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

I

tangle some alphabet soup // // Served

iambic , al dente, but as yet unsigned. // // Will my new friend accep

Wednesday Evening

ight // // With wheeling thump. // //

Icarus , spread-eagled in the cycling lane. // // With borrowed wings

Urban bird watching

at him, // // while he pontif- // //

icated through the whiff // // of sweat and gin. // // I thought if

st. // // Teeth, showing, to break the

ice // // And cut the tension. // // I should have spoken by now, bu

r faintly falling // // but grows into

ice as my hair is chilled // // by all the breath of Russia // // (e

why i’m getting into Christmas

ars witness // // to Soviet columns of

ice ). // // But you seem unperturbed // // your red coat an aegis to

why i’m getting into Christmas

isitely ice-etched selves drowned, like

ice cubes // // in scotch, or scotch in a stomach. // // That is it—

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

ne of its stupid questions to break the

ice , // // ‘Doesn’t the idea of the world ending sometimes sound a bi

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

morning warmth; // // our exquisitely

ice -etched selves drowned, like ice cubes // // in scotch, or scotch

[Five minutes after our hearts stop]

// Behind the flow I knew there to be

ice , // // For such cold worlds do not let flowing be, // // so pass

[What have we done]

// Of Newton. Each light-ray does one

ice thaw, // // Reflecting light through perfect diamond form, // //

[What have we done]

ited for the world to freeze // // And

ice to form upon the breeze // // And snow to lie upon the lease //

[They saw him walking in the meadow]

I did to this purpose mold, // // The

ice with which I rose grew weary, crack’d // // So softly and remorse

[What have we done]

ghthouse; // // The rusty sweet tin of

icing tips, // // Individually wrapped in kitchen towel. // // One b

Found tokens of her whiter soul, // //

Icons for his orphaned heart, // // Angelic messengers in clay— // /

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

h its surge, the casts of forms— // //

Icons for us—of weighed and measured mass // // Ten billion years fro

rhyme it’s prose, // // obtusely count

ictūs with fingers stunt’d; // // numb’d ass’nance, ’lision; laziness

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

es in freedom on an edge // // Between

idea and infinite beyond. // //

Three Ways of Walking

/ Teetering on the edge of // // A big

idea . // // Each line, a step, // // Towards that moment // // Wher

Falling Is Like This

aced with the end result // // The big

idea no longer seems so big // // The fall, awkward // // And unspec

Falling Is Like This

s to break the ice, // // ‘Doesn’t the

idea of the world ending sometimes sound a bit nice?’ // // Everybody

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

/ Well, if you say so. // // I have no

idea , // // So I picture the Ramsays’ sitting room and listen to musi

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

iniscule we are, before we form // //

Idea that we have any power to light // // One candle’s guttering sic

he frosted air. // // A mile away, the

ideal me, // // A little less wary, a little more loved, // // Turns

d by tinsel and blood, // // While the

ideal me waves from a mile away. // // Bloated on turkey and stale co

otating birdsong. // // I made you the

ideal theory: // // An unsystematised list of every correct propositi

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

or men with knitted jumpers // // (big

ideas on rocks and bones in the ground), // // Or even vicars, touche

Bearded Thoughts

ssness repeating crashed-crushed // //

Ideas , the waiting of night upon night, // // An expectant lie on the

nough // // (For you) had to be // //

Identical . // // I cannot understand you // // Because you breathe.

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

sea. // // Daily no-feeling recurs in

identical mornings. // // Business will go as usual—Routine completio

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

time makes its approach // // On this

idle breeze, // // And summons me with gentle reproach // // Of the

I could never be (ready)

Nέμεσις // // Personification of God’s

idle perfection, // // Epochs before this have claimed you, // // Th

nes, new laws and a people dead. // //

Ieri - Land of the Hummingbird, give no thanks for majesty // // or th

ade the decision to // // Pseudonymous-

ify : // // Called himself Woody, // // And promptly found fame. //

stuck, // // cinder at last ebb // //

ignites arena morn: // // I war dirt-up, image-bled, // // if nine d

Hercules et Oracle

antee. // // My reality assembles with

Ikea instructions. // // Ambient objects surrounded us. // // Long i

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

Daydream Dale Journey // // From

Ilkley’s old stone bridge I trace a path // // against the stream, ba

Daydream Dale Journey

ck suit, that only I saw // // Fit you

ill , and added to your breaking; // // True predators fear this world

y // // remains in memory, for good or

ill , // // another day. // // I cannot say // // whether I have the

e good, // // But slightly blurred and

ill -conceived, // // But cram enough inside and surely in a week or t

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

waiting on tomorrow’s world; // // I’m

ill ; I’m hurt; I’m tired; I’m bored; // // I’ve loved and now I’m tor

le. // // Silk sheets in the houses of

ill -repute // // Slip from bare skin in the sultry heat; // // Memor

n. // // Briefly. // // But just one

illicit // // Blink and I’ll miss it. // // Too much strain // //

Small Particles in the Small Hours

And the probiotics, // // And the dust

illuminated between // // My optic nerve and all those that seek its

Frighteningly Inert

mind renders his form. // // He exists

illuminated in slow motion // // And I am drunk on vertigo // // whe

’Tis pity he’s a bore

seems we barely move at all. // // The

illusion holds until // // a single truck tyre appears, // // a sudd

om my fickle memory— // // elusive and

illusive treasure, she. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

nites arena morn: // // I war dirt-up,

image -bled, // // if nine demon ever did, god-won // // Arrêt. // /

Hercules et Oracle

the lens // // Looks and the newspaper

image blithely grins // // Into a million messy shards. // // The t

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

own cover // // To see, at first, your

image in the glass. // // You see yourself, and through yourself the

The Magic Apple Tree

f paint. // // Yet in this well-formed

image , I’m confirmed. // // Your mind, your hands! You stroked me int

The chicken and the egg

once within the garden wall, // // The

image of an ancient apple tree, // // The fall of light through bran

The Magic Apple Tree

the mile has become two // // And the

image of what I ought to be // // Looms large as the pack move on. //

ed them to save your // // voice, your

image , tried to save your life— // // if only // // words could //

Sestina to an English Teacher

description - no visual aid, // // No

images allowed, the written word is paramount, the universal word, a t

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

en them: // // these dazzling coloured

images of flames. // // Should I wonder if my eyes deceive me? // //

[Your eyes are filled with wonder]

ls, created by some force // // beyond

imagination ; and of course // // extracted from my fickle memory— //

Daydream Dale Journey

// // there are times // // when the

imagination fires. // // Pots are thrown and fired, // // crops are

redrake // // Inspiration, lava of the

imagination , // // Rises, magma moltenly golden // // Hardens to wor

/ // It would take a poet with supreme

imagination to create from cheese an immortal sensation // // However

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

ly stroked; they want the fire of their

imaginations stoked // // Some want the facts as hard and cold, as th

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

’Tis pity he’s a bore // // I

imagine he’d wear my armour well, // // And send sandal’d feet scuffl

’Tis pity he’s a bore

; cushion-thief strikes) // // again I

imagine it forked by lightening, white above again and // // the bloo

rious flame? // // Dark Matter reels.

Imagine it just passed, // // Expanding in a bubble that you know //

translates Latin eulogies // // and we

imagine their last seconds // // like the one whose dog slept on //

Fitzwilliam Museum, Cambridge

traight planes of your edges) // // To

imagine you as you once were: // // those undulating ring-lines breat

lways black, never blue, // // and I’d

imagine you sitting and reading my words in echoes. // // Just as my

[I often think of that January morning]

ps and sanded-down blemishes) // // To

imagine // // (your contours like sand-dunes // // against the beige

they found it indide her body. // // I

imagined its cross section like a burr, // // or like cork— // // al

or they could choke you, yet // // She

imagined swallowing them, and her tongue, // // Thinking of what she’

urse spell, // // Where fog, encoal’d,

imbues with cloud our sight, // // Surrounding ev’ry face we meet wit

[What have we done]

// Deep in my lungs. // // Now in his

immanent radiance, // // With his flesh that resonates with echoes //

’Tis pity he’s a bore

athless, I stand being looked at // //

immobile open ripped apart. // // Then the light changes or goes

ng breathed and // // Your soft memory

immolates its body beneath my hands. // // Rings of ash are black MID

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

ived history // // that would show the

immortal endeavour to preserve, // // To find stability that will out

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

/ Over an edge too steep // // And I’m

immortal , powerless, // // Until I hit the ground, // // And look up

Falling Is Like This

m the critically acclaimed world of the

immortal rhymists // // It would take a poet with supreme imagination

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

me imagination to create from cheese an

immortal sensation // // However, no man has dared to extol, the prop

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

sport yourself to the moment when these

immortal words spilled from the Shakespearean pen // // And flowing a

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

Bard’s loving lines, she found herself

immortalised . // // If Chesterton had been present would he dare sugg

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

once chorused a dew bright dawn. // //

Immortality // // Is in time, our blood coloured autumn. // // Artif

ll foresee is that passion is the stuff

immortality is made on. // // Not cheese. // //

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

y labelled // // With owner and origin

immortalized // // In scratchy biro ink. // // Each domestic heirloo

st want to be rendered catatonic by the

impact . // // I want someone whose smile makes the sun fizzle out in

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

No Salvage // // The ghost of the

impact , white on the window, // // catches my eye as I enter the kitc

oids being distracted where it’s ‘badly

impacted ’ // // But meets ‘business leaders’—which means he won’t nee

feature // // insufficient details to

impart one specific viable // // meaning and are instead cultural con

/ // Nor his watching from the window,

impassive // // Blood dries quicker than paint // // But all the wid

fed. // // So the cat sat, so thin and

impatient , // // but then… bittersweet jubilation! // // He was fill

The Failing of the Cheese

es not understand. // // You claim it “

impedes progress” and is “bland,” // // But, full of energy and youth

// Fixing anyone who disagrees with an

impenetrable stare, yes a million times yes I declare! // // Thus the

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

lava – // // heroic but futile, // //

impetuous thunder // // and ultimate payment. // // Pens open and re

Nil Charge / Nil Return

corridor, // // And everything becomes

impinging , a necessity for greed and proof of love or life, no loafing

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ve the belt, you’re a god, // // Pied,

impious beauty; // // Below, bestial lust // // Striped with trust,

ep and troubled the head rolls inwards,

implodes // // Without a sound or sight of anything unusual - // //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

for my grave I pray you // // Mercy! I

implore you // // A taste to slake this thirst. // // Naïve one, mer

poem’s appeal or mystery. // // As the

importance is not whether it was meant to be, // // But merely that o

ntment and of smoke. // // Your (self)-

importance never recognized, // // demanding silence for each wireles

Compass Reading

ything important. // // Everything was

important . // // Everything squalls and // // Everything breathed an

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

athe. // // I only included everything

important . // // Everything was important. // // Everything squalls

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

t with effortless effrontery // // And

imposed the jungle’s law entirely // // On the dithering herds that d

Imposter // // Another hour gone // // Paper crumpled in a heap //

Myopic view, fragmented past // // And

impotent . Neutrino looks on Mass. // // So was the project worth it?

lost forever in the coming dark, // //

Impounded in some Dover Lorry Park. // // Uncase the Camembert, bring

horus of whispers painted on // // the

imprimatura of your skin; // // delicate cave magic revealed // // b

hit what I head for // // And study my

imprint . // //

Falling Is Like This

Poem: Debris // // the

imprint’s still there but it just doesn’t feel like home anymore // /

hispers ‘there is more to know’. // //

Imprisoned in this cauldron we must know // // How miniscule we are,

ed characters like Tennyson, // // Who

improve , like port and venison, // // And turn life’s lead to poems o

t our brains lame, // // Reduced to an

inability to cater // // For our inner selves. Pressured into // //

e of mugs. // // And though our unkind

inactions told you otherwise, you kept your faith // // that all of l

Would our souls not be repulsed by the

inadequacy of discourses on mozzarella, richelieu and brie // // Fixi

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

love celestial. // // Two-faced words

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

ment into paint // // In increments of

incarnation down // // to burn within these apples and this bough, //

The Magic Apple Tree

// // In the supermarket tills’ // //

Incessant beeping // // A granite sword looming, // // We gaze acros

Magnetic Mountain

of the track’s devouring // // And an

incessant nattering of the doors that continue to open, // // The swe

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

tball pitches // // I muttered my name

incessantly in the supermarket // // // // I sang my name in the c

[I whispered my name into the trees]

to echoes upon echoes // // of the sea

incessantly singing her serenade of blue. // // We hugged goodbye. I

[I often think of that January morning]

// The top did seem but further every

inch // // But ’hind did seem sure death. ’Twas in this pinch // //

[What have we done]

// and I feel like if I rock back and

inch , I’ll tumble and my bones will clatter. // // I don’t want to al

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

houghts, // // Smile’s phantom echoing

inchoate affections, // // A tongue, dark and delicate, from a peak d

// Because you breathe. // // I only

included everything important. // // Everything was important. // //

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

k it’s out of choice. // // *Section C

includes a Part divided into sub-parts each with several options descr

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

Lewis, cinnamon infused bread sauce and

incongruous prosecco // // drink! // // to Christmas! // // and, pl

Drink and be merry

lcite skin, bloody ingrown nails and an

incorrection . Adonai, Adonis, open my sword lips, then my mouth will p

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

second part, with many simply claiming

incorrectly that the second derivative of xx is aa and the second deri

fire burn and chthonic cauldron bubble.

Incorrigible night // // in which sailors drown at sea because I let

to change the laces in my shoes, // //

Increasing in frustration exponentially (I think that’s the one), //

Three Pieces of Advice

air, from pigment into paint // // In

increments of incarnation down // // to burn within these apples and

The Magic Apple Tree

sins // // but flagons. Flagons might

indeed // // distract me, or Suliman, from his pilaf. // // But stay

The well of love

LONIUS By th’mass and it’s like a camel

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

nky uterine nights—I’d dream: // // my

index finger extended in front, walking in a straight line, tied to th

// A crown gall, // // they found it

indide her body. // // I imagined its cross section like a burr, //

land schools now, fumbling for the East

Indies like one who // // couldn’t find his hat in the dark so he put

rth beneath // // is completely // //

indifferent // // and that there’s nothing // // above // // or bey

the surreal, the mundane, a torrent of

individuality across the page’s lush terrain, // // But never those t

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

e rusty sweet tin of icing tips, // //

Individually wrapped in kitchen towel. // // One by one, // // I hol

a single // // point // // Could this

induce a comparable feeling in you? // // Who’s there? BANARDO // //

now if I’m here. // // My form: beauty

induced in smears of paint. // // Yet in this well-formed image, I’m

The chicken and the egg

bodies that would // // Never normally

indulge in such proximity with the // // Strangers that are the other

Poems on the Underground

and gets his slippers on // // as she

indulges in a spot // // of thrilling, but too quick, arson— // // u

[the typist puts her knickers on]

and zeroes. // // We are buggering the

ineffable ; Satan’s a spot we can see! // // What will you trade for a

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

// [exit stage right accompanied by the

ineffectual whirring of defunct machinery] // //

the windmill’s lament—a short play

Inert // // Adrift on waters // // Stagnant, charged, ion wet, // /

Frighteningly Inert

ing delight // // Fruit eating and the

inevitably ripped clothes. // // Or does the mango tree solitarily st

walking in a straight line, tied to the

inexorability of pace and // // surety of pressing the phone on the w

, and it’s deft: // // Any half-taught

infant can contrive // // To lean a pile of lines towards the left. /

In Defence of Evolution

’ x-ray-burning to my five- // // year

infant guilt. Fruitless to plead my case // // into that microphone I

Compass Reading

ts right above // // A pair of hormone-

infested jaws // // From which stomach-swirling growls // // Rattle,

/ // Now dog, did re-venom Eden // //

infidel beg! // // Am I putrid, raw // // in Roman era, // // set i

Hercules et Oracle

, I have done you wrong. // // Only an

infidel writes thirteen lines. // //

edom on an edge // // Between idea and

infinite beyond. // //

Three Ways of Walking

// // Alone in brand new Paradise with

infinite -ish time. // // And so they split their Garden up in perfect

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

t lightness of itself // // And to the

infinity of the other // // As the tree drops its leaves like yellow

[At the coinciding point of the years]

between here and there. // // Only an

infrequent ferry carries me across, // // Reluctant. // // He holds

on a platter from John Lewis, cinnamon

infused bread sauce and incongruous prosecco // // drink! // // to C

Drink and be merry

pening like the sky opens round // // -

ing a road as you reach a bay and the sought-for sea. His sound. // /

finally, land!) bid their seek- // //

ing end, Portugal could only tip its hat. Columbus would sail // // a

ture sprouts, like damp, decant- // //

ing fungus. Brutish, British, you’re out of // // step with happiness

“A Nasty Piece of Work”

crests, each rippling roll rock- // //

ing him closer to the exotic East. Each tear was worth the glor- // /

ests, each sullen swelling rock- // //

ing him closer to the pristine West Isles. Tears would pay for the glo

ning, he saw triplet hills peak- // //

ing out from the emerald isle’s southern shore. Behold! Sailors, all h

artoon vigour from the surround- // //

ing shops and offices, has seemed a sign— // // not of the town’s pas

rough is a pierced calcite skin, bloody

ingrown nails and an incorrection. Adonai, Adonis, open my sword lips,

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

aiting for the smell in order to // //

inhale the air that you’ve // // just dropped. // // This is where I

ns and courtesy, the circle // // Will

inhale . The peak reaching skywards, extending // // The lows into dry

Vicious or Virtuous?

lost and undefined. // // A word that

initiates thoughts in the mind // // Of every thinker it lands upon,

icues of sacred text, // // Flaring in

ink and paper to the floor, // // The shredded evidence of our affair

The Cutting Edge

laim it—take it back— // // you wasted

ink and were bound to miss. // // From now on all unaccountable post

The Dead Letter Office closes down

in immortalized // // In scratchy biro

ink . // // Each domestic heirloom bearing // // The curly script of

the warm mug in murky waves. // // The

ink I wrote to you in was always black, never blue, // // and I’d ima

[I often think of that January morning]

va onto the paper. // // The words and

ink slowly // // Seep deeper into the page, my skin, // // Until the

Writing to explore

// apportion rationed quires and dilute

ink . // // The snow has reached the window ledge. // // No promise o

A Room of Her Own

g, as you roll into the snug sheets, if

ink will stain your hands forever. // // Does it wash off, I wonder,

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

of hearts— // // And a cheer for you,

inkcap , and dark brittlegill // // And a drink for you, fungus, and y

A Song for the Planting of Fruit Trees

ent’s lauded as the best: // // To get

inky fingers in a Cambridge college // // And pilfer the noble classe

g amongst my fact-debris. // // In the

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

Exam Room Villanelle

years—for, rather, rare nights between

inky uterine nights—I’d dream: // // my index finger extended in fron

tarlight from space // // reflected in

inky water, // // the cool night air // // slows down time. // // N

to an inability to cater // // For our

inner selves. Pressured into // // Insanity, we grovelled on the grou

ver tells. But in each piece // // The

inner thought is evident: // // These objects are his household gods,

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

n’t // // Seem true. But there you lie—

innocently // // Staring past the camera’s smitten gaze, // // Whil

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

onversation // // The pack turns their

inquisitive gaze // // On me. Questions launched from all directions

ty // // Claimed his dad was a sea god—

insanity — // // But he did have firm pecs, and it looked like good se

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

our inner selves. Pressured into // //

Insanity , we grovelled on the ground, // // Our eyes blank, with noth

ive gramma // // signs of the Mystery,

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

// // The right hanging, something sad

inside . // // A cloud broke, and she saw it shatter, // // Up there

[The sun flattened]

y field, // // Housing my growing self

inside a shield, // // And bathing me without inside this place. //

[What have we done]

nlight fills // // the room we glimpse

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

Cape Cod Morning

ix upside—down. // // Pigeon panicking

inside an elevator. // // I can know these everythings and never know

Catalogue d’Oiseaux:

tting into Christmas // // I’m perched

inside an open window // // drinking coffee that leaves rings // //

why i’m getting into Christmas

ll these years apart, // // I can look

inside , and find you here, // // Like spring, eternal spring, inside

[My face is old now]

d ill-conceived, // // But cram enough

inside and surely in a week or two // // A miracle will occur, // //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

lowly, smoothly // // I reapply to the

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

coloured flesh // // and hide a secret

inside . // // Feel the air. Turn in the four winds. Broadcast the sec

ealising there’s still a street brawler

inside him. // // And there are some scars a business suit can’t hide

Three Pieces of Advice

, // // But his gifts are empty on the

inside . // // I feel carved out when I accept. // // He maps out his

// I killed it then, just then. // //

Inside it was a nothing anyway, // // Surprising really how small it

[So snow falls outside]

inner. // // So I’ll tuck my mind back

inside itself, and let it linger // // On the stirring of senses caus

I’ll never work for Hallmark

ll I could hear was the smash of lights

inside me breaking, // // and the low buzzing of machines beneath the

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

ollock should, // // hanging on a nail

inside my eyelids. // // Is it true that a thing of // // (heart-sto

er day.” // // And yet you stay // //

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

re, // // Like spring, eternal spring,

inside my heart. // //

[My face is old now]

s the poem? // // Strange loops writhe

inside , nightmares can be sensitive creatures— // // ‘You go!’ ‘Now m

// // In a time of dates that rot from

inside out // // And will not dry // // The boat rocks on the water

o be standing here // // but it’s warm

inside // // so we leave // //

HOW CAN I TELL YOU WHAT IT FEELS LIKE

a shield, // // And bathing me without

inside this place. // // I close my eyes and feel their cacoons grow

[What have we done]

one day I will be calx and cure, what’s

inside will be me. // //

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

ouch and see // // what is buried well

inside . // // Yes, this is where I hide— // // and you can look for

/ // you do not look at It // // sees

inside you // // and lodges a piece of itself there? // // Bre

derful point to be derived. // // For

inside you are a million pages, // // Of knowledge yet to be explored

The Tree of Wisdom

en your struggle. // // So you curl up

inside your head, // // Feeling much too small, // // And yet, // /

/ say by heart—the ones you save // //

inside your head for your // // gawping students, that define your li

Sestina to an English Teacher

/ And yet, // // Much too large to fit

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

se] // // Somewhere on the mantelpiece

inside your house, // // I stand motionless within a frame. Wading fe

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece

inside your house] // // Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your hou

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

my insides. // // I am unsullied by my

insides , // // By the abjected charging cables, // // And my missing

Frighteningly Inert

// The outside that is me, // // Is my

insides . // // I am unsullied by my insides, // // By the abjected c

Frighteningly Inert

them, the sharp-suited nilherds // //

insinuate up from the city // // dragging their ledgers and pens //

Nil Charge / Nil Return

Again, again. // // Adrift on spewing,

insipid , lusting waters, // // Aren’t I porous and malleable in the g

Frighteningly Inert

Firedrake // //

Inspiration , lava of the imagination, // // Rises, magma moltenly gol

ur grades and your dignity, your // //

inspiration , your endless, relentless love of life. // // I never cou

Sestina to an English Teacher

/ // Some movement to its fickle flame

inspire . // // So moved I to my deepest depths of will, // // With h

[What have we done]

s the gravel, revealing // // Fleeting

instances of milk-soaked silence. // // Darkened feet tread over a fo

Vicious or Virtuous?

ds like a flower, // // holding for an

instant // // it trembles // // and // // vanishes. // //

// My life was compromised // // in an

instant // // when all I’d ever wanted was to be free // // from any

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

furrowing your brow, // // So I glance

instead at your mirror, // // Rested head gentle against the cool gla

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

wn the sink, // // Take up the pom-pom

instead . // // But that wouldn’t kill the dead. // // They are stuck

is hat in the dark so he put on the cat

instead . // // Columbus was the end. He left the quiet dawns behind,

specific viable // // meaning and are

instead cultural constructions // // onto which developing minds can

to be equal to your wisdom, // // But

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

The Tree of Wisdom

orrow, restless, rootless dread. // //

Instead I wake to warmth, to find you sleeping, // // My living comfo

owd hear what they want to hear; // //

instead I’m staring at want’s damp shoes // // on the dark path back

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

t maybe I don’t need to sing; just wait

instead . // // Like a Wiccan would wait, because she knew // // That

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

ry time I thought a pot was getting hot

instead of a flame losing heat. // // So what does that say about us?

Three Pieces of Advice

ause the Greeks and Trojans fought for,

instead of finlandia swiss, gubbeen and brin d’amour? // // And had H

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

eel // // Of earth against their sides

instead of flesh, // // That time when all that I am will slide throu

[My face is old now]

uitar riff // // and yell my apologies

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

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

at couldn’t do Tuesdays, so you covered

instead — // // put out the biscuits, the chairs, the cat, // // drew

// But shouldn’t we strive for equality

instead ? // // She points to the sky, // // And I, with my prying e

[She points to the sky]

// // Hardly touched the panes, // //

Instead was broken into pieces, // // Collapsed into the shattered tr

[The sun flattened]

e? // // No plaice. He’ll gobble me up

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

h-swirling growls // // Rattle, // //

Instilling all the Seven Deadlies // // Plus a few extra. // // She

// // at dawn, choosing our course by

instinct , taking // // left or right according to our whim, or how th

edestal of a saint, // // by touch and

instinct you descend to hide among // // the seeds spun by the breeze

en one // // I shall leave this garden

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

Aubade to Girton

. // // My reality assembles with Ikea

instructions . // // Ambient objects surrounded us. // // Long into n

[Ambient objects surrounded me]

of destruction to // // find out their

instrument , plucked on its string with his // // cold rubber fingers

Jonathan’s Deathbed

d in bells and mistle- // // toe as an

instrument whose strings sing of souls hurt. // // Blind, dumb, deaf

ecome a fatherly // // Embrace between

insubstantial beings who feel too much. // // // // …Bleached walls

Snapshot Endings

ys: fairy tales formally feature // //

insufficient details to impart one specific viable // // meaning and

mean wrecked as in ended. Leave nothing

intact . As in, if it doesn’t kill me // // I at least want to be rend

[Maybe it’s just the latent sign]

e up their ledgers, // // and enter an

integer // // each purposeful stride. // // Nimble Nimrods, the nil

Nil Charge / Nil Return

lephonic hygiene? It never forms // //

Intelligence , to burn a gem-like flame. // // If you are last to leav

// more thoroughly // // if I’d truly

intended to avoid falling. // // Now we’re “an item”, // // and you

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

g apple boughs… // // The sky is dark,

intense , a stormy grey, // // But just beneath the darkness all is go

The Magic Apple Tree

s down the hallway, quick as one // //

intent on small house agents’ clerks // // and busted city slickers o

[the typist puts her knickers on]

// It’s not as though we’ve ceased all

intercourse . // // In truth I’d not part now, no more would you, //

// No one asked // // if she had any

interest // // in sour milk // // the sick cow // // and the blight

can’t be talking to me. // // I’ll be

interested to see how it all turns out. // // I change the disc, it i

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

was always earth-strewn, // // A brief

interlude of disequilibrium. // // This pumice golem was never sacred

Frighteningly Inert

/ // // // // // // Dear Wayne of

Interpol : I have your mail. // // Your writhing at my death has deepl

Between Life and Death

t in a mirror, so many questions // //

interrogate me slap me try that just // // one more time. Tell me hav

, the way you nurture, // // but as we

intertwined at the centre // // of the world, dragonlike, I was, I th

Interval // // There is a forty-one year tale to tell // // —could I

Though you might, let this waste of sea

intervene . // // The horizon, I know, won’t let me forget— // // Tha

I could never be (ready)

kensian window. // // Bravely, someone

intones // // The first notes to // // Wild Mountain Thyme, // // A

Wild Mountain Thyme

// // Barricading your past before it

intrudes // // In the vitality of your present. // // I fear what wa

The Other Side of the Line

e, and escape from their transcendental

intrusion , // // of You. // // 6. // // Let It come freely, and loo

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

whispers with frustration at its // //

Invasion . // // A loop of stern faces around a desk too large // //

Vicious or Virtuous?

ed red, ley lines and hillforts, // //

invasions and massacres, all the savagery that // // we will. But who

Wandlebury Hill

dusty yellow // // Of that marvellous

invention , // // The post-it note // // (The survivor of technologic

e day you’ll understand that I’m not so

inventive // // And when I give you my word, I’m giving you my all, /

I’ll never work for Hallmark

nside face of the box to make // // An

inventory of items, // // A register for each cracked piece // // Of

le to despair, // // And laugh as they

invest their funds elsewhere. // // The lights are going out, drain o

’t deal with the mail // // and was an

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

The Dead Letter Office closes down

// Tumbling upwards, being pulled by an

invisible string held // // By a clenched fist, soon to become a fath

Snapshot Endings

s against // // Earth's arrogance, its

invitation to descend. // // A face has been fixed, and focuses below

[A spinning spider]

mind’s silvered folds, and did I // //

invite you in do I pretend you are // // still there when adolescence

eep. // // Your Fair Isle-knit embrace

invites me in. // // Like everything you wear, of course, it’s mine.

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

// But deep and troubled the head rolls

inwards , implodes // // Without a sound or sight of anything unusual

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ift on waters // // Stagnant, charged,

ion wet, // // The pumice golem // // On and off again, // // Avers

Frighteningly Inert

d. // // Evadne the unseizable defying

Iphis , // // she jumps // // to meet the water channelling below. //

es some deep philosophy? // // Voices,

ipods , phones speak out— // // add to the road’s cacophony. // //

On the top deck of a 68 // // Voices,

ipods , phones speak out— // // add to the road’s cacophony. // // Th

er people mutter, shout, // // voices,

ipods , phones speak out. // // So many people talking: can we doubt

// Ornithologists with shears make for

irate avians // // With wings clipped, // // Clipped wires and frame

Frighteningly Inert

rybody has wolf-eyes in the rain. Their

irises keep breaking // // me, and so I build myself like honeycomb.

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

/ // And now, deep in the wilds of the

Irish Sea, // // the new year is sleeping within // // cyclizine dre

onder began // // // // or I // //

Iron Age bred, // // now stuck, // // cinder at last ebb // // igni

Hercules et Oracle

er against his new heart made of // //

iron and stealing the warmth of his ring. // // Fiddling, jittering,

Jonathan’s Deathbed

lly grown to full maturity // // to an

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

cadavers // // spicing the soil // //

iron rusted // // pump valves // // good for scattering // // from

yew needs dried blood in spring

mple tie, knotted with pride // // And

ironed shirt that flows uneasily // // Over the tanning-bed tan that

ure // // To write on nature is always

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

it’s all I Am Legend without a hint of

irony // // Spin’s more dangerous // // Myth more toxic // // groun

in prayer. // // Our devotion will be

irrefutable . // // We will shed worldliness // // For a spasm of enl

always exists - // // Watching others,

irregularities abound, and you realise how very different we are, //

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

one in brand new Paradise with infinite-

ish time. // // And so they split their Garden up in perfectly straig

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

// Higgledy Piggledy // // Christopher

Isherwood // // Quickly ditched Corpus // // With Berlin in mind. //

oom. // // Mock anti-Semitism, amusing

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

Fatherland // // He is an

island offshore. // // There are no bridges between here and there. /

e sake of gold. They mock // // him in

island schools now, fumbling for the East Indies like one who // // c

e. Behold! Sailors, all hail! // // No

isle is truly godforsaken, give thanks for His majesty, // // these t

home that I can keep. // // Your Fair

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

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

// ing him closer to the pristine West

Isles . Tears would pay for the glor- // // y of the find in the name

s peak- // // ing out from the emerald

isle’s southern shore. Behold! Sailors, all hail! // // No isle is tr

he’d be gripped. // // I thought he’d

itch // // if I’d no stitch. // // Oh! why // // did I // // pick

to avoid falling. // // Now we’re “an

item ”, // // and you think it’s out of choice. // // *Section C incl

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

/ In my Nan’s seaside semi. // // Each

item carefully labelled // // With owner and origin immortalized //

ping paper, // // Looking for that one

item on my list. // // Trying to keep on course, despite // // The

The Notes You Have Left

the box to make // // An inventory of

items , // // A register for each cracked piece // // Of souvenir chi

xactly where it came from // // And if

it’ll happen again. // // If half-formed thoughts will drip // // Fr

Writing to explore

// Deserted. Only bramble blooms; only

ivy strays // // Through the hollows the years have worn away. // //

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

ixx ) // // I fell into it by accident. // // A barrier was missing c

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