist puts her knickers on]

in excitement // // licks his lips and

gets his slippers on // // as she indulges in a spot // // of thrill

[the typist puts her knickers on]

rozen (by fear)— // // But the service

gets slow when it blunders // // Around in the passages—just losing w

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ost Evil deposes poor Boris, and // //

gets the Red Margaret to look at the case. // // “It’s been a fiasco,

Troubled waters

last week, with me complaining about a

getting a nosebleed on // // A crisp white formal shirt, // // And m

Three Pieces of Advice

, // // Every time I thought a pot was

getting hot instead of a flame losing heat. // // So what does that s

Three Pieces of Advice

getting into Christmas // // I’m perched inside an open window // //

why i’m getting into Christmas

/ It’s a roar in your head and it keeps

getting louder and louder // // And you can’t stand it and you can fe

ged spite // // Threatening to escape.

Getting nowhere, I stare // // Harder, longer. Trying to be less ali

e a difficult child”; // // the next: “

getting so drunk is a waste of // // my time, the college’s time, the

Aubade to Girton

aa and the second derivative of yy is -

gg . // // Those who did manage to solve the early parts of the questi

w resurrect // // and rich, or still a

ghastly ex-officio // // crash corpse? Those ‘hoodlums scammers’ I re

Between Life and Death

Ghazal for Rumi // // Look at you—born of halves and fulls, // // Bo

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

No Salvage // // The

ghost of the impact, white on the window, // // catches my eye as I e

ered from their other halves // // And

ghostly shimmering nylon stockings curled // // Like bindweed. Depos

shivering sceptic, afraid, at last, of

ghosts ? // //

onversation with the dead, // // whose

ghosts go round in circles down from heaven, // // whose ghosts go ro

circles down from heaven, // // whose

ghosts go round in circles up from Hell, // // Whose pace, within the

eratic welcome to those gods, // // Or

ghosts , or guessed-at others who—she’d heard— // // Patrolled the str

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

ut my gaze keeps slipping // // to the

ghosts which drift behind me, // // swaying in a Finnish tango // //

yes do look around the wood, // // The

ghoulish form’s tear in the air re-sewn // // So through it dancing b

[What have we done]

three // // they raised the ramparts:

giant concrete blocks // // on piles all along the shingle beach. //

Walking in winter

eep! // // 7. // // The awkward heavy

giant is the figure who succumb to Its challenge. He slows down, stops

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

raw // // in Roman era, // // set in

gibbet salt, // // a red nick cuts… // // wonder began // // //

Hercules et Oracle

eautiful and strange home you have been

gifted , // // Blonde and blue-eyed Sufi, upright and serious and obli

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

// So everyone can see, // // But his

gifts are empty on the inside. // // I feel carved out when I accept.

ith beads of light, // // for shadowed

gifts . As slowly // // the strange words were sung // // by few, fa

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

ssions of their shame, // // while she

gifts them in return a rose, // // la belle dame. // //

from times they went for broke. // //

Gifts they could never be bothered to wrap. // // Ties, from when he

quences. Jerusalem, 3 March 2009 // //

Giggly Hillary // // Met mean Binyamin // // In the offices running

compost // // mushroom-tiled and moss-

gilded // // a summerwake heap of sawdust and soil // // misting in

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

e he lay among the yarrow // // Pollen

gilding him with yellow // // Yellow crowning him with grace. // //

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

through the whiff // // of sweat and

gin . // // I thought if I, // // demurely stripped, // // I’d catch

akers on, // // downs a double shot of

gin // // (needs to get her liquors on) // // gets her lighter, gets

[the typist puts her knickers on]

or not at all; // // This one here too

ginger for the colour hair, or too straight, too curly.’ // // In day

Bearded Thoughts

treets emptied utterly into pits // //

Girded with chalk and bone. // // Tarweed takes root and // // Its a

, trembling, traces mindlessly // // a

girdle of the globe. It gleams and disappears, // // cloud-eclipsed,

[A spinning spider]

o formed part of the tribute // // The

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

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

// alright: once upon a time, // // a

girl in a cloak of symbolic colouration // // meets a magpie on the r

e Greeks // // were mistaken. // // A

girl on a stool // // high on drugs // // up a hill // // could har

tle night. // // I make no love to the

girl // // on the heath, // // Releaseless, ceaseless. She // // si

l’esprit d’escalier

though they were wrong // // about the

girl on the stool // // the earth is not silent // // and the riddle

’d knifed him. // // The problem’s the

girl once it’s over; // // There’s no way I’d promised to love her. /

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

/ approach the ledge to find // // the

girl poised and primed // // as she flees the water channelling below

pture the flight and fall of // // the

girl poised and primed. // // Evadne the unseizable defying Iphis, //

Acapulco // // The

girl poised and primed, // // ground crumbling beneath her feet // /

l and spume of sea, and then // // the

girl poised and primed // // to dive // // is gone, sunk without tra

e says: can you help me? // // and the

girl says: no, I’m sorry. // // and the magpie pecks out her eye. //

ally remember that well. // // and the

girl says: why did you peck out // // my eye, magpie? // // and the

Oscar Pistorius // // Slaughtered his

girlfriend // // In cold-blooded rage. // // (Nothing too funny here

t // // they thought it was all // //

girls , grapes and snow.” // // Why snow? That seems an odd thing to s

No point, she said, in keeping the old

girls — // // Grey in the wattle, scabbed about the arse // // Eating

[No point, she said]

sponsible adult figures. // // and the

girl’s like: oh, shit // //

d rooster // // twisted copper about a

girl’s wrists, her // // ankles, her throat. It squatted, watched he

String-Theory(for

Girton choir) // // In the beginning, // // only this, // // a soun

ps // // (Linnean Society 1904, // //

Girton College 1913). // // The Reigate lab, of course // // has a s

There must be moonshine

BURR (or Brrrrr) // // The

Girton oak has developed a burr // // Under the bark it is seen and h

BURR (or Brrrrr)

// // Ethel Sargant, botanist // // (

Girton student 1880s) // // builds a lab in her garden // // in Reig

There must be moonshine

Girton // // We must not speak now of etherised spread- // // eagle

Aubade to Girton

erick // // There was an old Fellow of

Girton // // who always made love with his shirt on. // // Saying “N

along her (warm) corridor. // // Every

Girtonian burrs like a Scot, // // At every moment the burring grows,

BURR (or Brrrrr)

feed us, // // When from the trees in

Girton’s driveway come the caws // // Of rooks opposed to any sawing

[Walcott begins Omeros]

// Where we die to live, he has zero to

give . // // Consequences. Jerusalem, 3 March 2009 // // Giggly Hilla

for giving and receiving. // // Did I

give enough? // // I cannot say. // //

But do beware // // Something’s gotta

give . // // From your perdition she’ll rise with flaming hair, // //

of my days // // Where it stinks. I’d

give gold for some fresh air. // // I can see that I’m one of the won

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

eal starts to weep and my legs start to

give , // // I don’t want her to pay any attention. // // She’s too b

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

needs time to come through. // // I’ll

give it some taxpayer funding, and get old saint // // George of the

Troubled waters

ht? // // All Mary had to do was wait.

Give it three days and He’ll return // // And bring salvation and sun

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

the money. // // Nothing to see here.

Give me a minute. // // At the slow end of a forty day fast // // un

// // [I’ll try, don’t worry.] // //

Give me a ring. // // You got it. // // [Once your voice has stopped

Whales sing because they have a song

the song // // I sang in jail. // //

Give me some time to blow the man down // //

b-dark sky, larking my demiurge. // //

Give me some time // // You were the sea, you the surge, // // You w

e drive, // // do the Sainsburys’ run,

give Mum a call, // // and look up flight-times for your daughter’s p

. // // Ieri- Land of the Hummingbird,

give no thanks for majesty // // or those three hills awash in blooms

t us? // // That we’re always going to

give our heat away? // // That passion never gains, we just lose it t

Three Pieces of Advice

l! // // No isle is truly godforsaken,

give thanks for His majesty, // // these three hills awash in blooms,

s the only cure; // // Everyone should

give the bursar grief— // // Have protests along her (warm) corridor.

BURR (or Brrrrr)

each mil-billionth strike // // Might

give the psych- // // Ological boost // // Of being the first // //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

celona and Vienna and Berlin // // All

give their greatest streets and plazas names that have a little heft.

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

in the wine-fugue, the beautiful // //

Give themselves to pleasure, and are alone happy. // // Shadowed-mass

s, // // And chose a brand new name to

give to every single one. // //

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

ot vengeance but justice) // // This I

give to you. // // Drift, despair, dream // // Of lips never to kiss

An Easter Triolet // // We won’t

give up our love, it is a given // // And given things can always liv

An Easter Triolet

ere’s the golden grain: // // We won’t

give up our love, it is a given // // And here’s a given thing that l

An Easter Triolet

ay, the rocks are riven // // We won’t

give up our love, it is a given // // The grave is made the very gate

An Easter Triolet

I’m not so inventive // // And when I

give you my word, I’m giving you my all, // // These meaningless meta

I’ll never work for Hallmark

// We won’t give up our love, it is a

given // // And given things can always live again. // // The stone

An Easter Triolet

// We won’t give up our love, it is a

given // // And here’s a given thing that lives again. // //

An Easter Triolet

gue, // // Thinking of what she’d have

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

t seem so strange to me // // That any

given Aztec would carve a prayer // // Into a child’s chest, and tear

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

re. // // 3. // // But poets have not

given in to this ennui. The poem restores us to the experience of real

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

me, the beings, bodies and souls of any

given room // // While doomed to perish are humble verses such as thi

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// We won’t give up our love, it is a

given // // The grave is made the very gate of heaven // // We sowed

An Easter Triolet

love, it is a given // // And here’s a

given thing that lives again. // //

An Easter Triolet

e up our love, it is a given // // And

given things can always live again. // // The stone is rolled away, t

An Easter Triolet

wash blood off in cold water. // // 1,

given to me for the first time while helping me with GCSE Physics, and

Three Pieces of Advice

/ // For A Long Time She Stands There,

Given To The Dreadful Clouds Crossing The Stars, Racing To Nowhere //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

es. // // The pinked sky of dinner has

given way. // // Under the transparent blister of a moon, // // A th

nt, // // For stony silence. // // He

gives his back to the smiters // // His cheeks to them that pluck out

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

ngoes unpicked by childish hands // //

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

w there’s only been a fist, // // Half

giving and half holding fast: // // A green knot slowly untying //

different ways. // // Days enough for

giving and receiving. // // Did I give enough? // // I cannot say. /

// // And when I give you my word, I’m

giving you my all, // // These meaningless metaphors and simplistic s

I’ll never work for Hallmark

wn with salvation in // // gadgets and

gizmos that soiled his mattress with // // beating his hammer against

Jonathan’s Deathbed

// Purgatory lenses your beauty. // //

Glacial . Tangled in cables. // // Spirit, they’ve vanished! // //

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

en know, // // Or knowing grasp, those

glaciers of flame. // // To measure scale for such a furious flame?

rty so woefully dull. // // Are we not

glad it was an epic cause the Greeks and Trojans fought for, instead o

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

// He is adrift in the sea. // // I am

glad of the sheltering waves // // Until the ferry comes into harbour

o // // jump on the bandwagon he’ll be

glad .” // // The Boris is happy. “We need a designer with // // bol

Troubled waters

he clammy fingers of shade that you are

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

// // not suited to // // a woodland

glade // // and dappled shade— // // and suited too. // // That fri

oping. let me hear the sound of joy and

gladness so that the bones you crushed can rejoice. it’s waiting there

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ounce back: big prizes! // // glossier

glamour ! more glorious to spend yours // // chasing what’s cheap, tha

[A spinning spider]

ent is furrowing your brow, // // So I

glance instead at your mirror, // // Rested head gentle against the c

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

t your presence has awoken? // // Your

glance is like a blessing on the broken // // I tender this in thankf

A Token // // Your

glance is like a blessing on the broken, // // Your smile a sudden gr

not be spoken face to face; // // Your

glance is like a blessing on the broken, // // Your smile a sudden gr

of old men’s lust and rage. // // I’ve

glanced awhile at poets on the shelf, // // Desiring this man’s style

ing breath to fill my happiness? // //

Glances , yeses, and the mystery of mustard yellow tights. // // My bu

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

suddenly seem // // Translucent in the

glancing lights that show // // Where their quick-stirring forms are

Is it a memory?

// // Red, white. Red, white. A yellow

glare : // // 222 deaths in Cambridgeshire last year. // // People fi

re. // // Though, via a chink a softer

glare // // suggests I need not now despair // // but follow where,

ce golem was never sacred // // In the

glaring static of hidden foamy currents. // //

Frighteningly Inert

// // At her face, connecting with the

glass and falling, // // Kneeling on a cushion of broken shards, //

n the tail-end; by day at poet’s sea of

glass and fire; // // (too hopeful by half in the dawning). // // En

/ // My gallery of waves framed behind

glass . // // And I gaze too // // At frozen events, pale memory, //

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

this will be no more. // // Re-fill my

glass , and this time with Champagne, // // Drink down the last few bo

// Rested head gentle against the cool

glass , // // But blotted quickly by a tunnel’s vulgar arrival. // //

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

// as if to reverse // // the myth of

glass , // // but my gaze keeps slipping // // to the ghosts which dr

// // The white Museum with its plate-

glass doors. // // Through these you pass and up a flight of stairs,

The Magic Apple Tree

pe there is. // // I keep us cold in a

glass jar // // at our heart's core. // // Helium and hydrogen haule

eart’s core. // // I keep us cold in a

glass jar, // // but secretly hope there is // // no possibility of

// // Candles glowing through stained

glass . // // O little one mild. // // Lunchtime with the family, //

A Hymn to a Loved One

he lights are going out, drain one more

glass // // Reflect, despairing, that all things must pass. // // Un

sailors drown at sea because I let the

glass ring on and // // on—the noise the dream-world appropriates for

re they strong enough to lift a stained

glass // // skull, my black eyes my light eyes, this arched spine, //

! // // your eyes, weighted, watch the

glass // // snatch its sound out the air. // // in little hessikaner

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

e through. // // the marble caught the

glass , // // where the sun rises. // //

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

of the cinema landscape in that filthy

glass // // Will only pause briefly, // // Or be eclipsed by the shu

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

// To see, at first, your image in the

glass . // // You see yourself, and through yourself the tree, // //

The Magic Apple Tree

/ // amongst the wine stained lips and

glasses , // // teabags gone furry in the heat, // // an empty booksh

ots and pans, // // Pitchers, kettles,

glassware , cruets, // // Vases, ash trays, cups, and bowls. // // Wh

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

ave you your face? // // Dig, let loam

glaze the // // pain, till we // // forget // // your // // name.

Wandlebury Hill

. A winding path // // leads from the

glazed back door // // through box and holly grown to full maturity /

// // In me, a beckoning. The smallest

gleam // // Is somehow a beginning and a calling; // // “Sleeper awa

ubbles. Beneath the flushed sea-tail, a

gleam — // // It was just a small fish. // //

Just a Small Fish

They dart between dark shadows and the

gleam // // Of sunlight in green water—come and go // // Like us fro

Is it a memory?

set // // in motion by my beloved, her

gleaming eyes wet // // From the cold wind on a bench on a freezing n

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

lessly // // a girdle of the globe. It

gleams and disappears, // // cloud-eclipsed, and closer than it seems

[A spinning spider]

fire which leapt over us // // Perseid

gleams between the stars // // Like seeing a humpback breach // // T

nd the night stared back // // Perseid

gleams between the stars // // We navigate by auspice // // The fire

d words into dead wood; // // Cremates

Glede -eyes garnet // // Tightens coils, wrenches words // // Tighten

quotations unpeel from the wall // //

glide down. // //

now, rocking with wheels’ folly, // //

Gliding over crystalline tarmac. // // The limestone’s awake, the ves

low healthily. // // But they miss the

glimmer of primal fear, // // That you master, as if it wasn’t there.

at glorious future, // // His likeness

glimmering // // On coarse woollen lapels // // As proof of our labo

Magnetic Mountain

rning sunlight fills // // the room we

glimpse inside. A woman leans // // upon a table in the window, look

Cape Cod Morning

trace no photograph records. // // You

glimpsed it once within the garden wall, // // The image of an ancien

The Magic Apple Tree

/ After all, it was in the wait that we

glimpsed magic. // // We witnessed in the silence, the darkness and t

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

ople. // // Just you, steady tread and

glinted eyes, // // Holding and held by darling thoughts, // // Smil

n // // That brought us here: // // A

glisten from your sullen veins— // // A promise, a signpost, // // A

Magnetic Mountain

e window frame. The city is a puddle of

glistening yellow and grey, // // and everybody has wolf-eyes in the

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

pani of sole on pavement. // // How he

glitches and slides, // // How slowly my mind renders his form. // /

’Tis pity he’s a bore

th specs chrome: // // The stars. They

glitter ’gainst my mirror eye, // // And back they swim into that mir

[What have we done]

// unfold to the music of wind and the

glittering ebbstream // // that trickled the head of the pool. Sand s

Just a Small Fish

// Aren’t I porous and malleable in the

gloaming ? // // Isn’t Daddy proud? // // I was always earth-strewn,

Frighteningly Inert

races mindlessly // // a girdle of the

globe . It gleams and disappears, // // cloud-eclipsed, and closer tha

[A spinning spider]

ng there, looking blankly at me, like a

globe spinning so fast that all the colours blurred into white. And I

[So the moon was there]

/ // And leave nothing but a blackened

gloom , // // Of faces lost and undefined. // // A word that initiate

he exotic East. Each tear was worth the

glor - // // y of the find in the name of God for the sake of gold. Th

ine West Isles. Tears would pay for the

glor - // // y of the find in the name of God for the sake of gold. Th

We marched in lock-step // // To that

glorious future, // // His likeness glimmering // // On coarse wooll

Magnetic Mountain

g prizes! // // glossier glamour! more

glorious to spend yours // // chasing what’s cheap, than choose to sl

[A spinning spider]

skyward only to praise // // nature’s

glory . He renamed you La Trinitaria, holy // // Trinity, and then con

tales, and its bitter // // fomenting

glory in the great not-me. // // Way-hey, blow the man down // // Mi

n feed. // // But that was to miss the

glory of it— // // The warm egg // // Dropping from the golden heave

[No point, she said]

ards in certain praise // // state His

glory . This land I name, La Trinitaria, holy // // Trinity. Let’s ali

// and bounce back: big prizes! // //

glossier glamour! more glorious to spend yours // // chasing what’s c

[A spinning spider]

// Raw-edged— // // Wrapped within the

glossy blackness // // Of Dad’s funereal car. // // Later, unpacking

double cream) // // Dr Foster went to

Gloucester // // for a summer spin— // // and liked a lass from Lanc

/ // Guinness, the whole room // // A-

glow . // // A postcard with the robin // // And the snow and the fir

Wild Mountain Thyme

e, // // and welcomed us back into its

glow . // // Another twenty one years, // // another crematorium. //

nfrontation but there’s // // a sickly

glow from the windows of the house on the corner, madly // // yellowe

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

// Over the tanning-bed tan that won’t

glow healthily. // // But they miss the glimmer of primal fear, // /

aded branches of the apple tree, // //

Glow red and ripe and gold and bow themselves // // To bless the frui

The Magic Apple Tree

// Your silhouette stands beyond their

glow . // // Red, white, and black words disappear. // // I’m not so

the embers beneath the ash were darkly

glowing , asking only // // a slight encouragement. As the day went o

Or is it just the clarity of light, the

glowing // // grass and trees outside her window, warming // // in t

Cape Cod Morning

beyond the meadow, // // tall grasses

glowing in the morning sun // // below and to the right. And rising

Cape Cod Morning

e limestone’s awake, the vestibules are

glowing , // // The Sun, gentle, is rising in my wake. // //

rs pass. // // Gaudete. // // Candles

glowing through stained glass. // // O little one mild. // // Luncht

A Hymn to a Loved One

shut my eyes, but // // my eyelids are

glowing with // // bright, pale yellow, // // the kind that shines t

Bright, Pale Yellow

/ // The good Lady Lumley is pondering

glumly . “I // // need a new project to keep me in trim— // // now t

Troubled waters

/ the full cornucopia, // // gamboling

gluttonous // // through the waft from the grasses // // and unseen

Nil Charge / Nil Return

-muchness out // // and in the hollows

gnaw at something worse. // // the waiting lists are long, and you ar

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

ccess and joy // // may be your stated

goal but safety first – // // you’re in the trash dear Wayne – you wo

Between Life and Death

along quietly // // Only to return to

gobbets of that holds no for me // // yes // //

rom hide. Hide? // // No plaice. He’ll

gobble me up instead with haste // // An uncooked morsel. // // How

h the gain of the world and the loss of

God . // //

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

soon, because I think I just called you

God . // //

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

// // Our old, embarassing affair with

God . // // And God himself will follow soon enough; // // A little w

The Cutting Edge

/ // It hides my nephew’s eyes. // //

God bless us, everyone. // // Baby, come and sit with me, // // We p

A Hymn to a Loved One

sound, the jokes renowned— // // Thank

God for the paper crown. // // Young and old. // // It hides my neph

A Hymn to a Loved One

or- // // y of the find in the name of

God for the sake of gold. They mock- // // ed in Portugal, but when l

or- // // y of the find in the name of

God for the sake of gold. They mock // // him in island schools now,

embarassing affair with God. // // And

God himself will follow soon enough; // // A little word so easy to e

The Cutting Edge

rified by the profanities of his family

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

Frighteningly Inert

vanity // // Claimed his dad was a sea

god —insanity— // // But he did have firm pecs, and it looked like goo

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

the soul // // but eyes don’t talk to

God : // // mouths do // // mouths don’t talk to God: // // tongues

Same but differenT

und), // // Or even vicars, touched by

God , nothing to hide? // // Or the classicist, that type of beard tha

Bearded Thoughts

icance. // // Above the belt, you’re a

god , // // Pied, impious beauty; // // Below, bestial lust // // St

lk to God: // // tongues don’t talk to

God // // sweet symphonies rely solely on sound // // meaningless so

Same but differenT

/ mouths do // // mouths don’t talk to

God : // // tongues don’t talk to God // // sweet symphonies rely sol

Same but differenT

ge-bled, // // if nine demon ever did,

god -won // // Arrêt. // // Anger // // art // // Lunar // // vos

Hercules et Oracle

woollen teeth. // // I will close your

goddamn curtains for you. // //

Aubade to Girton

Temple // // The moon is no longer my

goddess . // // I praise Venus with every judder. // // My body is a

w cast by earthly forms of that abyssal

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

’Tis pity he’s a bore

lors, all hail! // // No isle is truly

godforsaken , give thanks for His majesty, // // these three hills awa

// // These objects are his household

gods , // // Found tokens of her whiter soul, // // Icons for his orp

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

/ // My love, surrender // // Hear me

gods ! I will surrender // // All // // All to you // // Just grant

, how they please, // // Hope that the

gods of Underground will hear my silent pleas // // To clear a seat o

Poems on the Underground

a, // // Bid hieratic welcome to those

gods , // // Or ghosts, or guessed-at others who—she’d heard— // // P

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

// Of long forgotten lust; // // Dead

gods rise and so I // // Dispense with this your justice // // (It

is have claimed you, // // The archaic

gods will make you // // An example in your death. // // Curst to kn

om is readied // // By the mothers and

God’s angels // // The evening before Christmas day. // // Men and l

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

onquered and claimed you in the name of

God’s grace. // //

alight now and claim her in the name of

God’s grace. // // TWO // // Columbus was the end, caravels crashing

Nέμεσις // // Personification of

God’s idle perfection, // // Epochs before this have claimed you, //

ops, waits, pontificates. Time and flux

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

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

d is crowned mayor of London, he // //

goes by the rubrik of Boris the Mad. // // He’d adore such a grand an

Troubled waters

apart. // // Then the light changes or

goes out altogether // // and I can’t quite remember the first way I

ise // // a cool half million. Dead it

goes to Joe. // // If I’ve ‘been DEAD’ am I now resurrect // // and

Between Life and Death

way becomes annoying. It just comes and

goes —we are forever anxiously on the edge, on the look out; never can

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

ebury Hill // // Are // // you // //

Gog or // // Magog? Tell // // me of cut chalk and // // turf scalp

Wandlebury Hill

ed autumn. // // Artifice // // Risks

going against the grain. // // The hardest part is to grow another na

hat we’ve always been satellites // //

Going around, and around, // // Passing by our narrative. // // Isn’

[She points to the sky]

er and fitter // // And should keep me

going for—wait…! // // DAEDALUS // // I blame the King’s first commi

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ed Racial Profiling // // Love set you

going like a fat gold clock (watch!) ticking // // Boxes on an Apollo

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

funds elsewhere. // // The lights are

going out, drain one more glass // // Reflect, despairing, that all t

rt play // // O, // // MUST i keep on

going round in // // CIRCLES must i keep on going // // ROUND in cir

the windmill’s lament—a short play

round in // // CIRCLES must i keep on

going // // ROUND in circles must i keep on // // GOING till i break

the windmill’s lament—a short play

// I have to keep running to feel I’m

going somewhere. // // Reality eats // // slow-moving prey. // //

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

ROUND in circles must i keep on // //

GOING till i break? // // DO i have to keep repeating // // keep rep

the windmill’s lament—a short play

Point A. Point B. // // Starting in A

going to B. // // Words fumble along the way, // // From there to he

[She points to the sky]

// // i // // think // // i’m // //

going // // to … // // [exit stage right accompanied by the ineffec

the windmill’s lament—a short play

say about us? // // That we’re always

going to give our heat away? // // That passion never gains, we just

Three Pieces of Advice

e pair of black shoes, // // And who’s

going to help me put new laces in, // // Because you can’t wear quirk

Three Pieces of Advice

nquiet hearts // // I wonder what he’s

going to say? // // We are but notes the piano plays. // // Crescend

are // // Nameless faces tell us we’re

going to war, // // I wonder where they think we’ve been. // // Each

e, // // But that’s not even where I’m

going with this. // // I just mean that in my current state, 19 years

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// Everything I Ever See Was Comin’ Or

Goin ’ Away. Same As You. Maybe The Only Thing Is…The Knowin’ // //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // As the sky began seeping liquid

gold // // and blood rust // // we were both made from stardust. //

pple tree, // // Glow red and ripe and

gold and bow themselves // // To bless the fruitful earth from whence

The Magic Apple Tree

Clearing // // Miscellanea, fool’s

gold , bric-a-brac, // // bits and pieces, odds and ends, junk, old ro

ng // // Love set you going like a fat

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

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

y days // // Where it stinks. I’d give

gold for some fresh air. // // I can see that I’m one of the wonders,

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

/ And turn life’s lead to poems of pure

gold . // // I need the poets now, who match my age, // // Like Coler

ailty tuned by too bright, // // White-

gold light, suspending patterned navy seats. // // Accompanying us: f

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

too // // a strange new religion, new

gold mines, new laws and a people dead. // // Ieri- Land of the Hummi

// // and rock and air; no fire and no

gold , // // no gems nor coins nor jewels; just the old // // and wea

Daydream Dale Journey

t was just a small fish, refracting the

gold of a sunbeam // // until our shadows converged and it fled to th

Just a Small Fish

he’ll sell the pearls in her mouth, the

gold on her head, // // To afford the crowns of Cain, the trademarks

// // as the sky began seeping liquid

gold , // // the kind that still refracts through your eyes. // // I’

// But just beneath the darkness all is

gold : // // The slope of hills, the fields of barleycorn. // // The

The Magic Apple Tree

find in the name of God for the sake of

gold . They mock- // // ed in Portugal, but when land (oh finally, lan

find in the name of God for the sake of

gold . They mock // // him in island schools now, fumbling for the Eas

eed on the water are like chips of dark

gold // // Under the magnesium moon. // // One night soon I will tak

dis-leave. Pale envy-green, wet-yellow,

gold -wrought // // Over-thought in the tail-end; by day at poet’s sea

t a memory or another dream // // That

golden afternoon in which we walk // // Together through the meadow?

Is it a memory?

universal word, a thrifty fox-thought,

golden delighted kept at bay from the quiet and rustling examination h

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

articular and unrepeatable. // // Some

golden essence seems to concentrate // // From light to air, from pig

The Magic Apple Tree

fling // // And curve of colour on the

golden fruit… // // All buried in the rubble of your fall. // // Wal

The Magic Apple Tree

/ // We sowed in tears, but here’s the

golden grain: // // We won’t give up our love, it is a given // // A

An Easter Triolet

agination, // // Rises, magma moltenly

golden // // Hardens to wordhoard-gems // // In the mind For the s

/ The warm egg // // Dropping from the

golden heaven of her vent // // Misshapen, shitten, and matted with o

[No point, she said]

-laden, generous and sun-browned // //

Golden , swollen mangoes unpicked by childish hands // // Giving a fin

go. Let the browns // // and reds and

golds replace the greens. Now throw the canopy too // // to the winds

nt, charged, ion wet, // // The pumice

golem // // On and off again, // // Averse to new versions, // // S

Frighteningly Inert

e of disequilibrium. // // This pumice

golem was never sacred // // In the glaring static of hidden foamy cu

Frighteningly Inert

the sunset hour. // // Softly the last

gondolier , dipping his hands // // For ablutions, kneels on the slend

s. // // Farewell—farewell—our time is

gone , // // A farewell kiss and then we’re done // // One last kiss,

[A Farewell Kiss]

s target practice. // // I should have

gone a long time ago, // // Feet, turning, past sloppy kisses // //

bove sleeping bodies. Our grist is long

gone // // and we’re lighter, quieter. Let us rescue you from the dai

oo straight, too curly.’ // // In days

gone by it was the fashion, Sweeney did bad business. // // You can t

Bearded Thoughts

ife— // // It’s been well-spent, and’s

gone exactly as he meant it to. // // And he has some years left in h

tained lips and glasses, // // teabags

gone furry in the heat, // // an empty bookshelf // // what remains

me, // // to creep back in when I have

gone . It’s time: my end has come. // // Note by the senior author:

“The Boris’s vanity project has // //

gone off the rails. I’m not such a mug. // // I’ve cancelled his bus

Troubled waters

Imposter // // Another hour

gone // // Paper crumpled in a heap // // I don’t have a clue! // /

shalimar, // // And of things that are

gone // // Since we went driving in your parents’ car. // //

’ car // // And didn’t stop until we’d

gone so far // // That dusky silence hit // // Sweet like shalimar.

sed and primed // // to dive // // is

gone , sunk without trace // // to greet the water channelling below.

t in hand, my home, // // Until you’re

gone . // // Wake up alone to empty thoughts, // // In the early even

flections; // // and when the moment’s

gone , we’re lost and alone. // // Do we understand each other? // //

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

ssed for dinner, // // waiting for the

gong // // and one day to be asked. // // My own—a set of two— // /

A Room of Her Own

ll as the Empire State // // Really is

gonna come to make us all meet our fate, // // You’d best make a bet

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

// // a deer had stopped // // ‘it’s

gonna die,’ he said, // // ‘if it stays on that crossing’ // // then

no plan, // // The points perhaps are

good , // // But slightly blurred and ill-conceived, // // But cram e

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ist. // // You strike flint to raise a

good fire. I tally days with snowdamp sticks. // //

/ iron rusted // // pump valves // //

good for scattering // // from plastic tubs // // feeding yew // //

yew needs dried blood in spring

m of pub chatter // // And the tang of

good -humoured sweat // // Along with the crispness of a river’s skin.

stroyed. I’m up in the woods, now. it’s

good in the dark, good in the dark, hoping, hoping and hoping. grind m

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

the woods, now. it’s good in the dark,

good in the dark, hoping, hoping and hoping. grind me up and scatter m

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

Troubled waters // // The

good Lady Lumley is pondering glumly. “I // // need a new project to

Troubled waters

nk your love and your roses // // Your

good looks, better bank statements and embrace, // // Will catch me t

distraction must have helped. // // So

good of you to come and help us celebrate // // Completion of our nec

come up for air. // // Course. // //

Good one. // // I use humour—I’m used to humour. // // Yeah. Drink w

Whales sing because they have a song

inal fray // // remains in memory, for

good or ill, // // another day. // // I cannot say // // whether I

It lingers violently // // like a

good Pollock should, // // hanging on a nail inside my eyelids. // /

did have firm pecs, and it looked like

good sex— // // But I did seek a bit more humanity. // // My mistake

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

ange. Some variant has found // // how

good sex is—to mix the genes around. // // The plants, the fish, the

// // Accept it all and let it be for

good . // // Start with the very breath you breathe in now, // // Thi

renching mist. // // This is where the

good things go to die. Light // // and air, pools and palaces, sanity

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

Good time for it, autumn. // // Now we’ve stooked up in a corner and

her serenade of blue. // // We hugged

goodbye . I walked home and made coffee, // // then sat and poured my

[I often think of that January morning]

/ I replay too detailed memory waiter’s

goodbye , smile of cabbie; // // Ambient objects. // //

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

s? // // What meaning in these kitchen

goods ? // // He never tells. But in each piece // // The inner thoug

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

lucreh* // // * ‘You flesh to atone’ (

Google Translate, 2014). // //

Hercules et Oracle

/ Sanitized warm parsnip smells tender

goose and the great pudding // // drink! to Christ! and be merry. /

Drink and be merry

hrough; // // The triumphant honk of a

goose (astray) // // Or the farm-wife, with clippings from the younge

Foss. // // Upstream again to clamber

Gordale Scar // // and rest, and breathe some more the cool clear air

Daydream Dale Journey

here and Tzipi, pass // // The red to

Gordon . I’m afraid the view just now // // Is rather badly marred by

k-white was her skin. // // In Cheddar

Gorge the chaffinches // // were twittering. The twain // // with a

e chose to cajole her // // with fresh

Gorgonzola … // // but the thing is, she so rarely ate it. // // His

The Failing of the Cheese

Sidings // // The spirit of

gorse // // Is in the grass // // That grows in the sidings. // //

/ and I’ll take you for all that you’ve

got . // //

rry.] // // Give me a ring. // // You

got it. // // [Once your voice has stopped ringing.] / [If only it wo

Whales sing because they have a song

and” why I had to leave tonight. Clancy

got loose and ran through an alley with keef, kefir, with champagne on

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

t sunshine, get up and go // // you’ve

got that in you not like your father. // // Stiff from the night befo

hill I remember - // // What if he had

got that knife in? Is this the poem? // // Strange loops writhe insid

/ wedding chimes of line and light that

got through to me. // // I don’t always want to be having this conver

// // But do beware // // Something’s

gotta give. // // From your perdition she’ll rise with flaming hair,

oal. if my truth is wrong I want you to

gouge it from me. use blunt, hoping, hoping and hoping. let me hear th

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

window ledge. // // No promise of a BA

gown // // can keep me warm, // // but I shall not despair // // no

A Room of Her Own

sschendaele had seen // // My suit and

gown , would death have seemed a dream? // //

// // The latest life hurdle means we

grab and claw // // For the meagre protection of a bank balance. //

record, flickers on // // the switch,

grabs her car-keys, // // handbag, puts her sneakers on, // // downs

[the typist puts her knickers on]

the broken, // // Your smile a sudden

grace . // //

ed and claimed you in the name of God’s

grace . // //

upon the lease // // Leaving its white

grace . // // And then he breathed his last blue breath // // And lef

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

the broken, // // Your smile a sudden

grace . // // And what is it your presence has awoken? // // Your gla

with flaming hair, // // Having found

grace at last in the depths of your lair. // // She’ll stone you back

roving ox // // Bellowing his song of

grace . // // Briers grew about his head // // Campions covered his o

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

yellow // // Yellow crowning him with

grace . // // He lay there till the grass grew high // // He lay ther

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

eve in some // // beneficent source of

grace , if from // // the dull hearts habit made can grow // // this

// // So every trace of light begins a

grace // // In me, a beckoning. The smallest gleam // // Is somehow

dvance, // // Its virtual descendants

grace // // The screen on my mother’s PC). // // I peel them slowly,

turn in the air // // with slow brute

grace , // // then passes, // // catseyes like bouquets // // thrown

// // Who had crowned their lives with

grace . // // They came with cakes, they came with flowers // // They

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

now and claim her in the name of God’s

grace . // // TWO // // Columbus was the end, caravels crashing crude

g licence, swimming // // awards, your

grade three flute— // // all, all are floating // // through the air

Stone, Paper, Scissors

se and pass on courage, save // // our

grades and your dignity, your // // inspiration, your endless, relent

Sestina to an English Teacher

lovers old, trapeze // // swingers and

graffiti . // // In between your trees and towers // // I’d gaze away

luc bat to mr. beam

arginalia // // you find from the smug

graffiti -writing reader: ‘Foucault!’, // // ‘evolution’, ‘what?’, or

// // Soon, make the screen a mirror,

graft the machine under skin, // // Let code-lines mesh with genotypi

ur new cut beams! // // We’re a curio.

Grain shovel is propped up all ornamental, // // dusted cogs very sti

Artifice // // Risks going against the

grain . // // The hardest part is to grow another nature. // //

e sowed in tears, but here’s the golden

grain : // // We won’t give up our love, it is a given // // And here

An Easter Triolet

// (as I trace my hand along the wood-

grain // // which falls from the mantelpiece in rivulets) // // I ha

// the grounds of sound, the generative

gramma // // signs of the Mystery, inscribed arcana // // runes from

check if I was versed // // in things

grammatical , your bubble burst. // //

Between Life and Death

Boris the Mad. // // He’d adore such a

grand and flamboyant adventure—to // // jump on the bandwagon he’ll b

Troubled waters

oots, // // a prop for mother nature’s

grand exit, // // and its leaves have all been lost in transit, // /

Patrimony // // My

grandad tended to old men when young, // // The kind who’d spent a li

growing from the clapboards, // // but

grander far, a corniced window bay // // in darker wood. Clear morni

Cape Cod Morning

in Kansas, anymore // // I watched my

grandfather die in his voice. hurry boy, “your light points to the sky

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

name spoken well, // // By stranger or

grandfather —it is a peculiar, potent spell. // // What a beautiful an

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

oom // // with her presence. // // My

Grandmother fills the whole room with // // her hands, the wrinkles r

or even the treasure beneath. // // My

Grandmother says she saw // // Angel’s feet once, through the key hol

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

// // I keep my eyes closed. // // My

Grandmother sits in the corner, // // she is watching me as I sleep,

Wicker Chair // // My

Grandmother sits in the corner. // // There is a chair there, made of

oney // // sits upon the stove, and my

Grandmother will love me again. Breaking // // slowly, I’m about to k

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

/ // My history— // // Of mothers and

grandmothers : // // Overcooked recipe books— // // Tough, stringy le

Grandmother’s homeland] // // In my Grandmother’s homeland, // // Th

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

my Grandmother’s homeland] // // In my

Grandmother’s homeland, // // The Christmas room is readied // // By

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

/ The petrified wood // // Of my great-

grandmother’s rolling pin, // // Solid as her steel-stern face— // /

ills’ // // Incessant beeping // // A

granite sword looming, // // We gaze across, to that rusty field //

Magnetic Mountain

o decide on // // Another song. // //

Granny’s keeping herself busy // // Making Gaelics in the kitchen, //

Wild Mountain Thyme

/ // All // // All to you // // Just

grant me this one wish I beg you // // No flowers for my grave I pray

Dispensing justice, not mercy // // I

grant you, then, your justice // // You will still be beautiful in de

mile across the river meadows // // to

Grantchester . As we walk back // // against the wind it starts to sn

Walking in winter

/ Christmas day. // // We’re all at my

gran’s house, // // The full, Catholic-size family, // // Cramped in

Wild Mountain Thyme

Breakfast // // A

grapefruit squeezed // // Spoon cuts crimson flesh // // Drops spray

/ they thought it was all // // girls,

grapes and snow.” // // Why snow? That seems an odd thing to say, rig

at shade; // // With balanced clay and

graphite , // // Wrist responding to each thought // // That strides

Three Ways of Walking

from all directions // // As my hands

grasp blindly for a white flag. // // “I don’t know” spills from my l

once we could // // Speak, to lose our

grasp on // // The reality of the wood // // And mortar which cut //

at they sing for is undone, // // I’ll

grasp the last whispers. // // Over ocean, the storm sullen // // Sl

Who am I, Bernard?

Yet few’ll then know, // // Or knowing

grasp , those glaciers of flame. // // To measure scale for such a fur

second ago, // // Finding only shorter

grass , // // A coloured strip made // // By the lawnmower. // //

ross a great river, where // // trees,

grass and flowers can stretch shore to shore. // // Of bridges traver

Troubled waters

he clarity of light, the glowing // //

grass and trees outside her window, warming // // in the sun? Or may

Cape Cod Morning

/ Blackened soles, he lies back in damp

grass // // And wonders when on earth all this will end. // //

ers. // // I taste the faint rustle of

grass as I sit on it, // // The tickle of its many spears on bare toe

eech nuts // // and heave clods of wet

grass . // // cowbwebs catch on tongue and mesh eyes // // blinking o

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

// Outside the windows, // // High-up,

grass -cutting, // // Swaying like fans // // Or parroting particular

ed cold, // // Misted breath on misted

grass . // // Dew dappled on falling trees, // // Dancing shoes over

Fall for————

ith grace. // // He lay there till the

grass grew high // // He lay there till the stars turned blue // //

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

imming // // Four bare feet in the wet

grass ; he and she, // // Having abandoned their shoes some time ago,

the sky // // below us // // the dark

grass mops our toes // // // // the cold air stings my lips // //

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

m of their freedom, // // of succulent

grass // // on the heights of Gwyngachu. // // They jostle and press

Nil Charge / Nil Return

// The spirit of gorse // // Is in the

grass // // That grows in the sidings. // // And houses have hollow

w, looks // // out into sunlight, over

grass , towards // // some distant point outside the picture frame. //

Cape Cod Morning

n night, // // An expectant lie on the

grass , // // White at first, newly-mowed, // // Shorn beneath its re

ion and sunshine and the smell of fresh

grass with Him. // // So I’ll just sit and stare, silent, and you’ll

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

adder looks longingly out at a patch of

grass with the sun on it and a rabbit or two - pretty scene, but where

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

tonous // // through the waft from the

grasses // // and unseen by their neat // // nihilarian captors. //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

he trees beyond the meadow, // // tall

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

Cape Cod Morning

ht circle of moon, eyelashed with heavy

grasses . // // His pointed foot will break the skein of water; // //

dern phoenix // // risen from old coal-

grate ash // // so I can shift my gaze // // from keys to coots //

A Room of Her Own

ls, over the fields. // // We’re right

grateful feeling that evening sun through an embrace // // of scaffol

he future // // Gazing from a clifftop

grave // // Curved ache of a clear horizon // // Could I foretell th

wish I beg you // // No flowers for my

grave I pray you // // Mercy! I implore you // // A taste to slake t

e up our love, it is a given // // The

grave is made the very gate of heaven // // We sowed in tears, but he

An Easter Triolet

adversaries. Old tongues, // // Grown

grave , recite the Prayer Book and the Rose. // // This is the trial o

Sixteen Forty-Five

rival, // // was buried in an unmarked

grave . // // There were no victors: only victims. // //

Black September

h flowers // // They came to strew his

grave with boughs // // But in the darkening hour they saw // // The

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

y and wet // // Gazing from a clifftop

grave // // Your tears mingling with the rain // // Could I foretell

aving in the mirror // // Clearing the

gravel in my throat pulling // // The wire from within taught // //

. // // A handheld spotlight skims the

gravel , revealing // // Fleeting instances of milk-soaked silence. //

Vicious or Virtuous?

so underhanded; // // its pupils were

graves dug amid sapphires… // // Of course its parents were disappoin

es will doubtless end in shallow // //

graves ), share confessions of their shame, // // while she gifts them

ding yew // // crooked elbow // // no

gravestones // // poor yew transplanted // // wide-lipped pots // /

yew needs dried blood in spring

/ blood ancestry // // phantoms // //

graveyard cadavers // // spicing the soil // // iron rusted // // p

yew needs dried blood in spring

blic with an even- // // handed air of

gravitas . Our thanks, and come again’. // // The Envoy. Gaza, 1 March

n reflection, // // Our model excludes

gravitation . // // Da capo // //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

you need. // // So that HAL might set

gravity back to nine point eight metres per second // // Per second,

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

creeching brakes and crunching metal as

gravity falls away. // // Tumbling upwards, being pulled by an invis

Snapshot Endings

ll is the only thing we can see, // //

Gray street lamps passing by show no-texture of headrests. // // Fore

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

hange // // So we can line pockets and

grease palms. // // The fear that we will not get up and over // //

/ // Edges— // // Their camouflage of

grease spots // // Leopard-like // // Within the corrugated cage. //

een spindles stick to socks a silent

great -aunt and the queen’s speech, naturally // // drink to Christm

Drink and be merry

// And it’s not a serpent // // But a

great big black wave // // That crashes over you // // And you try t

heir kisses aren’t words // // and the

great big massive enormous wide universe full of galaxies and black ho

Same but differenT

// // that this was // // one // //

great // // conceptual // // joke // // about our failure // // to

Chester, // // the fog lights catching

great dark shoals // // of rain, algorithmic complexity // // that f

/ // Crustate my hairs and eyebrows, a

great flow // // Of white from top-to-toe. Each day I feel // // My

[My face is old now]

// // The petrified wood // // Of my

great -grandmother’s rolling pin, // // Solid as her steel-stern face—

ndow clad in lights, closed against the

great grey sky // // drink! and be merry! // // Green spindles stick

Drink and be merry

wood for the balsa, // // knowing the

great hereafter for elsewhere. // // Athlete’s foot, Achilles’ heel,

ts bitter // // fomenting glory in the

great not-me. // // Way-hey, blow the man down // // Might and strai

es rise and fall // // and rise again.

Great populations press // // against their boundaries. The vital str

parsnip smells tender goose and the

great pudding // // drink! to Christ! and be merry. // // silence

Drink and be merry

/ to build a fine bridge clear across a

great river, where // // trees, grass and flowers can stretch shore t

Troubled waters

// // the act of meaning something no

great shakes. // // So, plummeting down Castle Hill today // // past

our tears mingling with the rain // //

Great Skellig slate grey and wet // // Gazing from a clifftop grave /

// Like seeing a humpback breach // //

Great Skellig slate grey and wet // // The ocean rolling beneath us /

Seeking the return of the light, // //

Great stone shrines were built. // // All humans feel the change //

Before Christmas

d, if we look, we can still see. // //

Great stone shrines were built // // Many lifetimes before us // //

Before Christmas

ships and sealing wax, // // and such

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

nip in the air. // // Ha ha ha. // //

Great things I can destroy, // // Look, the sun is dead. // // I kil

[So snow falls outside]

urprise at sundown // // when it rains

great , warm // // Mediterranean drops. // //

Tridente, 10th September

inds of change. // // Something seemed

greater // // Than the door we ranged // // Behind, but never in fro

reality we face // // Has never seemed

greater // // Then when sat around this table, // // A crowd of face

fulness // // For light, for love, for

greater // // Things, and left our brains lame, // // Reduced to an

Vienna and Berlin // // All give their

greatest streets and plazas names that have a little heft. // // To n

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

erb, // // But to tell the truth would

greatly disturb // // The poem’s appeal or mystery. // // As the imp

thing to say // // to the poor folk of

Greece . // // But I’ve always thought // // that there’s something t

orm of reverence // // is practised in

Greece // // the self-confessed skeptics // // run workshops and dig

hing becomes impinging, a necessity for

greed and proof of love or life, no loafing here. // // And people do

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

omain: // // the start, the lobby of a

Greek hotel // // in summer, where we met and all was well; // // th

/ No school today. Miss cannot teach us

Greek ; // // No breath remains to show how we might speak // // Or w

today // // she’d speak // // common

Greek . // // No one asked // // if she had any interest // // in so

am Museum, Cambridge // // I translate

Greek words from a slab of stone // // the size of an ancient kin’s e

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

re we not glad it was an epic cause the

Greeks and Trojans fought for, instead of finlandia swiss, gubbeen and

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

ink we have to conclude // // that the

Greeks // // were mistaken. // // A girl on a stool // // high on d

skin // // and the tactless scratch of

green biro. // // I have to keep running to feel I’m going somewhere.

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

ere are pagan echoes. // // The supple

green branches, // // Remembering half-forgotten lives, // // Are ob

Before Christmas

Middle-Eastern tales. // // The supple

green branches, // // Seeming deathless, // // Are obscured by Middl

Before Christmas

ees. // // Feel the fire. Spread out a

green canopy // // in the warming sunlight. Soak up the rays and the

/ The day breaks slowly on the hills of

green // // Everything turned strangely, oddly quiet // // The wind

y, I can still see // // The canopy of

green fingers tickling the clouds // // And the saffron-yellow orbs o

giving and half holding fast: // // A

green knot slowly untying // // Itself from the hardened winter nut

// // Under its framing fringe of rich

green leaves, // // Beyond the music of the shepherdess, // // Down

The Magic Apple Tree

lows the cut stones splinter // // The

Green Man comes to winter, // // To the harness and the harrow // //

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

Green Man, Mid-Winter // // Amidst the tympanum // // His stone hair

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

m counting beside // // The flickering

green // // Of my screen. // // Here in Higgs’ Field // // I keep m

Small Particles in the Small Hours

e dame shivers in the shadows, // // a

green silk veil against her frame, // // the sedge, the princes’ stee

sky // // drink! and be merry! // //

Green spindles stick to socks a silent great-aunt and the queen’s

Drink and be merry

ows and the gleam // // Of sunlight in

green water—come and go // // Like us from depth to height—suddenly s

Is it a memory?

// The days still dis-leave. Pale envy-

green , wet-yellow, gold-wrought // // Over-thought in the tail-end; b

er effigy caves in, // // And far away

green wings are flying—is this the poem? // // In the Marianas, old s

s // // and reds and golds replace the

greens . Now throw the canopy too // // to the winds, let it whirl awa

ecomes fare: // // meat for man. He’ll

greet my coat with the least of concern, // // once the knife scores

/ is gone, sunk without trace // // to

greet the water channelling below. // // And you, voyeur, // // appr

g branded by Nestlé, // // that a hand-

grenade of barbed calories // // nestled within each bite of Cadbury’

Chocolate Sonnet

lowing his song of grace. // // Briers

grew about his head // // Campions covered his outspread hair // //

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ace. // // He lay there till the grass

grew high // // He lay there till the stars turned blue // // He lay

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ng. // // But now I need the poets who

grew old // // And wore the bottoms of their trousers rolled, // //

a face. // // July came, and the woods

grew pretty // // Local people left the city // // Moved by long for

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

mold, // // The ice with which I rose

grew weary, crack’d // // So softly and remorselessly, compact // //

[What have we done]

// As old as the oak, as this oak tree

grew // // What I know now is not then what I knew. // //

n epilogue. // // I stand, figureless,

grey and distant, // // My frustration, ever building, swelling, //

The Other Side of the Line

ty is a puddle of glistening yellow and

grey , // // and everybody has wolf-eyes in the rain. Their irises kee

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ith the rain // // Great Skellig slate

grey and wet // // Gazing from a clifftop grave // // Your tears min

pback breach // // Great Skellig slate

grey and wet // // The ocean rolling beneath us // // Your tears min

// The sky is dark, intense, a stormy

grey , // // But just beneath the darkness all is gold: // // The slo

The Magic Apple Tree

/ // Down through the dark towards the

grey church spire // // In to its heart : the arching apple boughs… /

The Magic Apple Tree

of machines beneath the steady gaze of

grey // // hospital walls. Roses in empty wine bottles unfolded in th

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

sense of solid pavement in smokefilled

grey . I asked you why you seemed so sad, but all you did was turn, lea

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

said, in keeping the old girls— // //

Grey in the wattle, scabbed about the arse // // Eating us out of chi

[No point, she said]

elf across my vision, and in the air my

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

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

lad in lights, closed against the great

grey sky // // drink! and be merry! // // Green spindles stick to so

Drink and be merry

// // I bellowed my name to the slate

grey sky // // I shouted my name at the empty football pitches // //

[I whispered my name into the trees]

heir own oceans. But drinking warm earl

grey // // tea with you, all I could taste was pure happiness and hon

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

nd me and I’m running, running from the

grey // // teeth breathing just beyond my shoulder blades. An unstead

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

— // // The sand is yellow—until it is

grey — // // The sea brims until it breaks— // // Onward—I watch the

From Trebetherick Point

/ // HB // // ‘Hard Black’ appears as

grey : // // The universal, standard and // // Unthinking choice //

Three Ways of Walking

sn’t blue today, // // It was deep and

grey when // // It appeared, the sun jumping // // From cloud to clo

[The sun flattened]

a tide of sleep. Suddenly I’m running.

Grey // // wolves behind me and I’m running, running from the grey //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

is darker now, and my eyes are a deeper

grey . // // You tell me it’s difficult to love a light, when every da

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

// // Everyone should give the bursar

grief — // // Have protests along her (warm) corridor. // // Every Gi

BURR (or Brrrrr)

tart the task assigned // // For three

grim hours. For my degree // // I fear I am not in my perfect mind //

Exam Room Villanelle

/ After the chip from the front of your

grin , // // we'll make you a new one of china and tin. // // After y

in the dark, hoping, hoping and hoping.

grind me up and scatter my ashes, Ba’al Hadad, I submit. I lie to you

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ieter. Let us rescue you from the daily

grind . // // We concentrate on renewal, us lot. // //

Looks and the newspaper image blithely

grins // // Into a million messy shards. // // The table and childr

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

the tilt of the stool— // // After the

grip of the hinge of the door— // // After the blood has been wiped f

I’d catch Nick’s eye // // and he’d be

gripped . // // I thought he’d itch // // if I’d no stitch. // // Oh

e stands, reinforced, leaving me // //

Gripping the tatters of hope in my fist. // // With nothing left to f

The Other Side of the Line

s very still above sleeping bodies. Our

grist is long gone // // and we’re lighter, quieter. Let us rescue yo

// And purple dermal chunks of coal and

grit . // // Just so his father, prisoner of war // // Then casualty

erry. // // silence unspoken fear

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

Drink and be merry

ingers // // the forbidden room // //

groans and secrets // // and when the time comes we will pray for you

Drink and be merry

fear // // the forbidden room // //

groans and secrets // // blood! wriggling life! a name! love! // //

Drink and be merry

told; // // His pedigree and personal

grooming , how he values himself. // // But nowadays it’s stubble or b

Bearded Thoughts

g a final dull thud as they fall to the

ground . // //

rtal, powerless, // // Until I hit the

ground , // // And look up at what I achieved. // // Disappointment,

Falling Is Like This

ge into you // // and sighing into the

ground ; // // But now // // (varnished, sanded, rooted into cold //

uck to the bed, // // Watered into the

ground by the // // Endlessness repeating crashed-crushed // // Idea

// The girl poised and primed, // //

ground crumbling beneath her feet // // to meet the water channelling

mind is flawed. // // But then to the

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

The Tree of Wisdom

aiming well, // // Took out the vacant

ground floor flat, // // So those I loved precipit fell // // In pul

// Solid as oak from his scalp to the

ground . // // Fresh as the day although freckled and browned // // A

th surprise at the cold rigidity of the

ground — // // I have seen him do this before, and he is always surpri

ights // // Shoeless feet and unsteady

ground // // If I close my eyes I still see // // A harbour adorned

c // // -ular tone, the tusk // // is

ground // // into the small hole in my side where your hand, // // c

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

Feel the water return // // to the dry

ground . Let the cooling dark // // settle around and about, under and

Nightwatching // // By the bone-

ground my eyes linger; // // I am watching the boy take off his shoes

I walk // // Barefoot across the damp

ground of my thoughts, // // Squelch the compost of old text messages

[I am almost 25 years old]

// (big ideas on rocks and bones in the

ground ), // // Or even vicars, touched by God, nothing to hide? // /

Bearded Thoughts

to // // Insanity, we grovelled on the

ground , // // Our eyes blank, with nothing to // // Consider, no rea

, // // Sprinkling their light through

ground , through sky, through all. // //

[What have we done]

// // or an oil rig, thudding into the

ground // // to draw up lubrication for her joints. // // Or it’s a

I start to trickle back // // over wet

ground , under sky, // // from marsh just covered in the slack: time

// clear to my vantage point on higher

ground . // // Voices far across the valley sound. // // The hills ra

mine // // Shoeless feet and unsteady

ground // // Whales singing the day in // // The heart trips and is

ummoners, the shaping shapes // // the

grounds of sound, the generative gramma // // signs of the Mystery, i

dangerous // // Myth more toxic // //

groundzeronineelevenwaronterrorbinladenbombingssuicide // // Ah, to d

// Brought my new friend to the Poetry

Group // // To sit on a sofa, our fingers entwined, // // While we h

Wednesday Evening

ves. Pressured into // // Insanity, we

grovelled on the ground, // // Our eyes blank, with nothing to // //

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

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

[What have we done]

he grain. // // The hardest part is to

grow another nature. // //

Where the dendrites of the mind // //

Grow branching thoughts, bear fruit. // // A song // // Where birds

y of blue. // // Like a seed I want to

grow . But all I have is cold coffee, and an empty page. // //

[I often think of that January morning]

hought was right, // // Shunned… but I

grow . // // Feeling when it gets clear, // // This pain is very wron

A Tribute to AQOH

I close my eyes and feel their cacoons

grow // // More pink, more soft, and in this tired state // // I fad

[What have we done]

to-toe. Each day I feel // // My bones

grow old with waiting for the feel // // Of earth against their sides

[My face is old now]

flow // // And let us fall, and let us

grow , // // One thought, one heart, one voice, one song. // // Dimin

ister of our land. // // The poor must

grow their food amongst the sand // // Whilst colonists enjoy resplen

m // // the dull hearts habit made can

grow // // this flower—momentary and no— // // way ever to be preser

an in your entirety. // // You may yet

grow to resemble your mother more than mine // // But for now just th

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

I would slowly // // mimic your steps;

growing day by day, // // a cursive script’s embrace // // in which

luc bat to mr. beam

clapboard side. // // At centre, as if

growing from the clapboards, // // but grander far, a corniced window

Cape Cod Morning

e back of your mind. // // You feel it

growing , growing // // Until the worm is a serpent // // And whisper

ld, as they very thing cheese! as it is

growing old // // They want the superb, the surreal, the mundane, a t

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

the ocean shifts // // Over itself, a

growing potion, thick // // To perfect brew’d. My bones grow Ache and

[What have we done]

web around my field, // // Housing my

growing self inside a shield, // // And bathing me without inside thi

[What have we done]

loam, // // The rooting places of your

growing soul, // // The subsoil of your oldest memory. // // Walk th

The Magic Apple Tree

your mind. // // You feel it growing,

growing // // Until the worm is a serpent // // And whispers things.

away at uni, wasn’t she? // // They’re

growing up, now. // //

jaws // // From which stomach-swirling

growls // // Rattle, // // Instilling all the Seven Deadlies // //

soft, // // My heart alight, the ember

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

[What have we done]

through it dancing branches from roots

grown // // Do frame the stars, suspended, understood // // By me, w

[What have we done]

etween adversaries. Old tongues, // //

Grown grave, recite the Prayer Book and the Rose. // // This is the t

Sixteen Forty-Five

en, as a blacksmith finds his mold self-

grown , // // My practic’d pattern forged a way its own // // And I,

[What have we done]

back door // // through box and holly

grown to full maturity // // to an iron-gated pointed arch // // pie

orse // // Is in the grass // // That

grows in the sidings. // // And houses have hollow // // Fishbowl ey

is no longer faintly falling // // but

grows into ice as my hair is chilled // // by all the breath of Russi

why i’m getting into Christmas

d whispers things. // // And the voice

grows louder and louder // // And it’s shouting and you can’t hear an

cot, // // At every moment the burring

grows , // // Thrushes migrate where the weather’s hot, // // Only we

BURR (or Brrrrr)

second’s past— // // Matter explodes.

Growth’s spiraling has passed // // The comprehendable. A lash of lig

hiatus. // // But the fire bore us no

grudge , // // and welcomed us back into its glow. // // Another twen

ess will go as usual—Routine completion

guarantee . // // My reality assembles with Ikea instructions. // //

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

/ that will never wash from my hands. I

guard myself like a honeycomb house. // // I wonder about your house

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

y hybrid is, // // Whose sibling stood

guard (to keep access barred) // // In a stench that should make her

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

e him tone and form // // Is still the

guardian of his life // // Is still the keeper of his soul. // // An

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

fought for, instead of finlandia swiss,

gubbeen and brin d’amour? // // And had Hamlet said ‘Forsooth, I must

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

offee can make // // do just as well I

guess . // //

why i’m getting into Christmas

better her dear husband’s still-mortal

guess . // // Fearless and shameless and hopeless, pathetically // //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

/ A break from hoping father just would

guess . // // In Eastern Cape men show their worth by rite, // // Bot

Three gay rituals

ome to those gods, // // Or ghosts, or

guessed -at others who—she’d heard— // // Patrolled the streets of lat

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

ion and wit as for wine? // // Has she

guessed that this doggerel, painfully wrought, // // Pretentious and

Wednesday Evening

to carry // // In light like a welcome

guest . // //

// // Awaited those who knew how to be

guests . // // The page, like linen freshly laid for tea, // // Bid h

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

t I am not alone // // As streetlights

guide my yellow path: // // Your silhouette stands beyond their glow.

Bridge // // Red and white lights

guide their journey, // // Light foliage for their constant “go”. //

/ through the mist, softly luminous and

guiding people through // // the sourness of their own oceans. But dr

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

Both those who fit and those in awkward

guilt . // // A soft man from the oddest matter built, // // Is man n

Three gay rituals

een seeing words before you, // // The

guilt and hideous shame of not doing, rather than doing different - //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

-burning to my five- // // year infant

guilt . Fruitless to plead my case // // into that microphone I could

Compass Reading

// Absences with cream, whiskey, // //

Guinness , the whole room // // A-glow. // // A postcard with the rob

Wild Mountain Thyme

e, sipping sleepy coffee // // as your

guitar filled the room with the sound of careful echoes. // // Even n

[I often think of that January morning]

dmit my narcissism behind the twinkling

guitar riff // // and yell my apologies instead of typing // // and

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

od, onto the beach. We hear // // the

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

Wells in winter

nt in the night, // // Panthera Tigris

gulps the moon. // //

He who made the Lamb

oft snow, up to the tops // // of your

gumboots . The mile or two // // to the village shop to seek supplies

Walking in winter

/ // war in Jordan. // // There was a

gun . // // There was a bullet, stray. // // There was a young man wr

Black September

es quicker than paint // // Shouts the

gunshot on the lake // // But the things that heaven takes, // // Hu

ject to keep me in trim— // // now the

Gurkhas are happy—some shiny erection to // // burnish my halo. Ah,

Troubled waters

each moored boat runs a wake: time to

gush full spate. // // Now my headlong dash abates—where I once was,

But through the door there only swept a

gust // // Of fumes and dust and waste, and she was left a- // // mi

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

r speed, and again; // // the surprise

gut -punch // // of the snowman losing heart // // and losing his lun

ing // // Eventually we all sit in the

gutter , shot down // // By an unseen enemy on his way up. // // ‘War

any power to light // // One candle’s

guttering sickly flame // // And peer. Myopic view, fragmented past /

he wild wind // // from the heights of

Gwyngachu , // // sweeps over the ruminant chomp // // of a mutinous

Nil Charge / Nil Return

ucculent grass // // on the heights of

Gwyngachu . // // They jostle and press ’til, // // abrading the bolt

Nil Charge / Nil Return