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

H

Three Ways of Walking // // // // 2

H // // ‘Two Hard’, too hard. // // School store supply; // // Comp

Three Ways of Walking

ands snip snip in the air. // // Ha ha

ha . // // Great things I can destroy, // // Look, the sun is dead. /

[So snow falls outside]

y hands snip snip in the air. // // Ha

ha ha. // // Great things I can destroy, // // Look, the sun is dead

[So snow falls outside]

/ My hands snip snip in the air. // //

Ha ha ha. // // Great things I can destroy, // // Look, the sun is d

[So snow falls outside]

nation progress flowers— // // An open

habit jointly stitched anew. // //

Three gay rituals

f grace, if from // // the dull hearts

habit made can grow // // this flower—momentary and no— // // way ev

Poets in Ageor A Study of Reading

Habits // // At first I used to wish that I were Keats // // And the

u can’t wear medieval sleeves // // Or

habits while you bike your kids to school. // // Pointy hats—and coup

In Defence of Evolution

ight have done sitting in an omnibus or

hackney cab: // // ‘That one is too large, too small, cut close or no

Bearded Thoughts

grind me up and scatter my ashes, Ba’al

Hadad , I submit. I lie to you like a dog, like Shaitan or Kafir soft i

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

the Jura // // Mandala. // // As the

hadrons collide, // // I’m counting beside // // The flickering gree

Small Particles in the Small Hours

dark // // We’ll sing waes hael, waes

hael , hurrah! hurrah! // //

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

it Trees // // We sing waes hael, waes

hael , hurrah! hurrah! // // A cup and a toast to seed, sapling, and s

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

day and of dark // // We’ll sing waes

hael , waes hael, hurrah! hurrah! // //

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

ting of Fruit Trees // // We sing waes

hael , waes hael, hurrah! hurrah! // // A cup and a toast to seed, sap

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

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

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

’s southern shore. Behold! Sailors, all

hail ! // // No isle is truly godforsaken, give thanks for His majesty

r deck, makes oblations // // Of shorn

hair and candle wax, to the saint; // // The ram-head of the corpse c

d // // Campions covered his outspread

hair // // And mildew took the place of tears // // The boy without

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

// The dead lived on in my genes and my

hair // // And the tea-leaves showed me nothing to fear; // // But I

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

he crease of your brow emblazoned in my

hair . // // And you, around that narrow spotless nape, // // Might,

nd to freeze this: // // you with your

hair cut day-short, // // blowing a cool kiss, // // prone on a whit

the polystyrene cemetery, // // Blonde

hair flicking like a snake’s tongue. // // But her stylish-yet-afford

your perdition she’ll rise with flaming

hair , // // Having found grace at last in the depths of your lair. //

runs his perfect hands through perfect

hair . // // He tells us he is having an affair. // // Like I’d know

/ His cheeks to them that pluck out the

hair , // // His spring is come to shame and spitting, // // Under th

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

nd her eyes, // // the softness of her

hair . // // I want to ask her something (“how are you?”) // // and I

accept. // // He maps out his face and

hair // // In creams and gels. // // His teeth are polished by profe

tes the Sun’s furthest edge. // // His

hair is a lustrous shadow cast by earthly forms of that abyssal goddes

’Tis pity he’s a bore

falling // // but grows into ice as my

hair is chilled // // by all the breath of Russia // // (even the ki

why i’m getting into Christmas

h // // the year. You tell me my honey

hair is darker now, and my eyes are a deeper grey. // // You tell me

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

forty years ago // // —these days his

hair is white all through.) // // ‘Every mile is two’? no, hardly th

Walking in winter

he air // // Led you here? See her red

hair // // Last night, gaping smile, // // Sharp with the earth’s sl

Here be dragons

l falls // // And squalls through your

hair // // Like the wind that I cannot contain by // // Mapping its

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

hands shake, could not save // // the

hair on your head from pallor, save // // you from admiring recogniti

Sestina to an English Teacher

This one here too ginger for the colour

hair , or too straight, too curly.’ // // In days gone by it was the f

Bearded Thoughts

y night? // // We distrust this facial

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

Bearded Thoughts

), // // little hessikan, your juniper

hair // // shines like strands of the sun resting // // upon my shou

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

// Amidst the tympanum // // His stone

hair startles from // // A face in the foliage, // // Not just the b

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

ire brush // // of David’s thick black

hair , // // staying in place until at home // // the small gas fire

Walking in winter

ough // // the cold receding sea, with

hair the colour of honey // // obscuring itself across my vision, and

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

, after // // The syllables through my

hair // // Then my bare feet on coarse carpet, // // I hit what I he

Falling Is Like This

l in the mirror when fiddling with your

hair . // // You could trace a line, like a long sleek ribbon, through

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

now, frost and snow // // Crustate my

hairs and eyebrows, a great flow // // Of white from top-to-toe. Each

[My face is old now]

s up I rose, // // Away dropp’d loosen

hairs , my sweat it froze // // And fell, and dropp’d beneath, pass’d

[What have we done]

get back what you need. // // So that

HAL might set gravity back to nine point eight metres per second // /

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

ashing, shrieking, // // Half longing,

half caution. // // Should I let myself sink into the caressing depth

ble anchored to demotic towers - // //

Half -deserted, effluvial. // // A surety of sound and shining light /

pple green branches, // // Remembering

half -forgotten lives, // // Are obscured by Middle-Eastern tales. //

Before Christmas

ather than doing different - // // The

half -formed house // // Of the brain trying to crystallize, but so of

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// And if it’ll happen again. // // If

half -formed thoughts will drip // // From the lips of this voice //

Writing to explore

much time for times past. // // So the

half -full tin of strawberry mints // // must mean a sentry asleep at

ll now there’s only been a fist, // //

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

the hardened winter nut // // And the

half -hearted rust remains // // Of another autumn’s dying. // // But

n case one snored too loud. Two bashed

half -hearts, // // the Valentine that sparked a fight. Clothes pegs.

nly been a fist, // // Half giving and

half holding fast: // // A green knot slowly untying // // Itself f

ught me to my feet remember // // And,

half in mind, Ascent of Cascade start. // // Behind the flow I knew t

[What have we done]

glass and fire; // // (too hopeful by

half in the dawning). // // End-tale: November song seeks mist-blue p

heck the textbook again. // // 2, said

half -jokingly on holiday in Singapore, but actually just very sound ad

Three Pieces of Advice

ony, // // Crashing, shrieking, // //

Half longing, half caution. // // Should I let myself sink into the c

ly overcome; // // This thirteen-and-a-

half mile Eden seemed to be divine. // // And so they thought of what

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

dead? Live I could raise // // a cool

half million. Dead it goes to Joe. // // If I’ve ‘been DEAD’ am I now

Between Life and Death

nto harbour // // And I see that he is

half of me. // //

ain.” // // Play it, Sam. // // BBC1,

half past ten. // // Here’s lookin’ at you, kid. // //

A Hymn to a Loved One

rn-out future thoughts, // // Of poems

half -remembered, long ago destinies rolled up and placed in possibilit

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

d by a swan // // I mean, talk about a

half remembered mythic method // // I can’t even remember where I lef

to stow. // // I swim through slush of

half -solid and rise, // // The swamp up which I move, ever more warm,

[What have we done]

tic, stylish, and it’s deft: // // Any

half -taught infant can contrive // // To lean a pile of lines towards

In Defence of Evolution

(no joke in that) // // Catch at only

half way there. // // Feathers blacken and unpeel // // With the mou

Urban bird watching

e in futures on the wishing bone // //

Hall in Bones and Cartilage has shown // // the furcula might prove a

in my perfect mind // // In the lonely

hall where I’m confined. // //

Exam Room Villanelle

ngst my fact-debris. // // In the inky

hall where I’m confined // // As my pen moves blankly line to line //

Exam Room Villanelle

ate—discuss … I see // // In the panic

hall where I’m confined // // My friends have piled up eight or nine

Exam Room Villanelle

ners so cruelly, // // In the chilling

hall where I’m confined, // // Tell us to start the task assigned //

Exam Room Villanelle

I’ll never work for

Hallmark // // If I could show you how I love you with this poem //

I’ll never work for Hallmark

ing pain // // Of lashes; a thorn halo

hallows your head, // // Vice-like; your pierced side holds your scep

from the quiet and rustling examination

halls . // // This is my revision, it has no structure and no plan, //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ter, gets her gas, // // runs down the

hallway , quick as one // // intent on small house agents’ clerks //

[the typist puts her knickers on]

ome shiny erection to // // burnish my

halo . Ah, I have a whim // // to build a fine bridge clear across a

Troubled waters

singing pain // // Of lashes; a thorn

halo hallows your head, // // Vice-like; your pierced side holds your

sand to rest for two millennia. // //

Haloed by Hawara sun you saw him lean // // To read the writing, say

ary sense // // (machine clanging to a

halt , // // mind looks on in horror) // // but in the true sense: //

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

zal for Rumi // // Look at you—born of

halves and fulls, // // Born of earth into stalled world. // // Have

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

ks long since sundered from their other

halves // // And ghostly shimmering nylon stockings curled // // Lik

// He’s in with top brass and so scorns

Hamas . // // Where we die to live, he has zero to give. // // Conseq

Phonecall // //

HAMLET Do you see that cloud? That’s almost in shape like a camel. //

ss and it’s like a camel indeed. // //

HAMLET Methinks it is like a weasel. // // POLONIUS It is backed like

NIUS It is backed like a weasel. // //

HAMLET Or like a whale? // // POLONIUS Very like a whale. // // Odd

ubbeen and brin d’amour? // // And had

Hamlet said ‘Forsooth, I must punish my uncle’s transgression but feta

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

bathroom a Thursday // // I am a naked

Hamlet shaving in the mirror // // Clearing the gravel in my throat p

ed his mattress with // // beating his

hammer against his new heart made of // // iron and stealing the warm

Jonathan’s Deathbed

ar, and never // // Keep your cards in

hand after you’re quite done; // // Discard and shuffle quickly if yo

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

hand along the wood-grain // // which falls from the mantelpiece in r

to the small hole in my side where your

hand , // // cold, // // now rests. like malagas // // through the d

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

orting wetness of your mouth. // // My

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

rums. // // One knife’s whisk’d out my

hand , flies back and falls; // // The other comes to slush within the

[What have we done]

ything branded by Nestlé, // // that a

hand -grenade of barbed calories // // nestled within each bite of Cad

Chocolate Sonnet

lifting my molten body’s mold // // By

hand , hardening to the rocks each tug, // // The upstream coming down

[What have we done]

singing the day in // // You hold your

hand in mine // // Shoeless feet and unsteady ground // // Whales si

of a clear horizon // // You hold your

hand in mine // // The wake of light on water // // Whales singing t

he world swam occasionally, // // Left

hand knotted in a white tissue, // // The right hanging, something sa

[The sun flattened]

apes pinnate and toothed, // // Like a

hand , lobed or broken, // // When will they bear fruit? // // Each s

leaves might fall

my escape, // // You, with my heart in

hand , my home, // // Until you’re gone. // // Wake up alone to empty

y, cannot defend, cannot explain with a

hand or description - no visual aid, // // No images allowed, the wri

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

orduroys, // // Moulded by no volcanic

hand // // Other than his own. // // Horrified by the profanities of

Frighteningly Inert

Reflections // // Her

hand rests on her now vacant stomach // // Her blushed cheeks moisten

went waterwards again. // // Her right

hand slackened slightly, // // Muscles eased and tired, not wanting e

[The sun flattened]

/ // Keep your wits about you and your

hand sleight // // And don’t count your winnings ’til you’re in the c

a gaudy colour. // // Like a trap the

hand snaps shut, // // Creases more, // // Folds into itself. // //

[The sun flattened]

blade which breaks. // // The potter’s

hand that slips and scores // // his mark into the waiting clay; //

about to knock when the dream drops my

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

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

his best where there’s fighting // // (

Hand to hand with a bull/man’s exciting), // // But I turned on the c

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

e branches are unseen. // // Her white

hand weeps about its canopy, // // and her clipped trunk is an ash bo

ho will join me in the temple? // // A

hand will skim mine as we present our offerings. // // Dutiful eyes,

where there’s fighting // // (Hand to

hand with a bull/man’s exciting), // // But I turned on the charm: m

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

the switch, grabs her car-keys, // //

handbag , puts her sneakers on, // // downs a double shot of gin // /

[the typist puts her knickers on]

nt for your public with an even- // //

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

ng sun, picking your lip. // // You’ve

handed me back the earbuds we were sharing, // // And our new-born ar

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

at passed here have passed away. // //

Handfast couples picked their path and left you // // Deserted. Only

ck our path along the hollow way // //

Handfast ; we unscroll your youth // // When ash-keyed branches dipped

/ And so I’ll have a heart-, a head-, a

handful when // // The scissors come for me. // // For at my back, l

The Cutting Edge

uth // // From the handshake. // // A

handheld spotlight skims the gravel, revealing // // Fleeting instanc

Vicious or Virtuous?

of the novel that dwindled between your

hands , as the deep blue // // sky darkened and embellished around you

[I often think of that January morning]

keep it warm // // or the ones holding

hands // // as the sun disappears. // //

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

ew ways to hold, // // To hold without

hands . // // But serene pain is found in the effort to learn to relin

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

n but home. // // Ah but before little

hands can tear at tissue // // Stille Nacht must be sung before the c

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

Softly the last gondolier, dipping his

hands // // For ablutions, kneels on the slender deck, makes oblation

the snug sheets, if ink will stain your

hands forever. // // Does it wash off, I wonder, does it truly subsid

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

h warp and weft // // And hands recall

hands from silent dust. // // The mis-struck stone. The blade which b

n, swollen mangoes unpicked by childish

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

unched from all directions // // As my

hands grasp blindly for a white flag. // // “I don’t know” spills fro

ney // // that will never wash from my

hands . I guard myself like a honeycomb house. // // I wonder about yo

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

/ // Small and high up. // // With my

hands I try and cut the sun. // //

[So snow falls outside]

/ // as you pray for strength, head in

hands , // // in a kitchen that isn’t yours. // // Kat couldn’t do Tu

race of a head bowed // // By superior

hands into a prayer, in the back // // Of a car who’s doors can only

Vicious or Virtuous?

flits through warp and weft // // And

hands recall hands from silent dust. // // The mis-struck stone. The

ft memory immolates its body beneath my

hands . // // Rings of ash are black MIDI: // // All that is left of

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

r sardonic jokes, could // // see your

hands shake, could not save // // the hair on your head from pallor,

Sestina to an English Teacher

l I want to do is cut you up. // // My

hands snip snip in the air. // // Ha ha ha. // // Great things I can

[So snow falls outside]

gainst // // And worship waist-deep in

hands // // That tilled the salty earth // // No less than home. //

y one, // // I hold these things in my

hands — // // The familiar blunt fingers and shallow nails // // Of p

// Creation stutters through faltering

hands // // —The shuttle shatters on silent stone— // // And in the

crusts. // // The revival of lifeless

hands . // // The utensils that outlive them. // //

er fills the whole room with // // her

hands , the wrinkles round her eyes, // // the softness of her hair. /

Sits there, // // And runs his perfect

hands through perfect hair. // // He tells us he is having an affair.

. // // We watch and hold each other’s

hands till evening, // // And as we watch, our souls dart to and fro

Is it a memory?

nsets, and // // bougainvillea blooms;

hands to hold // // and promised stories told // // of daughters, lo

luc bat to mr. beam

, I’m confirmed. // // Your mind, your

hands ! You stroked me into light… // // Eternal concept, crystalline,

The chicken and the egg

o that shield the truth // // From the

handshake . // // A handheld spotlight skims the gravel, revealing //

Vicious or Virtuous?

ient page. // // I remember your thick

handwriting on that white page // // as your letters arrived, tangibl

[I often think of that January morning]

of fifty shades of brown. // // Ships

hang in the sky much in the way bricks // // Might, if we built a Bab

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

Plus a few extra. // // She could just

hang up her cross, // // Pour the holy water down the sink, // // Ta

re] // // So the moon was there,

hanging low in the sky. And it looked just like an orb, or an egg, or

[So the moon was there]

// like a good Pollock should, // //

hanging on a nail inside my eyelids. // // Is it true that a thing of

ted in a white tissue, // // The right

hanging , something sad inside. // // A cloud broke, and she saw it sh

[The sun flattened]

constant litany, // // Until my shame

hangs , heavy, in the frosted air. // // A mile away, the ideal me, //

r faces are // // Rubbed out. In Beit

Hanoun , the sun seems spent: // // The blasts drop like a shutter’s b

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

if you’re clever // // And find a new

hapless victim to con.” // // So if you think your love and your rose

where it came from // // And if it’ll

happen again. // // If half-formed thoughts will drip // // From the

Writing to explore

wed it whole. // // // // What

happened to the sky? // // Well, the skies became water. The mo

[So the moon was there]

surely room for one more. // // Now it

happens my old friend is crowned mayor of London, he // // goes by th

Troubled waters

Pallium // // So much

happens that we miss or forget, // // waking from dreams of the house

ld you come over? // // Then it’s your

happiness again, // // Lost in bottles and found, // // In your unev

Fall for————

ea with you, all I could taste was pure

happiness and honey. // // Summer swam round, and the bees spread rum

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

need others’ breezing breath to fill my

happiness ? // // Glances, yeses, and the mystery of mustard yellow ti

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

British, you’re out of // // step with

happiness . You human anti // // climax, nothingness. You are mewling

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

y over my ears, and I was happy, really

happy . I was stood in a forest of pink trees and it would have been pe

[So the moon was there]

nd the stars couldn’t sing, but we were

happy . // // // // Is that the end? // // Yes. //

[So the moon was there]

outside, // // So they say I should be

happy now. // // Success comes sweet at last. // // All I want to do

[So snow falls outside]

pulled tightly over my ears, and I was

happy , really happy. I was stood in a forest of pink trees and it woul

[So the moon was there]

e themselves to pleasure, and are alone

happy . // // Shadowed-masses in the depths hum through the reeds, //

me in trim— // // now the Gurkhas are

happy —some shiny erection to // // burnish my halo. Ah, I have a whi

Troubled waters

gon he’ll be glad.” // // The Boris is

happy . “We need a designer with // // boldness and vision—I know jus

Troubled waters

If I close my eyes I still see // // A

harbour adorned with lights // // On the festival of Ferragosto // /

e heart trips and is under way // // A

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

waves // // Until the ferry comes into

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

ns stoked // // Some want the facts as

hard and cold, as they very thing cheese! as it is growing old // //

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

r the exercise alone. // // HB // // ‘

Hard Black’ appears as grey: // // The universal, standard and // //

Three Ways of Walking

asonable limits // // And covering the

hard brown earth. // // Blurry, out of focus and unfeeling // // Tim

row, // // Amidst the tympanum, // //

Hard by the rood-screen here. // //

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

// // Amidst the tympanum. // // But

hard by the rood-screen here, // // His face is set like flint, // /

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

m to carve // // to remember you by is

hard . // // It is not that forms or words // // are fixed, but that

Stone, Paper, Scissors

/ // // // 2H // // ‘Two Hard’, too

hard . // // School store supply; // // Compass control; // // Consi

Three Ways of Walking

whites of your ankles. // // Lunch was

hard , strong cheese // // taken amongst the bums // // in the silenc

Tridente, 10th September

feeling. // // Stomach, clenching, so

hard the butterflies // // Brush the back of my throat. // // I shou

/ // Not even Chesterton would find it

hard to believe that men can desire more from art that cheese // // T

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

The tide is high, and every wave tries

hard // // to breach the wall. And when it hits just right // // th

Walking in winter

e smallest matryoshka doll is always so

hard to open. // // Hold it to your ear, do you hear someone crying?

// // Of everything you see (trying so

hard to relate it to tragedy), // // And wondering, as you roll into

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

to the world. Naming // // you was not

hard , we chose // // a name that meant all things // // that dazzle

Stone, Paper, Scissors

/ // second, store in cool place until

hardened into rock // // third, freeze for centuries until // // cry

slowly untying // // Itself from the

hardened winter nut // // And the half-hearted rust remains // // Of

g my molten body’s mold // // By hand,

hardening to the rocks each tug, // // The upstream coming down ’comi

[What have we done]

// Rises, magma moltenly golden // //

Hardens to wordhoard-gems // // In the mind For the scop to shape

scape. Getting nowhere, I stare // //

Harder , longer. Trying to be less alive, // // To lose this odium bef

sks going against the grain. // // The

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

ough.) // // ‘Every mile is two’? no,

hardly thus. // // Some miles are ten, while others swiftly pass. //

Walking in winter

tened // // Outside her window, // //

Hardly touched the panes, // // Instead was broken into pieces, // /

[The sun flattened]

on drugs // // up a hill // // could

hardly translate // // for a snake // // that was itself // // spok

ipped slippers // // And shuffled over

hardwood floors, // // Through spaghetti-stained carpet // // With a

The Notes You Have Left

f Walking // // // // 2H // // ‘Two

Hard ’, too hard. // // School store supply; // // Compass control; /

Three Ways of Walking

ouching in the purple phlox, // // The

hare whose eyes at equinox // // Eyed the slowly roving ox // // Bel

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

ne // // We wake up to Radio 3, // //

Hark ! the herald angels. // // Float downstairs, put on the tea. //

A Hymn to a Loved One

Vogons know // // The earth is mostly

harmless , with a past // // Of telephonic hygiene? It never forms //

into persons, into us, // // conscious

harmonics , singing face to face. // // Resounding into music now, we

d let the music now hold sway // // In

harmony , it shows the way // // To reach beyond—to touch the light //

m-like, // // Pounding out a rhythm in

harmony with cold machinery. // // A continuous shriek throbs against

Snapshot Endings

, the song // // Called you; in triune

harmony you ascended. // // Amended death. I wish I could be faithful

reen Man comes to winter, // // To the

harness and the harrow // // As flails fall to split the bearded husk

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

ot reach, // // high on your bristling

Harris Tweed lapel. // // The smell of disappointment and of smoke. /

Compass Reading

o winter, // // To the harness and the

harrow // // As flails fall to split the bearded husk // // And seed

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

/ A slight light pigments the cold pond

harsh , // // Revealing smokey lines of my knife’s end. // // I’m rop

[What have we done]

plaice. He’ll gobble me up instead with

haste // // An uncooked morsel. // // How do I taste? // //

friend he’d picked // // —his tasseled

hat // // and pink cravat— // // just gazed at Nick, // // and Nick

// ing end, Portugal could only tip its

hat . Columbus would sail // // again. Columbus was the beginning, he

s like one who // // couldn’t find his

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

by magic, // // Out of the magician’s

hat the rainbow bunny of being able to remember the names of the metri

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

best of both worlds. // // The monster

hatched by a mother-serpent // // from an egg laid by a too-proud roo

agonlike, I was, I think, // // less a

hatchling , head under my own wing, // // and more an egg, framed by a

ords go on like I’m not there. // // I

hate doing it, but I // // Shut my ears to Antigone, blot out my dear

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

egaard said, // // am I everything you

hate in yourself, // // all those feelings circling in my strange hea

can’t fain it: // // With every line I

hate the bugger more. // // And so my theory for this open sore: //

In Defence of Evolution

// Those creeping politicians breathing

hate , // // Who prostitute the offices of state, // // Reduce the co

// I never could work out if // // you

hated my words, // // the words on tragedy and elegy, words // // yo

Sestina to an English Teacher

thes pegs. // // He, of course, always

hated sentiment, // // and she never had much time for times past. //

Teacher // // I wondered if // // you

hated words— // // those words that you could // // say by heart—th

Sestina to an English Teacher

te of shame, // // pretentious, with a

hateful maggot’s mind. // // Lame understanding wretch who thinks rhy

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

bike your kids to school. // // Pointy

hats —and couplets—fade like leaves // // In fashion’s autumn, followi

In Defence of Evolution

ing life! a name! love! // // Candles,

hats —shake the snow from your coat, uncle— // // drink! and be merry!

Drink and be merry

of sadness. // // Helium and hydrogen

hauled together // // at our heart’s core. // // I keep us cold in a

eart's core. // // Helium and hydrogen

hauled together. // // I'm not sure when we collected this specimen o

ed // // in a circlet of steel. // //

Haunch -heaving and panting // // they dream of their freedom, // //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

f the house in my head, // // that old

haunt still knocking about breaking // // things scratching walls hid

/ But my saccharine breath pleads for a

haven . // // I have little hope that either will be satisfied. // //

est for two millennia. // // Haloed by

Hawara sun you saw him lean // // To read the writing, say that you h

// from any of the associated risks and

hazards . // // You see it differently. // // You claim I would have

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

ently roaring // // In a late summer’s

haze // // Now, days become shorter // // And we know that soon, //

Magnetic Mountain

life which lies within. // // Oak and

hazel , beech and alder, // // What news borne on the wind? // // Jus

leaves might fall

om Trebetherick Point // // I hold the

hazy shades at bay— // // The sun sits sessile— // // The sand is ye

From Trebetherick Point

along to your favourite lyrics, // //

Hazy summer light filters through torn curtains. // // You shed dust

/ Pacing for the exercise alone. // //

HB // // ‘Hard Black’ appears as grey: // // The universal, standard

Three Ways of Walking

ams // // And so I’ll have a heart-, a

head -, a handful when // // The scissors come for me. // // For at m

The Cutting Edge

h. ’Twas in this pinch // // I rose my

head . Above it to my heart // // A crack in distance shone—’twas my e

[What have we done]

window the cedar tree // // Shook its

head along with me, // // Blankly dismissing the old sublime; // //

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

ur struggle. // // It’s a roar in your

head and it keeps getting louder and louder // // And you can’t stand

f-the-water wings, // // detaching the

head , and ploughing // // a red trough. // // I cough a protest. No

/ // And yet you stay // // inside my

head , and take away my will // // to find a way. // // The final fra

much reality (wink here)”; // // next

head : “bet you were a difficult child”; // // the next: “getting so d

Aubade to Girton

as port, as rich as Tokaji, // // your

head bobs in peace upon a heart’s-blood bouquet. // //

/ // Steeled against the disgrace of a

head bowed // // By superior hands into a prayer, in the back // //

Vicious or Virtuous?

ou try to catch them in the net of your

head , // // But deep and troubled the head rolls inwards, implodes //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

of grace. // // Briers grew about his

head // // Campions covered his outspread hair // // And mildew took

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

And chases whispers through my dreaming

head ; // // Dry voices sift and fall in ash and cinders, // // In ac

ggle. // // So you curl up inside your

head , // // Feeling much too small, // // And yet, // // Much too l

t on coarse carpet, // // I hit what I

head for // // And study my imprint. // //

Falling Is Like This

rt—the ones you save // // inside your

head for your // // gawping students, that define your life. // // Y

Sestina to an English Teacher

could not save // // the hair on your

head from pallor, save // // you from admiring recognition as your //

Sestina to an English Teacher

e instead at your mirror, // // Rested

head gentle against the cool glass, // // But blotted quickly by a tu

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

ing, pounding // // But it’s only your

head // // Hitting the wall, then the floor // // As it consumes you

board // // as you pray for strength,

head in hands, // // in a kitchen that isn’t yours. // // Kat couldn

// between the places where I laid my

head . // // In the prehistoric, melting dawn, // // stretched her ga

eary, too tired // // To have held on.

Head lowered, but her eyes // // Stare through me, past my skin, to t

your digital clock, resting next to my

head . // // “No milk” // // Pushing a trolley through the stacks //

The Notes You Have Left

andle wax, to the saint; // // The ram-

head of the corpse cracks a smile. // // Silk sheets in the houses of

ring ebbstream // // that trickled the

head of the pool. Sand shivered a hermit // // crab’s claw from its r

Just a Small Fish

head, // // But deep and troubled the

head rolls inwards, implodes // // Without a sound or sight of anythi

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

o their high stools // // for extended

head -scratching. // //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

/ waking from dreams of the house in my

head , // // that old haunt still knocking about breaking // // thing

he pearls in her mouth, the gold on her

head , // // To afford the crowns of Cain, the trademarks of Hester, /

// // Delirium freely falls around my

head , // // Tuxedoed and awaiting recognition // // Of how bizarre t

was, I think, // // less a hatchling,

head under my own wing, // // and more an egg, framed by a serpentine

// Of lashes; a thorn halo hallows your

head , // // Vice-like; your pierced side holds your sceptre-spear. //

you can’t // // And it feels like your

head will explode // // And the watery sounds take control of your bo

/ // Much too large to fit inside your

head . // // You want to escape // // But you can’t, // // But you w

and it is last night on the M56, // //

heading west, somewhere near Chester, // // the fog lights catching g

time to gush full spate. // // Now my

headlong dash abates—where I once was, the waders team, rich foraging

eet lamps passing by show no-texture of

headrests . // // Foreign coin of size of 20p fell from my wallet in s

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

ver the tanning-bed tan that won’t glow

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

er hour gone // // Paper crumpled in a

heap // // I don’t have a clue! // // Another hour in despair // //

e cutting room // // A sweeping on the

heap of history. // // But still at night, I tiptoe to the door //

The Cutting Edge

led and moss-gilded // // a summerwake

heap of sawdust and soil // // misting in the middle of a cracked car

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

ling you about things you don’t want to

hear . // //

h— // // And down the tone I never can

hear — // // And rise again— // // And don’t go sharp— // // And onw

// your ever-reaching steps, // // to

hear and touch and see // // what is buried well inside. // // Yes,

// // And it’s shouting and you can’t

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

down the phone // // which I’ll never

hear because I feel // // future lights heating, burning brighter now

why i’m getting into Christmas

’t it? // // Like a breath of old air.

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

Whales sing because they have a song

‘It’s him’ you said // // and I could

hear in the quiet // // my heart, once yours, had stopped. // //

rt and the crowd hear what they want to

hear ; // // instead I’m staring at want’s damp shoes // // on the da

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

n you look around // // And no one can

hear it // // And no one has seen your struggle. // // It’s a roar i

render // // My love, surrender // //

Hear me gods! I will surrender // // All // // All to you // // Jus

Hope that the gods of Underground will

hear my silent pleas // // To clear a seat or two and make a gap //

Poems on the Underground

’s language does not understand. // //

Hear ! Our songs of love, our lives, our blood, and // // My window on

pen. // // Hold it to your ear, do you

hear someone crying? Is this the poem? // // On Valentines Day a kick

e // // At my back, like you, I always

hear // // The edge, the cutting edge is coming near. // // Not the

The Cutting Edge

// Across the wood, onto the beach. We

hear // // the gulls, and faintly, far away, the churn // // of wave

Wells in winter

She’s watching too. // // He needs to

hear the screams, // // But all I do is bark wildly at the moon. //

l’esprit d’escalier

the Word which sings of life // // To

hear the Song, beyond the notes // // Oh onwards, onwards, draw us on

lunt, hoping, hoping and hoping. let me

hear the sound of joy and gladness so that the bones you crushed can r

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ow our hearts are opened wide // // To

hear the Word which sings of life // // To hear the Song, beyond the

trol of your body // // But no one can

hear them // // And no one has seen your struggle. // // So you curl

ay it, // // If you say it people will

hear , // // Then where would we be? // // In a tirade of sad sad son

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

rumour of honey, // // but all I could

hear was the smash of lights inside me breaking, // // and the low bu

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

s supposed // // to hurt and the crowd

hear what they want to hear; // // instead I’m staring at want’s damp

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

/ To the monster, old fiend, that I can

hear , // // Whispering across the sea, // // A name a little bit lik

Ode to a map of the world

ich once spelled time so slow. // // I

hear whispers in the weather // // Tell of flames beneath shed skin,

leaves might fall

e, still // // to find a way. // // I

hear you say, // // “But life is for the living, do not kill // // a

gers are not daggers, // // No one can

hear your screams // // And no one has seen your struggle. // // It’

ince no-one remembers—no— // // nobody

heard from that // // bullet-proof hideout their // // life’s melody

Jonathan’s Deathbed

those rattling serpent-words // // You

heard hissed ‘Arrogance. Omnipotence,’ // // Augmenting the fourth li

A change, some things remain, I must be

heard // // I must be free. A timed renaissance, I // // Must change

ver I say // // Someone, somewhere has

heard it before. // // I could declare our love to be an energy savin

I’ll never work for Hallmark

ghosts, or guessed-at others who—she’d

heard — // // Patrolled the streets of late modernity. // // None cam

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

rr // // Under the bark it is seen and

heard // // Rolling Rs and layering up— // // Nothing else works for

BURR (or Brrrrr)

the door ajar— // // She thought she’d

heard the breath of the unknown— // // But through the door there onl

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

playing in the street // // // // I

heard the reply and it was terrible and dreadful and silent // //

[I whispered my name into the trees]

in whole. // // The writer scoffs when

hearing praise // // Of how masterful his pen appears, // // When it

mason jar, the one thing left. she only

hears whispers, “I just think of him as a child” and I can bend and br

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

Like spring, eternal spring, inside my

heart . // //

[My face is old now]

ts, he exists, in the combustion of his

heart ! // //

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

h // // I rose my head. Above it to my

heart // // A crack in distance shone—’twas my ember. // // The flam

[What have we done]

waking dreams // // And so I’ll have a

heart -, a head-, a handful when // // The scissors come for me. // /

The Cutting Edge

ed of compact mist, all soft, // // My

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

[What have we done]

gut-punch // // of the snowman losing

heart // // and losing his lunch // // all over the white hillside,

// // And onwards, forwards, into the

heart , // // And now we let our voices rise // // And let the music

ter soul, // // Icons for his orphaned

heart , // // Angelic messengers in clay— // // Angelic messengers wh

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

and time // // stilled, and out of the

heart // // came a song of our first // // spring; an ache and burn.

epest depths of will, // // With heavy

heart embarking on its sea. // // The cascade I had ’fore in-gazed fa

[What have we done]

oken now // // The stillness stops, my

heart has now left the pit. // // A sense of hope, a sense of fear, a

room is my escape, // // You, with my

heart in hand, my home, // // Until you’re gone. // // Wake up alone

// // Not in fair weather. // // [My

heart is a convertible with the roof always down.] // // I have to go

Whales sing because they have a song

ching by strange example that the human

heart // // is as much a network of rooms as a muscle, // // is as m

sounding into time. // // And when the

heart is full of quietness // // Begin the song exactly where you are

Into a child’s chest, and tear out his

heart // // Like it didn’t belong there, because it was the only way

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

// beating his hammer against his new

heart made of // // iron and stealing the warmth of his ring. // //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

ed renaissance, I // // Must change my

heart , must build my soul anew. // // As old as the oak, as this oak

and I could hear in the quiet // // my

heart , once yours, had stopped. // //

nd let us grow, // // One thought, one

heart , one voice, one song. // // Diminuendo— // // soft soft, come

ep us cold in a glass jar // // at our

heart 's core. // // Helium and hydrogen hauled together. // // I'm n

// Is it true that a thing of // // (

heart -stopping) beauty looks at you // // you do not look at It // /

the grey church spire // // In to its

heart : the arching apple boughs… // // The sky is dark, intense, a s

The Magic Apple Tree

ose words that you could // // say by

heart —the ones you save // // inside your head for your // // gawpin

Sestina to an English Teacher

// Whales singing the day in // // The

heart trips and is under way // //

Fugue by water // // The

heart trips and is under way // // A harbour adorned with lights //

he thoughts that race // // Through my

heart when I breathe in what you breathed // // Out are unintelligibl

I’ll never work for Hallmark

l those feelings circling in my strange

heart // // whose meaning will forever elude you— // // tell me some

red strips of love, // // And strew my

heart with scraps of poetry, // // Forbidden hopes and shards of mys

The Cutting Edge

// by the flickering torch // // of a

heartbeat . // // Over the bow // // I can see the evening’s // // l

Tiny fingertips. // // (The winners in

heartbreak .) // // “Biology is just stamp collecting” and // // You

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

ver things that were // // Wrong, that

heartbreaking song // // Reminding me of things that are // // Sweet

hardened winter nut // // And the half-

hearted rust remains // // Of another autumn’s dying. // // But now

ebb and flow of melody // // Ends on a

heartfelt sigh. // // As the violin plays triplets // // The final n

cally won. // // Perfect formation and

heartless damnation // // as Paradise offers // // a thrice-empty //

Jonathan’s Deathbed

// Be bearers of fruit and cheerers of

hearts — // // And a cheer for you, inkcap, and dark brittlegill // /

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

sts from our throats // // And now our

hearts are opened wide // // To hear the Word which sings of life //

lling, at artificial sparkle // // And

hearts as target practice. // // I should have gone a long time ago,

ource of grace, if from // // the dull

hearts habit made can grow // // this flower—momentary and no— // //

t… // // These whispers of our unquiet

hearts // // I wonder what he’s going to say? // // We are but notes

ing body. // // Five minutes after our

hearts stop // // everything (nothing) // // is night-mute // // an

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

[Five minutes after our

hearts stop] // // Five minutes after our hearts stop // // we’ll fe

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

rts stop] // // Five minutes after our

hearts stop // // we’ll feel where we are for the first time: // //

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

e one snored too loud. Two bashed half-

hearts , // // the Valentine that sparked a fight. Clothes pegs. //

eft. // // A wax of fire—shrill waning

hearts — // // Then silence, and my life bereft. // // Dinner Party.

ce beneath my skin, // // And sewn our

hearts together using twine. // // You’re sure our threads are finall

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

, ‘pure power’, ‘exhilaration’ ‘beating

heart ’ and ’fresh blood’. This reality is primitive, musical, and Dion

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

, // // your head bobs in peace upon a

heart’s -blood bouquet. // //

hydrogen hauled together // // at our

heart’s core. // // I keep us cold in a glass jar, // // but secretl

t, who binds // // The aged with their

heart’s desire, the rose // // With senseless fear: your ancient hexa

Sixteen Forty-Five

Three Pieces of Advice // // 1.

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

Three Pieces of Advice

asses, // // teabags gone furry in the

heat , // // an empty bookshelf // // what remains // // three years

that her kerosene eyes have lost their

heat // // and the snows and skies of memory // // always diminishin

why i’m getting into Christmas

sh. // // So we lay on the rock in the

heat and watched the sea’s magic // // unfold to the music of wind an

Just a Small Fish

// That we’re always going to give our

heat away? // // That passion never gains, we just lose it to our lov

Three Pieces of Advice

/ // Slip from bare skin in the sultry

heat ; // // Memory lost in the wine-fugue, the beautiful // // Give

exhilaration of rowers, // // The pink

heat of burnt necks and thirsty flowers. // // I taste the faint rust

s getting hot instead of a flame losing

heat . // // So what does that say about us? // // That we’re always

Three Pieces of Advice

l flame. // // Just passed on far more

heat than light. // //

burr-sore want some fast relief: // //

Heat -treatment is the only cure; // // Everyone should give the bursa

BURR (or Brrrrr)

aze. // // Even now, // // I feel the

heat upon my face. // // Twenty three years later, when my mother die

make no love to the girl // // on the

heath , // // Releaseless, ceaseless. She // // sighs to my teeth. //

l’esprit d’escalier

it, // // Hide it amongst the blooming

heather , // // Warm it, // // Pick around it. // // Our voices warm

Wild Mountain Thyme

e buses which boosted my ego—the // //

Heatherwick’s sure to produce a fine plan. // // We also need money—o

Troubled waters

ear because I feel // // future lights

heating , burning brighter now // // that her kerosene eyes have lost

why i’m getting into Christmas

here boots crunch beech nuts // // and

heave clods of wet grass. // // cowbwebs catch on tongue and mesh eye

[cyclamen in purple bursts kiss compost]

/ you pray for rain, but no relief. dry-

heave // // over the sink. sing miserere, doubt // // the notes, you

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

with packet, pop, superseded. // // No

heave -some ebb and flow. // // No cramping bend to lunar bow. // //

/ There, the sound of boots make me dry

heave . // // South of here, the sun will shine, // // And through th

Ode to a map of the world

bless by its // // psalmodic tone—only

heaven can sing. // // Parodied mastery, pantomime mystery // // rul

Jonathan’s Deathbed

arm egg // // Dropping from the golden

heaven of her vent // // Misshapen, shitten, and matted with old feat

[No point, she said]

on the lake // // But the things that

heaven takes, // // Human things that Michael breaks // // Will wash

// The grave is made the very gate of

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

An Easter Triolet

se ghosts go round in circles down from

heaven , // // whose ghosts go round in circles up from Hell, // // W

// So why does New York City from the

heavens look so flat? // // And why do all the names sound like a rob

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

nt tongues // // their eyeballs rolled

heavenward , phonemes falling thick and fast // // their babble: tongu

Same but differenT

se three hills awash in blooms, arching

heavenwards in certain praise // // state His glory. This land I name

my throat. // // Her chest, like mine,

heaves with caged spite // // Threatening to escape. Getting nowhere,

// in a circlet of steel. // // Haunch-

heaving and panting // // they dream of their freedom, // // of succ

Nil Charge / Nil Return

is asleep! // // 7. // // The awkward

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

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

a tight circle of moon, eyelashed with

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

my deepest depths of will, // // With

heavy heart embarking on its sea. // // The cascade I had ’fore in-ga

[What have we done]

nt litany, // // Until my shame hangs,

heavy , in the frosted air. // // A mile away, the ideal me, // // A

own, // // deep among your dusk // //

heavy sockets. rust // // me down // // within the crepusc // // -u

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

ach step is pain // // With wings too

heavy to fly // // Drenched in the love that screamed from my veins

y boots, // // Slip out from under the

heavy trees // // And join the boy who bathes in the light of the moo

Nor his watching from the window, chin-

heavy // // Will sweep away this red refuse. // // Blood dies quicke

ling lane. // // With borrowed wings a

hedgehog // // Sprawls upon the pavement, // // Bristles forced to c

Urban bird watching

where. // // Athlete’s foot, Achilles’

heel , mouth ulcer, // // one for the stomach, two for the money. //

ets and plazas names that have a little

heft . // // To name your best street simply ‘Fifth’ must surely be a

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

fathom and far enough to fall at from a

height in swift surrender. // //

Decomposed on Westminster Bridge, January 3, 2002

ome and go // // Like us from depth to

height —suddenly seem // // Translucent in the glancing lights that sh

Is it a memory?

ff // // the wild wind // // from the

heights of Gwyngachu, // // sweeps over the ruminant chomp // // of

Nil Charge / Nil Return

// // of succulent grass // // on the

heights of Gwyngachu. // // They jostle and press ’til, // // abradi

Nil Charge / Nil Return

scratchy biro ink. // // Each domestic

heirloom bearing // // The curly script of a generation // // Framed

lucent team // // of chameleon shrimps

held a whiskery love-in and hoydenish // // bivalves blew bubbles. Be

Just a Small Fish

eet the water channelling below. // //

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

e will come a time when the new year is

held back, firm by the wrist. // // // // And, lover, consider the

its mights to Hell? // // The vapours

held betwixt these lines move tight // // Into gaping personages then

[What have we done]

ds, being pulled by an invisible string

held // // By a clenched fist, soon to become a fatherly // // Embra

Snapshot Endings

ad and glinted eyes, // // Holding and

held by darling thoughts, // // Smile’s phantom echoing inchoate affe

e comes. // // So on I flow, my breath

held deep but soft, // // I let my body fall again, be wash’d // //

[What have we done]

sert’s hush-parched silence. // // You

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

hed and weary, too tired // // To have

held on. Head lowered, but her eyes // // Stare through me, past my s

voice deepens, // // Like a changeling

held // // Over the flame, some strange trapped, // // Untranslatabl

Here be dragons

at was will not be again. // // I once

held you close; now I hold the wind // // As it howls, painlessly, th

The Other Side of the Line

lected this specimen of sadness. // //

Helium and hydrogen hauled together // // at our heart’s core. // //

jar // // at our heart's core. // //

Helium and hydrogen hauled together. // // I'm not sure when we colle

the forms // // Of roiling supernovae;

helium flame // // From Alpha Caeli’s rim; the Pleiad mass // // Of

/ You’re dumber than most, and that’s a

hell of a lot // // There are no limits and we’re all in boy // // a

// Cascading in with all its mights to

Hell ? // // The vapours held betwixt these lines move tight // // In

[What have we done]

hose ghosts go round in circles up from

Hell , // // Whose pace, within the strictest measure even, // // Bre

d and prayed // // Not to hollows, but

hellos —the crying of news // // (“She’s birthed! She’s birthed!”)—chi

fire // // Alone holds fast that which

hell’s fire unbinds. // // But now our cropped, uncivil Samson binds

Sixteen Forty-Five

/ // Transgenerationally, // // Can’t

help but emulate, // // Try as they might. // // Higgledy Piggledy /

, our fingers entwined, // // While we

help disentangle some alphabet soup // // Served iambic, al dente, bu

Wednesday Evening

e. // // and this magpie says: can you

help me? // // and the girl says: no, I’m sorry. // // and the magpi

black shoes, // // And who’s going to

help me put new laces in, // // Because you can’t wear quirky May Bal

Three Pieces of Advice

// But I turned on the charm: made her

help me to arm— // // And reel in my return once I’d knifed him. //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

the perfection of his thought. Who can

help this helpless man? Perhaps only the ecstasy and the trembling of

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

lped. // // So good of you to come and

help us celebrate // // Completion of our necessary task to fight //

// The Washington distraction must have

helped . // // So good of you to come and help us celebrate // // Com

1, given to me for the first time while

helping me with GCSE Physics, and repeated // // On a weekly basis, /

Three Pieces of Advice

ction of his thought. Who can help this

helpless man? Perhaps only the ecstasy and the trembling of love could

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

We wake up to Radio 3, // // Hark! the

herald angels. // // Float downstairs, put on the tea. // // Ding do

A Hymn to a Loved One

// and the smell of their burning will

herald the day. // //

The Dead Letter Office closes down

nanosecond’s blazing light, // // The

herald to a straining fecund mass // // Unleashed. A tongue of blindi

nings. // // I need these layers, this

heraldry // // That codes and siphons off and binds me here // // An

n to the household fire: // // Here is

Herbert , Tyndale, Eliot—rare tongues // // Who in the fires of sixtee

Sixteen Forty-Five

// // // // // // // // // //

Hercules et Oracle // // . // // lose dream // // or sever // // S

Hercules et Oracle

t type of beard that looks like that of

Hercules // // On plaster casts. // // No longer when walking down t

Bearded Thoughts

the ruminant chomp // // of a mutinous

herd of nil. // // Below them, the sharp-suited nilherds // // insin

Nil Charge / Nil Return

I will char those swatches dotted with

herds of woollen teeth. // // I will close your goddamn curtains for

Aubade to Girton

’s law entirely // // On the dithering

herds that daily assert // // Their dependence on this concrete deser

for the balsa, // // knowing the great

hereafter for elsewhere. // // Athlete’s foot, Achilles’ heel, mouth

g. // // They say its name is ONCE and

HEREAFTER // // WAS, IS, and SHALL BE EVERMORE // // That it stands

[At the coinciding point of the years]

ng: can we doubt // // that somewhere

herein lies some deep philosophy? // // Voices, ipods, phones speak o

ncing // // UNESCO // // world // //

heritage // // status // // but saying // // that the earth beneath

Hermione // // No school today. Miss cannot teach us Greek; // // No

d the head of the pool. Sand shivered a

hermit // // crab’s claw from its recycled shell, while a translucent

Just a Small Fish

e for you. I will be your umbilicalised

hero . correct and repossess and play “sleeping satellite” with my scor

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ould make her a sick sis. // // When a

Hero formed part of the tribute // // The girl fell for the muscular

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

// // this is their Balaclava – // //

heroic but futile, // // impetuous thunder // // and ultimate paymen

Nil Charge / Nil Return

ner we fell in (or down), // // little

hessikan , your juniper hair // // shines like strands of the sun rest

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

its sound out the air. // // in little

hessikaner we fell in (or down), // // little hessikan, your juniper

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

d the crowns of Cain, the trademarks of

Hester , // // Until she falls dead. // // O reputation, reputation,

r an eye? AI might be cis, white, male,

hetero , // // but at least it won’t talk to me on the train. // // T

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

// of your fresh skimmer’s // // river-

hewn back. Now bend… // // It hums // // it skates // // it skates!

/ // With senseless fear: your ancient

hexagram // // Is riven oak, for sixteen forty-five // // Has purged

Sixteen Forty-Five

ds // // Five foxes, brush to brush, a

hexagram // // Of blazing damage. Kinship, threat, and fire // // Co

Sixteen Forty-Five

inds // // Past with present: a poet’s

hexagram // // Of ever-living fire and unseen rose. // // This is ou

Sixteen Forty-Five

ram. // // War means supplication: the

hexagram — // // Once print, now prayer—in sixteen forty-five // // F

Sixteen Forty-Five

ire and unseen rose. // // This is our

hexagram : the Tudor rose // // Of sixteen forty-five unfolds its fire

Sixteen Forty-Five

es // // That in the silence spell our

hexagram . // // War means supplication: the hexagram— // // Once pri

Sixteen Forty-Five

/ Hidden behind the candyfloss burps of

hey and how are you, // // Concealed beneath ‘I don’t know’ defence,

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

g glory in the great not-me. // // Way-

hey , blow the man down // // Might and strain of the wave-thick // /

hey , maybe if I continue to sing] // // // // // // // // // A

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

// // // // // // // // // And,

hey , maybe if I continue to sing, that thing // // That’s on the tip

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

lt cheated by // // that twenty-minute

hiatus . // // But the fire bore us no grudge, // // and welcomed us

Hidden behind the candyfloss burps] // // Hidden behind the candyflos

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

den behind the candyfloss burps] // //

Hidden behind the candyfloss burps of hey and how are you, // // Conc

[Hidden behind the candyfloss burps]

sacred // // In the glaring static of

hidden foamy currents. // //

Frighteningly Inert

the vast, dust-filled // // Maria of a

hidden // // Moon. Now your shadow // // Blots the sky, what is //

Here be dragons

river // // Flowing unbidden from its

hidden source; // // The Day-Spring, the eternal Prima Vera. // // B

d flower into coloured flesh // // and

hide a secret inside. // // Feel the air. Turn in the four winds. Bro

// by touch and instinct you descend to

hide among // // the seeds spun by the breeze, between lines of sonne

re are some scars a business suit can’t

hide . // // And I still faint from nosebleeds. // //

Three Pieces of Advice

ell inside. // // Yes, this is where I

hide — // // and you can look for me forever // // on the passing tra

a royal charter too, // // no need to

hide behind anon // // or to reflect a man // // at twice his natura

A Room of Her Own

The wire from within taught // // I’ll

hide behind my Wyatt today who knew // // Existing on hot coals blist

// just dropped. // // This is where I

hide below // // your ever-reaching steps, // // to hear and touch a

// shearing me. Clearing me myself from

hide . Hide? // // No plaice. He’ll gobble me up instead with haste //

/ But still their young steal shells to

hide in—is this the poem? // // The smallest matryoshka doll is alway

voices warm the space around it, // //

Hide it amongst the blooming heather, // // Warm it, // // Pick arou

Wild Mountain Thyme

aring me. Clearing me myself from hide.

Hide ? // // No plaice. He’ll gobble me up instead with haste // // A

even vicars, touched by God, nothing to

hide ? // // Or the classicist, that type of beard that looks like tha

Bearded Thoughts

knows— // // Did you, or did you not,

hide // // The body? Did you, or did you not, // // Keep digging— //

Did you bury her yet?

tching, and so thought she might // //

hide the fact // // in stale jumpers // // and behind // // shelves

In a charity shop

ses cannot feel— // // This is where I

hide , // // Waiting for the smell in order to // // inhale the air t

e are terrified of what the beard might

hide , // // What it might mean if all we saw were beards upon the fac

Bearded Thoughts

words before you, // // The guilt and

hideous shame of not doing, rather than doing different - // // The h

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

// // Lie, to prove there was // // A

hideous threat to all the World. // // A hideous threat to all the Wo

deous threat to all the World. // // A

hideous threat to all the World? // // Lie? To prove there was // //

ody heard from that // // bullet-proof

hideout their // // life’s melody. // // “Fiddle-dee-dee,” said the

Jonathan’s Deathbed

t honest. // // The only thing a beard

hides is a chin. // // Perhaps we’re scared to look history in the fa

Bearded Thoughts

crown. // // Young and old. // // It

hides my nephew’s eyes. // // God bless us, everyone. // // Baby, co

A Hymn to a Loved One

lope-edge: // // horns lowered, // //

hides steaming, // // hooves pounding // // they charge… // // Ah!

Nil Charge / Nil Return

breaking // // things scratching walls

hiding under bedsheets, // // buoyed by the colourless memory of pain

linen freshly laid for tea, // // Bid

hieratic welcome to those gods, // // Or ghosts, or guessed-at others

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

robably // // Better than some. // //

Higgledy Piggledy // // Allan S. Konigsberg // // Knew that he would

unny // // As well as his Kind. // //

Higgledy Piggledy // // Brideshead Revisited: // // Nostalgic advent

// // And promptly found fame. // //

Higgledy Piggledy // // Christopher Isherwood // // Quickly ditched

/ Scans quite well on the page). // //

Higgledy Piggledy // // Jesus of Nazareth // // Born on a solstice /

Double Dactyls // //

Higgledy Piggledy // // Oedipus Tyrannus // // Murdered his father /

ulate, // // Try as they might. // //

Higgledy Piggledy // // Oscar Pistorius // // Slaughtered his girlfr

saw the collision, // // Revealed the

Higgs boson. // // Briefly. // // But just one illicit // // Blink

Small Particles in the Small Hours

een // // Of my screen. // // Here in

Higgs ’ Field // // I keep my eyes peeled, // // For each mil-billion

Small Particles in the Small Hours

// // // // Nil Charge // //

High above desk-jockey Cardiff // // the wild wind // // from the he

Nil Charge / Nil Return

our sceptre-spear. // // What passion.

High and clear and far, the song // // Called you; in triune harmony

of the winter storm. // // The tide is

high , and every wave tries hard // // to breach the wall. And when i

Walking in winter

// // He lay there till the grass grew

high // // He lay there till the stars turned blue // // He lay ther

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

staken. // // A girl on a stool // //

high on drugs // // up a hill // // could hardly translate // // fo

at microphone I could not reach, // //

high on your bristling Harris Tweed lapel. // // The smell of disappo

Compass Reading

s // // Do sometimes quake. // // Her

high school sits right above // // A pair of hormone-infested jaws //

luctant. // // He holds his generosity

high // // So everyone can see, // // But his gifts are empty on the

l-weary nilherds // // return to their

high stools // // for extended head-scratching. // //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

Reflections // //

High up above, at the edges of the air // // and the beginning of spa

wers // // Outside the windows, // //

High -up, grass-cutting, // // Swaying like fans // // Or parroting p

in this landscape // // Save mustangs

high up in the hills. // // Surely a tragic loading, // // Something

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

imes at night I drift. // // Small and

high up. // // With my hands I try and cut the sun. // //

[So snow falls outside]

ir, // // clear to my vantage point on

higher ground. // // Voices far across the valley sound. // // The h

Hill // // Are // // you // // Gog or // // Magog? Tell // // me

Wandlebury Hill

stool // // high on drugs // // up a

hill // // could hardly translate // // for a snake // // that was

me silently on the windswept tip of the

hill // // // // I bellowed my name to the slate grey sky // // I

[I whispered my name into the trees]

: // // So Donne is sharp and Geoffrey

Hill is sour // // Larkin ascerbic, Tennyson has power // // (But on

Cheese is the medium

love // // than I could moralise that

hill . News of // // the fact of you (your real- and rightness) makes

// // Wide-as-the-horizon, an endless

hill . // // The top did seem but further every inch // // But ’hind

[What have we done]

akes. // // So, plummeting down Castle

Hill today // // past the old motte, I cast away // // all such sign

/ // Recasting the balance, // // the

hill -weary nilherds // // return to their high stools // // for exte

Nil Charge / Nil Return

. Jerusalem, 3 March 2009 // // Giggly

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

// // turf scalped red, ley lines and

hillforts , // // invasions and massacres, all the savagery that // /

Wandlebury Hill

bare of life, // // All mountains and

hills around, // // Nothing living in this landscape // // Save must

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

nks for His majesty, // // these three

hills awash in blooms, arching heavenwards in certain praise // // st

hanks for majesty // // or those three

hills awash in blooms, arching skyward only to praise // // nature’s

wels; just the old // // and weathered

hills , created by some force // // beyond imagination; and of course

Daydream Dale Journey

// Yes, there will be more. // // More

hills , dales, crags, beaches // // more boat or cycle rides // // mo

/ of poor folk // // who come from the

hills // // looking for folk answers // // to folk problems // // a

umn // // The day breaks slowly on the

hills of green // // Everything turned strangely, oddly quiet // //

umbus was the beginning, he saw triplet

hills peak- // // ing out from the emerald isle’s southern shore. Beh

far across the valley sound. // // The

hills ranged all around // // —they little care. // // Voices far ac

ape // // Save mustangs high up in the

hills . // // Surely a tragic loading, // // Something to analyze her

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

rkness all is gold: // // The slope of

hills , the fields of barleycorn. // // The loaded branches of the app

The Magic Apple Tree

ing his lunch // // all over the white

hillside , // // snow white upon snow snow-white. // // This is the

seem but further every inch // // But ’

hind did seem sure death. ’Twas in this pinch // // I rose my head. A

[What have we done]

pare myself the future pain. // // But

hindsight is always wise, // // Whereas such beautiful moments, // /

Mosquito nights

ed You in the Eyes: // // Focus is the

hinge // // Between experience and reality that you dangle me from. /

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

the stool— // // After the grip of the

hinge of the door— // // After the blood has been wiped from the wall

ese days it’s all I Am Legend without a

hint of irony // // Spin’s more dangerous // // Myth more toxic //

wanting everything. // // There was a

hint or flash of something // // Mundane, a gaudy colour. // // Like

[The sun flattened]

one of china and tin. // // After your

hipbone , we'll put in a ball // // of steel and titanium, wedged in t

rattling serpent-words // // You heard

hissed ‘Arrogance. Omnipotence,’ // // Augmenting the fourth line wit

/ I sang my name in the church // // I

hissed my name to the cold pebbles and the cold sand // // I roared m

[I whispered my name into the trees]

read- // // eagle evenings fading skin

histories // // from violent to -et to rose-risen blush. // // We mu

Aubade to Girton

e cups // // more tragedies, comedies,

histories // // more shapes, more colours, more darknesses // // mor

// on any past and redefine // // our

history , and that is where // // the wormholes lead. // //

/ is flickering between needling trees;

history assures me it’s a house. // // If I can only reach the red fr

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

g room // // A sweeping on the heap of

history . // // But still at night, I tiptoe to the door // // To ru

The Cutting Edge

in. // // Perhaps we’re scared to look

history in the face, // // The bearded wonders from a bygone age //

Bearded Thoughts

th a slice of Red Leicester, // // but

history judged he was not fed. // // So the cat sat, so thin and impa

The Failing of the Cheese

/ // Later, unpacking, // // I find a

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

ing, // // I find a history— // // My

history — // // Of mothers and grandmothers: // // Overcooked recipe

a long sleek ribbon, through all lived

history // // that would show the immortal endeavour to preserve, //

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

) might say. // // The beard is living

history , we are too close to the past, // // The razor might not last

Bearded Thoughts

d gone so far // // That dusky silence

hit // // Sweet like shalimar. // // We were all alone with our //

I’m immortal, powerless, // // Until I

hit the ground, // // And look up at what I achieved. // // Disappoi

Falling Is Like This

cigarette burns, // // not failing to

hit the side of a barn // // but falling far short of a neat bull’s-e

my bare feet on coarse carpet, // // I

hit what I head for // // And study my imprint. // //

Falling Is Like This

teps aside for a second. // // The sun

hits . // //

[The sun flattened]

// // to breach the wall. And when it

hits just right // // the spray rises a mile into the air // // (or

Walking in winter

g // // But it’s only your head // //

Hitting the wall, then the floor // // As it consumes you // // And

se I just want to scream them until I’m

hoarse , // // to admit my narcissism behind the twinkling guitar riff

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

e, // // To find new ways to no longer

hold . // //

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

d // // bougainvillea blooms; hands to

hold // // and promised stories told // // of daughters, lovers old,

luc bat to mr. beam

Hold // // Coffee-stained breaths // // I pull myself into // // th

rms are flickering. // // We watch and

hold each other’s hands till evening, // // And as we watch, our soul

Is it a memory?

doll is always so hard to open. // //

Hold it to your ear, do you hear someone crying? Is this the poem? //

// of what it is to be alive. // // “

Hold me tight” you say // // and my fear is I will not live up to the

t, you think // // ‘This time, it will

hold my weight.’ // // But every step it drops you down // // into s

Walking in winter

all beauty. // // But knowing that to

hold on // // would tarnish it all I can do // // is let it pass thr

// May your sap run quick and your bark

hold strong— // // May your spores spread wide, your mycelium long, /

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

oices rise // // And let the music now

hold sway // // In harmony, it shows the way // // To reach beyond—t

each. I want the rest. // // I want to

hold the book // // of you. You would be soft, // // whole, warm. N

Stone, Paper, Scissors

From Trebetherick Point // // I

hold the hazy shades at bay— // // The sun sits sessile— // // The s

From Trebetherick Point

in. // // I once held you close; now I

hold the wind // // As it howls, painlessly, through my embrace. //

The Other Side of the Line

chen towel. // // One by one, // // I

hold these things in my hands— // // The familiar blunt fingers and s

han our own, // // To find new ways to

hold , // // To hold without hands. // // But serene pain is found in

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

// To find new ways to hold, // // To

hold without hands. // // But serene pain is found in the effort to l

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

igns— // // Trust that the old choices

hold wordlessly. // //

ought you once had, // // But couldn’t

hold . // // Yet, when I stare into reality // // I see a blank white

Writing to explore

ps never to kiss // // There’s none to

hold you // // Here’s Thanatos to claim you, // // You will never kn

hink— // // I should very much like to

hold you // // over // // a // // volcano. // //

blished, now at last you know // // We

hold you treasure, evermore to teach. // //

// Whales singing the day in // // You

hold your hand in mine // // Shoeless feet and unsteady ground // //

rved ache of a clear horizon // // You

hold your hand in mine // // The wake of light on water // // Whales

, steady tread and glinted eyes, // //

Holding and held by darling thoughts, // // Smile’s phantom echoing i

een a fist, // // Half giving and half

holding fast: // // A green knot slowly untying // // Itself from t

/ // stormclouds like a flower, // //

holding for an instant // // it trembles // // and // // vanishes.

hest to keep it warm // // or the ones

holding hands // // as the sun disappears. // //

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

of fire and fire, for fire // // Alone

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

Sixteen Forty-Five

here? // // Some object or event which

holds her stare? // // Or is it just the clarity of light, the glowin

Cape Cod Morning

me across, // // Reluctant. // // He

holds his generosity high // // So everyone can see, // // But his g

y to return to gobbets of that

holds no for me // // yes // //

ur briefcases // // Like the paperwork

holds the keys to victory, // // Like they’ll protect us when our cos

evision one and one makes one // // it

holds the stress in the thoracal zone // // springing the bird to pos

ithout disclosing the secrets // // He

holds to his chest. // // Wrists, shackled by counterfeit silver, //

Vicious or Virtuous?

barely move at all. // // The illusion

holds until // // a single truck tyre appears, // // a sudden coales

ad, // // Vice-like; your pierced side

holds your sceptre-spear. // // What passion. High and clear and far,

defence // // drops thirty feet into a

hole . // // Cambridge, circa 1966 // // One cold winter’s afternoon

Walking in winter

// // is ground // // into the small

hole in my side where your hand, // // cold, // // now rests. like m

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

ad within the recesses of your rabbit’s

hole . // // Teach her dutifully that // // A woman fallen has no rea

// Angel’s feet once, through the key

hole . // // That was before she was old enough // // To join their b

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

en your fingers, // // bore that small

hole through. // // the marble caught the glass, // // where the sun

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

// of steel and titanium, wedged in the

hole , // // with a stem in your marrow to go with the pin // // and

ide universe full of galaxies and black

holes and stars // // makes no sound // // only their tongues // //

Same but differenT

fade this way: // // Wind-beat cotton,

holes at the knee, // // Day into day, into day // // Into night. Tr

I could never be (ready)

again. // // 2, said half-jokingly on

holiday in Singapore, but actually just very sound advice. // // Noth

Three Pieces of Advice

Limoges); // // The milk jug from bank

holidays // // At Dungeness Lighthouse; // // The rusty sweet tin of

/ // And so, for two successive summer

holidays , // // we chopped and sawed and dug and then set fire to //

in the sidings. // // And houses have

hollow // // Fishbowl eyes // // Looking over sidings. // // Their

nd blooded tongues // // Master of the

hollow forest, who binds // // The aged with their heart’s desire, th

Sixteen Forty-Five

bloom // // We pick our path along the

hollow way // // Handfast; we unscroll your youth // // When ash-key

Hollow Way // // // Horse hooves sunk deep into sticky clay. // //

ranches dipped and prayed // // Not to

hollows , but hellos—the crying of news // // (“She’s birthed! She’s b

much-too-muchness out // // and in the

hollows gnaw at something worse. // // the waiting lists are long, an

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

oms; only ivy strays // // Through the

hollows the years have worn away. // //

rhaps I should plant // // some box or

holly . // //

glazed back door // // through box and

holly grown to full maturity // // to an iron-gated pointed arch //

produce of our labours. // // A box or

holly root, smouldering slowly, // // will burn for ever. The fire o

ered Cotswold stone. // // The box and

holly // // were magnificent, but could not be allowed // // to rema

Holy Houston: A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profilin

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

’s glory. He renamed you La Trinitaria,

holy // // Trinity, and then conquered and claimed you in the name of

glory. This land I name, La Trinitaria,

holy // // Trinity. Let’s alight now and claim her in the name of God

just hang up her cross, // // Pour the

holy water down the sink, // // Take up the pom-pom instead. // // B

appear. // // I’m not so far away from

home . // //

ral breath, // // This is how you lose

home . // //

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

zing, in a cavern // // so unknown but

home . // // Ah but before little hands can tear at tissue // // Stil

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

tered, // // Let’s sit cross-legged at

home and laugh at our crooked little fingers. // // Promise me—don’t

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

lue. // // We hugged goodbye. I walked

home and made coffee, // // then sat and poured my thoughts over a jo

[I often think of that January morning]

from, // // at once somewhere that is

home // // and somewhere that is utterly devoid of remembrance. // /

[The sash rattles up]

ill there but it just doesn’t feel like

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

st as I feel like letting go, // // My

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

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

// By me, who gapes up from my shelter

home . // // At once, in shock, the cloud on which I float, // // Doe

[What have we done]

, // // abandoned the embarrassment of

home , // // but now I’m back // // to teddy and a baby brother’s cry

A Room of Her Own

ese words tether us together to our old

home . // // Home is a name spoken well, // // By stranger or grandfa

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

You Have Left // // “Make yourself at

home ” // // I eased my two feet, too small, // // Into worn and rip

The Notes You Have Left

static, // // Constant, never reaching

home . // // I find that I am not alone // // As streetlights guide m

my childhood days. // // Now far from

home , I wonder if new children might // // Monkey-like prance from br

st days of pain, // // another summer,

home in Camberwell. // // Between the endpoints there were many days

her us together to our old home. // //

Home is a name spoken well, // // By stranger or grandfather—it is a

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

zing night, // // because let’s not go

home just yet, all right? // //

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

an to feel like echoes, // // you came

home . Measuring the miles decreasing with every page // // of the nov

[I often think of that January morning]

A Room of Her Own // // My

home , my space, // // except for nanny and the maids, // // my needl

A Room of Her Own

// But still I don’t know which way is

home . // // My still eyes make their movement static, // // Constant

Home on a Winter Evening // // // // // // // // // // As if

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

t year. // // People finding their way

home . // // People leaning against this horizontal barrier // // Wil

stant “go”. // // I feel very far from

home . // // Red, white. Red, white. A yellow glare: // // 222 deaths

e letting go, // // My home appears, a

home that I can keep. // // Your Fair Isle-knit embrace invites me in

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

led the salty earth // // No less than

home . // // The burden of Egypt, // // The burden of the desert of t

hair, // // staying in place until at

home // // the small gas fire has warmed the room // // against the

Walking in winter

ng in my ear. // // // // This is my

home . // // This is where I am. // // .F

[She points to the sky]

s return // // push against my trickle

home , // // to creep back in when I have gone. It’s time: my end has

nd us when we left // // and then went

home to get the dinner on. // // Tomorrow—the same. // // find a bun

, // // You, with my heart in hand, my

home , // // Until you’re gone. // // Wake up alone to empty thoughts

Home , with you // // Wake me up to the smell of smoke, // // Midday,

ll. // // What a beautiful and strange

home you have been gifted, // // Blonde and blue-eyed Sufi, upright a

Loose Ghazal for Rumi

[In my Grandmother’s

homeland ] // // In my Grandmother’s homeland, // // The Christmas ro

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

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

homeland , // // The Christmas room is readied // // By the mothers a

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

o look in the windows of other peoples’

homes , // // but I don’t remember or care what it is. I never could /

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

// in the—“today there’s been fifteen

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

nor scales ever clad // // A perfectly

honed piece of mortal machinery // // Like you, that stalked like one

he skin provides, // // But we are not

honest . // // The only thing a beard hides is a chin. // // Perhaps

Bearded Thoughts

t do they know? // // “The Romans were

honest // // they thought it was all // // girls, grapes and snow.”

ed now, // // Roman, concerned with an

honesty which we think the skin provides, // // But we are not honest

Bearded Thoughts

am round, and the bees spread rumour of

honey , // // but all I could hear was the smash of lights inside me b

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

through // // the year. You tell me my

honey hair is darker now, and my eyes are a deeper grey. // // You te

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

d receding sea, with hair the colour of

honey // // obscuring itself across my vision, and in the air my grey

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

enir china: // // The white and yellow

honey -pot // // With matching spoon; // // The miniature tea pot //

the red front door, porridge warm with

honey // // sits upon the stove, and my Grandmother will love me agai

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ll I could taste was pure happiness and

honey . // // Summer swam round, and the bees spread rumour of honey,

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

I lay awake and kept them company with

honey // // sweetened coffee, a palimpsest of limbs and layers leafin

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

tored, and the slightest knock bleeds a

honey // // that will never wash from my hands. I guard myself like a

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

sh from my hands. I guard myself like a

honeycomb house. // // I wonder about your house by the sea, and how

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

g // // me, and so I build myself like

honeycomb . Wax might create candlelight, // // but for now my light i

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

eezes on through; // // The triumphant

honk of a goose (astray) // // Or the farm-wife, with clippings from

ex-officio // // crash corpse? Those ‘

hoodlums scammers’ I reflect // // might just be you, despite your wi

Between Life and Death

lowered, // // hides steaming, // //

hooves pounding // // they charge… // // Ah! Nihilist nil, // // ni

Nil Charge / Nil Return

Hollow Way // // // Horse

hooves sunk deep into sticky clay. // // Between rutted mud and thist

has now left the pit. // // A sense of

hope , a sense of fear, a bough // // Cracks like fire, burning so bri

an do // // is let it pass through and

hope // // I get one last look. // //

fee // // before falling asleep in the

hope I would avoid dreaming // // of you. The thoughts still hurt. Li

[I often think of that January morning]

aving me // // Gripping the tatters of

hope in my fist. // // With nothing left to fight for, I battle. //

The Other Side of the Line

ming more tame // // The closer to the

hope -made sky I came. // // Then, as a blacksmith finds his mold self

[What have we done]

, but I see a turn // // Before me and

hope , somehow, for // // Neither. // //

Vicious or Virtuous?

leads for a haven. // // I have little

hope that either will be satisfied. // // I am a fool without wisdom,

d other things, how they please, // //

Hope that the gods of Underground will hear my silent pleas // // To

Poems on the Underground

y of preservation - // // but secretly

hope there is. // // I keep us cold in a glass jar // // at our hear

old in a glass jar, // // but secretly

hope there is // // no possibility of preservation. // // You tell m

each wireless news: // // vainglorious

hope they’ll trumpet forth your K. // // So when the silver thief (wh

Compass Reading

ave been you // // Dear Alan, // // I

hope this finds you // // Dear Alan // //

Dear Alan // // Dear Alan, // // I

hope this finds you well // // Dear Alan, // // I have lost // // D

own of the strong stag, // // its only

hope to lead the quick spear into the subtle mist. // // You strike f

// Oh! must you leave so early? We had

hoped // // You’d stay and see the fireworks when they start. // //

or a cry // // too carelessly into the

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

The Dead Letter Office closes down

et’s sea of glass and fire; // // (too

hopeful by half in the dawning). // // End-tale: November song seeks

uess. // // Fearless and shameless and

hopeless , pathetically // // wanting no more and // // expecting no

Jonathan’s Deathbed

ith scraps of poetry, // // Forbidden

hopes and shards of mystery. // // They rustle through me in my wakin

The Cutting Edge

cho calls of words unspoken— // // She

hopes to watch you drown. // // When you exist outside of me // // A

Who am I, Bernard?

her their needs, (all fame, // // all

hopes will doubtless end in shallow // // graves), share confessions

in the dark, good in the dark, hoping,

hoping and hoping. grind me up and scatter my ashes, Ba’al Hadad, I su

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

to gouge it from me. use blunt, hoping,

hoping and hoping. let me hear the sound of joy and gladness so that t

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

nd analysing dirts; // // A break from

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

Three gay rituals

k, good in the dark, hoping, hoping and

hoping . grind me up and scatter my ashes, Ba’al Hadad, I submit. I lie

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

t’s good in the dark, good in the dark,

hoping , hoping and hoping. grind me up and scatter my ashes, Ba’al Had

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ant you to gouge it from me. use blunt,

hoping , hoping and hoping. let me hear the sound of joy and gladness s

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

from me. use blunt, hoping, hoping and

hoping . let me hear the sound of joy and gladness so that the bones yo

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

unspecific love poems to myself, // //

Hoping one day you’ll understand that I’m not so inventive // // And

I’ll never work for Hallmark

answers // // to folk problems // //

hoping today // // she’d speak // // common Greek. // // No one ask

feeding in the fields, // // Walking,

hopping , stirring earthly leas, // // Serenading us among our garden’

[Walcott begins Omeros]

e in-gazed faced me, // // Wide-as-the-

horizon , an endless hill. // // The top did seem but further every in

[What have we done]

n this point and somewhere just past my

horizon . // // Body aching, waiting, for my chalk outline. The last m

Snapshot Endings

top grave // // Curved ache of a clear

horizon // // Could I foretell the future // // The wake of light on

this waste of sea intervene. // // The

horizon , I know, won’t let me forget— // // That is its place, to enc

I could never be (ready)

on water // // Curved ache of a clear

horizon // // You hold your hand in mine // // The wake of light on

ome. // // People leaning against this

horizontal barrier // // Willing it to disappear— // // But still I

und // // meaningless sound, vertical,

horizontal , meaningful // // the solar system’s magicians and musicia

Same but differenT

chool sits right above // // A pair of

hormone -infested jaws // // From which stomach-swirling growls // //

mp in a sweep to the slope-edge: // //

horns lowered, // // hides steaming, // // hooves pounding // // th

Nil Charge / Nil Return

wound springs; // // nilly-willy their

horns reap // // the full cornucopia, // // gamboling gluttonous //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

// // —now usb 3.0 compatible— // //

Horrified by the naïveté of younger affirmations: // // I am in contr

Frighteningly Inert

hand // // Other than his own. // //

Horrified by the profanities of his family god, // // Horrified by th

Frighteningly Inert

e profanities of his family god, // //

Horrified by the refrain of his digital anima, // // Luminescent soul

Frighteningly Inert

ging to a halt, // // mind looks on in

horror ) // // but in the true sense: // // beating mind dying with b

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

Hollow Way // // //

Horse hooves sunk deep into sticky clay. // // Between rutted mud and

w pane. // // There was an overcrowded

hospital . // // There were the children to look after— // // there w

Black September

beneath the steady gaze of grey // //

hospital walls. Roses in empty wine bottles unfolded in the house, //

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

for me to come back, the tea was still

hot . And so we just sat there, and the trees weren’t pink and the star

[So the moon was there]

hot and tear-kissed] // // Red-hot and tear-kissed under mask // //

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

[Red-hot and tear-kissed] // // Red-

hot and tear-kissed under mask // // with steel miles ahead in wait /

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

My visitors all knock. // // We share

hot chocolate, // // play tennis on the lawn, // // talk of equality

A Room of Her Own

Wyatt today who knew // // Existing on

hot coals blisters the feet // // Just when I found them again // //

[Hot] // // Hot. // // Too

hot . // // Delirium freely falls around my head, // // Tuxedoed and

Hot ] // // Hot. // // Too hot. // // Delirium freely falls around m

Every time I thought a pot was getting

hot instead of a flame losing heat. // // So what does that say about

Three Pieces of Advice

rmly to large rock, add eagle and serve

hot liver with vengeance // // second, store in cool place until hard

// Thrushes migrate where the weather’s

hot , // // Only we are left in its throes, // // Now, bursar, now, l

BURR (or Brrrrr)

// // The quick, brown fox sticks his

hot sharp stink in ones and zeroes. // // We are buggering the ineffa

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

ed news, the foreplay tense, // // the

hot slit in a letter, the shriek. // // I have never treasured the fi

Aubade to Girton

vice // // 1. Heat always travels from

hot to cold. // // 2. Never eat at an empty sushi restaurant. // //

Three Pieces of Advice

Hot . // // Too hot. // // Delirium freely falls around my head, //

The breeze is on vacation as // // The

hot work begins, wheeling // // Round and round, stuck to the bed, //

// // the start, the lobby of a Greek

hotel // // in summer, where we met and all was well; // // the end,

s men, with fire. // // Come with your

houndsmen to the household fire: // // Here is Herbert, Tyndale, Elio

Sixteen Forty-Five

Poems on the Underground // // Rush

hour and my fear for how I would // // Negotiate the other passengers

Poems on the Underground

Imposter // // Another

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

// I don’t have a clue! // // Another

hour in despair // // It was so easy before // //

Sounding over black waves of the sunset

hour . // // Softly the last gondolier, dipping his hands // // For a

ain. // // One afternoon for one brief

hour // // the air is warm enough to melt // // the topmost layer.

Walking in winter

with boughs // // But in the darkening

hour they saw // // The boy without a face. // //

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

But he was dead: // // had died three

hours after his arrival, // // was buried in an unmarked grave. // /

Black September

oint of the years // // Where minutes,

hours , and days run not to time // // But to a vivid centre— // // T

[At the coinciding point of the years]

n looked so sad that I stayed there for

hours and hours until it began to sink, and I said // // // /

[So the moon was there]

the task assigned // // For three grim

hours . For my degree // // I fear I am not in my perfect mind // //

Exam Room Villanelle

anxiously waited with my coffee. // //

Hours later we lay on the floor of your house, sipping sleepy coffee /

[I often think of that January morning]

// // The fire will be lit in the dark

hours of night, // // when dawn is stuck in its casual delay. // //

The Dead Letter Office closes down

/ // We must not rush now past the wee

hours of // // waiting on fronted news, the foreplay tense, // // th

Aubade to Girton

rees and towers // // I’d gaze away my

hours // // safe from view; surrounding spectra // // blinding from

luc bat to mr. beam

years of careful compromise, // // the

hours spent washing bathroom tiles of blood. // // you pray for rain,

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

o sad that I stayed there for hours and

hours until it began to sink, and I said // // // // Please d

[So the moon was there]

Small Particles in the Small

Hours // // Yawn, // // Dawn // // Five o nine, // // Swiss time;

Small Particles in the Small Hours

The Christmas Dolls’

House // // A house gestated in paternal love // //

The Christmas Dolls’ House

ay, quick as one // // intent on small

house agents’ clerks // // and busted city slickers on // // the dol

[the typist puts her knickers on]

slip off the window of her lily-ridden

house and // // pursue the sunrise with a net of silver crunching aph

Aubade to Girton

s in empty wine bottles unfolded in the

house , // // anxiously mourning red petal fingernails. You looked sad

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ycomb house. // // I wonder about your

house by the sea, and how long that photo remained through // // the

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

roducing six of us. // // L-shaped the

house ; enclosed within its arms // // a walled garden, left untended

The Christmas Dolls’ House // // A

house gestated in paternal love // //

The Christmas Dolls’ House

e for a while // // to take him to the

house . // // I always regretted, felt cheated by // // that twenty-m

before stumbling barefoot back to your

house . // // I remember you called me a diamond in a world of coal. A

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

omewhere on the mantelpiece inside your

house , // // I stand motionless within a frame. Wading fearlessly thr

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

hands. I guard myself like a honeycomb

house . // // I wonder about your house by the sea, and how long that

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

edling trees; history assures me it’s a

house . // // If I can only reach the red front door, porridge warm wi

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

orget, // // waking from dreams of the

house in my head, // // that old haunt still knocking about breaking

Bright, Pale Yellow // // Our

house is in darkness. // // I shut my eyes, but // // my eyelids are

Bright, Pale Yellow

he walls dissolved around me, the small

house // // of my room washed away on a tide of sleep. Suddenly I’m r

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

oing different - // // The half-formed

house // // Of the brain trying to crystallize, but so often falls at

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

/ // piercing the wall, built like the

house // // of weathered Cotswold stone. // // The box and holly //

/ a sickly glow from the windows of the

house on the corner, madly // // yellowed and drastic; there’s a word

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

Hours later we lay on the floor of your

house , sipping sleepy coffee // // as your guitar filled the room wit

[I often think of that January morning]

omewhere on the mantelpiece inside your

house ] // // Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house, // // I

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

: // // the large, dilapidated country

house // // that is my mother’s next big venture after // // produci

tmas day. // // We’re all at my gran’s

house , // // The full, Catholic-size family, // // Cramped into the

Wild Mountain Thyme

// // The stillness of their mother’s

house . // // The townsmen wonder why he draws // // When all he draw

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

// // Come with your houndsmen to the

household fire: // // Here is Herbert, Tyndale, Eliot—rare tongues //

Sixteen Forty-Five

s evident: // // These objects are his

household gods, // // Found tokens of her whiter soul, // // Icons f

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

/ That grows in the sidings. // // And

houses have hollow // // Fishbowl eyes // // Looking over sidings. /

acks a smile. // // Silk sheets in the

houses of ill-repute // // Slip from bare skin in the sultry heat; //

t. And rising left // // the Cape Cod

house’s painted clapboard side. // // At centre, as if growing from t

Cape Cod Morning

an endless web around my field, // //

Housing my growing self inside a shield, // // And bathing me without

[What have we done]

Houston : A Discourse on the Anxiety of Mechanised Racial Profiling //

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

// In return for our shiny new lives,

however long they last. // //

rom cheese an immortal sensation // //

However , no man has dared to extol, the properties of a property so wo

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

rs as they slept // // and rolled them

howling down a rocky slope. // //

close; now I hold the wind // // As it

howls , painlessly, through my embrace. // // If only I could feel its

The Other Side of the Line

eon shrimps held a whiskery love-in and

hoydenish // // bivalves blew bubbles. Beneath the flushed sea-tail,

Just a Small Fish

rth and form. // // Within our bubble,

Hubble shows the forms // // Of roiling supernovae; helium flame //

oons // // neatly priced, // // hunch-

huddled , // // a child-like smile almost // // discernable beneath t

In a charity shop

whole reason she was // // sat, hunch-

huddled // // behind the counter, // // was because she had no other

In a charity shop

, tangible amidst my dreaming. // // I

huddled by the flickering fire and read it with my coffee, // // fill

[I often think of that January morning]

/ // My window on the world in all its

hues : // // Our dialect, sweet sister of our land. // // When you di

th this aura of warmth // // Its amber

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

singing her serenade of blue. // // We

hugged goodbye. I walked home and made coffee, // // then sat and pou

[I often think of that January morning]

// ARIADNE // // I blame that bronzed

hulk and his vanity // // Claimed his dad was a sea god—insanity— //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

Pimm’s // // I taste the

hum of pub chatter // // And the tang of good-humoured sweat // // A

y. // // Shadowed-masses in the depths

hum through the reeds, // // Winding past colonnades and the ruins of

out of // // step with happiness. You

human anti // // climax, nothingness. You are mewling death. // // I

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

// teaching by strange example that the

human heart // // is as much a network of rooms as a muscle, // // i

nge skin; // // Are more and less than

human . // // I read the unspeakable // // Between the lines // // A

h to found // // Our release from this

human pound. // //

Human Pound // // Existence was a problem // // In the under-stair c

ut the things that heaven takes, // //

Human things that Michael breaks // // Will wash away his refuge. //

t // // Us off from the rest of // //

Humanity , drove a rut // // Between our consciousness // // And the

d sex— // // But I did seek a bit more

humanity . // // My mistake was suggesting the cotton— // // Though t

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

at stone shrines were built. // // All

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

Before Christmas

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

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

Before Christmas

room // // While doomed to perish are

humble verses such as this, which misguidedly discuss vieux corse and

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

blues and blacks. // // Damp limestone

humming and spectral, // // The absence, eerie, of mountains, of peop

ncing that first childhood snow. // //

Humming show tunes to test my voice // // Or lack thereof, because th

The Notes You Have Left

a people dead. // // Ieri- Land of the

Hummingbird , give no thanks for majesty // // or those three hills aw

/ Course. // // Good one. // // I use

humour —I’m used to humour. // // Yeah. Drink water? // // Can’t drin

Whales sing because they have a song

Shirts meticulously casual. // // His

humour still hasn’t crawled // // Out of the bathroom. // // Mock an

forting face that could // // keep its

humour through elegy and tragedy, could // // smile and tease and pas

Sestina to an English Teacher

od one. // // I use humour—I’m used to

humour . // // Yeah. Drink water? // // Can’t drink anything without

Whales sing because they have a song

pub chatter // // And the tang of good-

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

rolling beneath us // // Like seeing a

humpback breach // // Great Skellig slate grey and wet // // The oce

between the stars // // Like seeing a

humpback breach // // The fire which leapt over us // // The ocean r

// river-hewn back. Now bend… // // It

hums // // it skates // // it skates! // // It falls away // // Th

teaspoons // // neatly priced, // //

hunch -huddled, // // a child-like smile almost // // discernable ben

In a charity shop

at the whole reason she was // // sat,

hunch -huddled // // behind the counter, // // was because she had no

In a charity shop

future drains away. // // She stands,

hunched and weary, too tired // // To have held on. Head lowered, but

/ // A camera lens whirs to focus on a

hunched // // Body. One of the crowd in particular // // Distinct, o

Vicious or Virtuous?

leaping between my synapses. In all six

hundred and forty muscles, and all ten toes. But the moon saved me—

[So the moon was there]

ight // // it pulls the final prop. A

hundred yards // // of man’s best effort at defence // // drops thir

Walking in winter

known you before. // // I could stay a

hundred years // // With this aura of warmth // // Its amber hues re

he tv on, // // keeping us tied to the

hundrum : // // you watching and I, lamely, pretending // // to read.

your tongue, // // That reason why you

hung around in the first place // // Will come back to you. You knew

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

y. // // Unpacked her bags, // // and

hung her quiet fripperies // // between the places where I laid my he

skin felt too big for my bones. It just

hung there softly, crumpled at the elbows and knees. But the moon look

[So the moon was there]

ated ending stretches forward, dripping

hungrily on the path // // Like rain. Staining stones darker as words

Snapshot Endings

// Cries, but falls fallow? // // Go

hungry dear fox // // Do not bloody my door, there // // Is nothing

Here be dragons

ime: // // in the dark of dark, // //

hungry every second of our lives, and // // blood-fed, or starved to

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

The Failing of the Cheese // // A

hungry old cat (Siamese) // // tried to draw out a mouse with some ch

The Failing of the Cheese

ed like one who had // // Mastered the

hunt with effortless effrontery // // And imposed the jungle’s law en

// I know now you walk as a man angel

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

Urban bird watchingOn the

Huntingdon Road. // // They found him, petrified, // // Frozen in fl

Urban bird watching

temple down on English tongues. // //

Huntsman , lord of a thousand blooded tongues // // Master of the holl

Sixteen Forty-Five

get up and over // // The latest life

hurdle means we grab and claw // // For the meagre protection of a ba

allize, but so often falls at the first

hurdle , // // Snaps like a rope whipping in a breeze on a desert-plai

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

e’ll sing waes hael, waes hael, hurrah!

hurrah ! // //

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

/ We sing waes hael, waes hael, hurrah!

hurrah ! // // A cup and a toast to seed, sapling, and snag— // // A

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

// // We’ll sing waes hael, waes hael,

hurrah ! hurrah! // //

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

es // // We sing waes hael, waes hael,

hurrah ! hurrah! // // A cup and a toast to seed, sapling, and snag— /

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

atched my grandfather die in his voice.

hurry boy, “your light points to the sky”. he says it’s a figure, a lu

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

sweats because it’s supposed // // to

hurt and the crowd hear what they want to hear; // // instead I’m sta

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

instrument whose strings sing of souls

hurt . // // Blind, dumb, deaf upon the pedestal of a saint, // // by

n tomorrow’s world; // // I’m ill; I’m

hurt ; I’m tired; I’m bored; // // I’ve loved and now I’m torn apart…

aming // // of you. The thoughts still

hurt . Like bruises, existing as echoes // // of former pain written a

[I often think of that January morning]

the skies // // go white, and nothing

hurts the way it should. // // resent the years of careful compromise

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

tic precision to // // better her dear

husband’s still-mortal guess. // // Fearless and shameless and hopele

Jonathan’s Deathbed

c. // // Love sent you to the desert’s

hush -parched silence. // // You held fast, though those rattling serp

// Wait for the ring of a bell, // //

hush , presents, crib, Christ Kind: // // tree aspark and fizzing, in

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

to mr. beam // // your whispered words

hushed round // // a sun-warmed pillowed land of // // South Georgia

luc bat to mr. beam

s the crux, // // right in that light,

hush’d // // lull brown, // // deep among your dusk // // heavy soc

tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!

// As flails fall to split the bearded

husk // // And seeds fall to the furrow, // // Amidst the tympanum,

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

h // // To conceal where that big baby

hybrid is, // // Whose sibling stood guard (to keep access barred) //

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

pread. // // Over the bus as it rounds

Hyde Park, // // Down border-lanes, and further west // // Leaves an

s of a snore. // // We shall not sever

hydra stalks for fear of fresh // // blooms: already one says: “manki

Aubade to Girton

specimen of sadness. // // Helium and

hydrogen hauled together // // at our heart’s core. // // I keep us

at our heart's core. // // Helium and

hydrogen hauled together. // // I'm not sure when we collected this s

mless, with a past // // Of telephonic

hygiene ? It never forms // // Intelligence, to burn a gem-like flame.

Hymn to a Loved One // // We wake up to Radio 3, // // Hark! the her

A Hymn to a Loved One

with every judder. // // My body is a

hymn to Cupid; // // He is in its arches and secluded pathways. // /

cle— // // drink! and be merry! // //

Hymns rattle around the silverware cadences vibrate the port // //

Drink and be merry

ters is strangely keen. // // A dance,

hypnotic ; long, yet savour it // // The leaves are moved, their path

en you want to snap me. cleanse me with

hyssop and I won’t be clean. wash me and I will be blacker than coal.

we’re not in Kansas, anymore