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

V

ander, aiming well, // // Took out the

vacant ground floor flat, // // So those I loved precipit fell // //

ctions // // Her hand rests on her now

vacant stomach // // Her blushed cheeks moistened with my tears. //

ick // // As they dance into shape, do

vacate back // // To blackn’d smog which as the ocean shifts // // O

[What have we done]

o my sole, // // Your nightbed briefly

vacated . // // My arm fading back now, rocking with wheels’ folly, //

s come to town, // // The breeze is on

vacation as // // The hot work begins, wheeling // // Round and roun

r death. // // Curst to know yourself,

vain paragon, // // Your tears will recreate Cocytus and Pyriphleget

silence for each wireless news: // //

vainglorious hope they’ll trumpet forth your K. // // So when the sil

Compass Reading

Valentine // // Master of love and much-loved mystery, in short. //

ud. Two bashed half-hearts, // // the

Valentine that sparked a fight. Clothes pegs. // // He, of course, a

one crying? Is this the poem? // // On

Valentines Day a kick from the stomach, the tender // // Violence of

; // // descend the steps to reach the

valley floor— // // to leave behind, for now, the wilder moor. // //

Daydream Dale Journey

er ground. // // Voices far across the

valley sound. // // The hills ranged all around // // —they little c

ushup Edge // // Voices far across the

valley sound // // through still, warm air, // // clear to my vantag

ttle care. // // Voices far across the

valley sound // // through still, warm air. // // On the top deck of

/ “Sorry” // // Your absence, far more

valuable // // Than your self, leaves me reversing // // Those step

The Notes You Have Left

pedigree and personal grooming, how he

values himself. // // But nowadays it’s stubble or baby-faced gangste

Bearded Thoughts

the soil // // iron rusted // // pump

valves // // good for scattering // // from plastic tubs // // feed

yew needs dried blood in spring

ngled in cables. // // Spirit, they’ve

vanished ! // //

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

nt // // it trembles // // and // //

vanishes . // //

anité! // // vanité! tous n’est ce que

vanité ! // // But, creeping further in, she finds a tree // // ablaz

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

ng forest drums that cry vanité! // //

vanité ! tous n’est ce que vanité! // // But, creeping further in, she

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

/ brings rumbling forest drums that cry

vanité ! // // vanité! tous n’est ce que vanité! // // But, creeping

Lemon Pie in Zaïre

/ // I blame that bronzed hulk and his

vanity // // Claimed his dad was a sea god—insanity— // // But he di

Cretan Quartet—a blame game

there.” // // Sadik says “The Boris’s

vanity project has // // gone off the rails. I’m not such a mug. //

Troubled waters

ugh still, warm air, // // clear to my

vantage point on higher ground. // // Voices far across the valley so

with all its mights to Hell? // // The

vapours held betwixt these lines move tight // // Into gaping persona

[What have we done]

al stress // // expresses change. Some

variant has found // // how good sex is—to mix the genes around. //

dant in silicon amber. // // Plain and

varied multitudes of senses strung out in series and enfolded into den

[Red-hot and tear-kissed]

into the ground; // // But now // // (

varnished , sanded, rooted into cold // // carpet) // // there is sim

[A still life, with ceramic

vase ] // // A still life, with ceramic vase // // And small black-st

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

vase] // // A still life, with ceramic

vase // // And small black-stoppered oil caster. // // The year is n

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

ers, kettles, glassware, cruets, // //

Vases , ash trays, cups, and bowls. // // What does he see in jugs and

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

/ // Its shadow to bloom // // In the

vast , dust-filled // // Maria of a hidden // // Moon. Now your shado

Here be dragons

// // How are you? // // [Long shot,

vast sea.] // // Long time, no see. // // [I missed you.] // // Sto

Whales sing because they have a song

the mesh // // Of the world up into a

vast , unyielding sky // // Untouched by bird, unseen by any eye. //

[My face is old now]

son thinking // // ‘that’s what she’d’

ve wanted’. // // Her scarf, her necklace. // // That brooch. // //

In a charity shop

ers in the shadows, // // a green silk

veil against her frame, // // the sedge, the princes’ steeds lie fall

Pleiad mass // // Of gas and dust that

veils , then flickers past // // A Milky Way of twinkling roseate ligh

eek. // // Play with that same flowing

vein , // // Running between the knuckles of your // // Ring and midd

Fall for————

it you’re lying on the sun-warmed, deep-

veined wood // // Of an old pine table. Between the wood and you, //

‘War is not nice’—Barbara Bush

here: // // A glisten from your sullen

veins — // // A promise, a signpost, // // And us, deciding to stay.

Magnetic Mountain

moving weren’t a chore, // // As if my

veins weren’t pumping acid yet, // // I carry on, as though I’m cravi

Cycling Home on a Winter Evening

nched in the love that screamed from my

veins // // When you pierced me with your unseen blade. // // I wil

ounded // // A starting point of sharp

velars // // That cut and crack and cold consume, // // And leave no

// // Liquid time daubed on air’s pale

vellum , // // Us in the warm, in the yellow, // // The outside plumb

predators fear this world’s raw // //

Venality that spurns your natural law. // // What a pitiful way for a

ith this your justice // // (It is not

vengeance but justice) // // This I give to you. // // Drift, despai

ock, add eagle and serve hot liver with

vengeance // // second, store in cool place until hardened into rock

yson, // // Who improve, like port and

venison , // // And turn life’s lead to poems of pure gold. // // I n

tra regna terra. // // Now dog, did re-

venom Eden // // infidel beg! // // Am I putrid, raw // // in Roman

Hercules et Oracle

Dropping from the golden heaven of her

vent // // Misshapen, shitten, and matted with old feather. // //

[No point, she said]

use // // that is my mother’s next big

venture after // // producing six of us. // // L-shaped the house; e

rom yours, // // Were I, perchance, in

Venus // // And you, perhaps, in Mars. // // What wary orbits we mus

The Daily Planet

ds like ours? // // Could I be lost in

Venus , // // Could you be found in Mars, // // Then I might search y

The Daily Planet

s no longer my goddess. // // I praise

Venus with every judder. // // My body is a hymn to Cupid; // // He

/ // The Day-Spring, the eternal Prima

Vera . // // Blake saw it too. Dante and Beatrice // // Are bathing i

ies, // // He put no thought into that

verb , // // But to tell the truth would greatly disturb // // The po

r dying sun, // // Falling towards the

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

The Daily Planet

rs are done, // // Falling towards the

verge of sleep // // Where, lying side by side, // // The angels of

The Daily Planet

so my theory for this open sore: // //

Verse forms, like fashions, fit the time they fix— // // You can’t re

In Defence of Evolution

fool to feel bereft // // Because old

verse forms rarely see the light // // The truth is that they’re dead

In Defence of Evolution

// // And wrings and wrenches words to

verse // // Scorched calfskin with meaning // // Of the skull, once

wasn’t made for work. // // Now, blank

verse seems to break those systems down: // // It’s open and adaptive

In Defence of Evolution

en taught that you could // // chat in

verse , speak in poetry, you could save // // these dying words with y

Sestina to an English Teacher

another tyrant’s coat. // // So, free

verse , then, seems fittest to survive. // // It’s democratic, stylish

In Defence of Evolution

// since you forgot to check if I was

versed // // in things grammatical, your bubble burst. // //

Between Life and Death

ust be sung before the crib, // // Two

verses , slow as moonrise // // Sung beside the candled tree. // // I

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

/ // While doomed to perish are humble

verses such as this, which misguidedly discuss vieux corse and swiss /

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

On and off again, // // Averse to new

versions , // // Soldering patches over kneed corduroys, // // Moulde

Frighteningly Inert

lely on sound // // meaningless sound,

vertical , horizontal, meaningful // // the solar system’s magicians a

Same but differenT

in slow motion // // And I am drunk on

vertigo // // when I picture him as St. Sebastian, // // Nailed to p

’Tis pity he’s a bore

ng place— // // You—my dear—are such a

vessel // //

From Trebetherick Point

rmac. // // The limestone’s awake, the

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

and twisted everywhere. // // Though,

via a chink a softer glare // // suggests I need not now despair //

fficient details to impart one specific

viable // // meaning and are instead cultural constructions // // on

attle around the silverware cadences

vibrate the port // // drink to Christ! and be merry! // // Sanitize

Drink and be merry

nd bones in the ground), // // Or even

vicars , touched by God, nothing to hide? // // Or the classicist, tha

Bearded Thoughts

merchants, and // // the acne-crusted

vicar’s son— // // the old podiatrist next door, // // ‘Eternal Foot

[the typist puts her knickers on]

a thorn halo hallows your head, // //

Vice -like; your pierced side holds your sceptre-spear. // // What pas

Vicious or Virtuous? // // Metallic disks land on a surface // // Ca

Vicious or Virtuous?

can // // Tear with a sharp breath or

vicious statement. // // But your line stands, reinforced, leaving me

The Other Side of the Line

re clever // // And find a new hapless

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

ave. // // There were no victors: only

victims . // //

Black September

Above the diaphanous sea // // Of her

Victorian dress. // // She sits still above the mantelpiece // // In

g to fear; // // But I cried a splashy

Victorian tear, // // Finding the day so new and so odd, // // With

(R)evolution: Easter Rising

ders from a bygone age // // Of yellow

Victorian tobacco-stains upon the creamy-white // // Bernard Shaw, th

Bearded Thoughts

ns // // Except you, you and your line

victorious . // //

The Other Side of the Line

an unmarked grave. // // There were no

victors : only victims. // //

Black September

// Like the paperwork holds the keys to

victory , // // Like they’ll protect us when our cosy lives explode. /

to left. // // Milan and Barcelona and

Vienna and Berlin // // All give their greatest streets and plazas na

“In Nature There Are Few Sharp Lines”

such as this, which misguidedly discuss

vieux corse and swiss // // Had I not written this I confess with dee

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

ng sickly flame // // And peer. Myopic

view , fragmented past // // And impotent. Neutrino looks on Mass. //

/ // The red to Gordon. I’m afraid the

view just now // // Is rather badly marred by smoke but, as you // /

I’d gaze away my hours // // safe from

view ; surrounding spectra // // blinding from refracted // // oil-li

luc bat to mr. beam

mell of morbid recycled air. // // Our

viewing of the cinema landscape in that filthy glass // // Will only

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.

// Whilst colonists enjoy resplendent

views : // // Oppression’s language does not understand. // // You cl

tle mound, // // swelling with cartoon

vigour from the surround- // // ing shops and offices, has seemed a s

umboots. The mile or two // // to the

village shop to seek supplies // // becomes a daily ritual. // // Su

Walking in winter

Villanelle // // I fear I am not in my perfect mind: // // As examin

Exam Room Villanelle

But a whole field springing, // // The

vine and all its tendrils, // // Unfold from the face, // // Trip fr

The Green Man, Mid-Winter

he blight // // that had fallen on the

vineyard . // // A few self-confessed skeptics // // privately though

e, // // Before the best that Europe’s

vineyards yield, // // And all the fruits of forest, farm, and field

ick from the stomach, the tender // //

Violence of a body’s ripening—is this the poem? // // Soon, make the

menting the fourth line with discordant

violence . // // The angel-song, the music of the spheres // // You l

been fifteen homicides and sixty-three

violent crimes”—tv-light // // and wonder: do I have it, or no? this

wkwardness // // Of searching eyes and

violent kisses // // To adjust myself, realise // // That Life’s not

nings fading skin histories // // from

violent to -et to rose-risen blush. // // We must not rush now past t

Aubade to Girton

not see it again. // // It lingers

violently // // like a good Pollock should, // // hanging on a nail

Ends on a heartfelt sigh. // // As the

violin plays triplets // // The final note is sung // // Diminuendo—

has two untold names: // // It is: The

Virgin and her Child; // // The Mother and her only Son. // //

[A still life, with ceramic vase]

arean pen // // And flowing across the

virginal canvas of the page was the fluid skill of the masterful mage

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

makes me look // // for virtue in the

virtual // // but supervision faces // // seem too near—and yet too

A Room of Her Own

r of technological advance, // // Its

virtual descendants grace // // The screen on my mother’s PC). // //

// The virus makes me look // // for

virtue in the virtual // // but supervision faces // // seem too nea

A Room of Her Own

Virtuous ? // // Metallic disks land on a surface // // Causing a sou

Vicious or Virtuous?

dy and a baby brother’s cry. // // The

virus makes me look // // for virtue in the virtual // // but superv

A Room of Her Own

d come again. // // Ostara didn’t need

viscera wrenched by obsessed obsidian. // // The Sun will keep turnin

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

city to contain nothing more than their

visible capacity // // So that cheese is not sorely missed from the c

A Regrettably Cheesy Discourse

honey // // obscuring itself across my

vision , and in the air my grey // // scarf waving like a distress sig

[Somewhere on the mantelpiece inside your house]

eed a designer with // // boldness and

vision —I know just the man. // // He has built me some buses which bo

Troubled waters

g which was meant? // // My tilt-shift

vision // // of Prospero’s storm: // // cellophane sea and scattered

and Adam’s // // sins of the sons are

visited upon the fathers they had wars but not like

Euclid // // and Thucydides. // // My

visitors all knock. // // We share hot chocolate, // // play tennis

A Room of Her Own

explain with a hand or description - no

visual aid, // // No images allowed, the written word is paramount, t

[For A Long Time She Stands There]

ss // // against their boundaries. The

vital stress // // expresses change. Some variant has found // // ho

e pierces us at once with an unease and

vitality . // // 4. // // Modernity is wrong. We cannot control nor p

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

they died as they lost touch with true

vitality of nature. // // 3. // // But poets have not given in to th

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

r past before it intrudes // // In the

vitality of your present. // // I fear what was will not be again. //

The Other Side of the Line

nd the top-floor library– // // Like a

vitreous slogan of a monument, // // Reading. // // Pride was a shiv

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

nd days run not to time // // But to a

vivid centre— // // There stands a tree // // Radiant in its being.

[At the coinciding point of the years]

, companiable but mute // // Remains a

vivid memory of my childhood days. // // Now far from home, I wonder

would, but I can’t. Not even close. My

vocabulary // // Can describe many things, but the thoughts that rac

I’ll never work for Hallmark

mass- // // Protest the by-pass if the

Vogons know // // The earth is mostly harmless, with a past // // Of

rrhizal in my dependency on // // Your

voice , all 25 years of me dissolving into the bed, // // The stain an

[I am almost 25 years old]

sheets or torn curtains // // Or your

voice . // // And, I wish // // We could waste another afternoon //

e // // And nothing can drown out this

voice and its words. // // But then you look around // // And no one

hat define your life. // // Your young

voice brought old words to life, // // age only antique, frailty perc

Sestina to an English Teacher

rations play. Then dared // // A young

voice call: ‘who’s that?’ and no-one knew. // // You joined relations

from window to shadow // // A child’s

voice deepens, // // Like a changeling held // // Over the flame, so

Here be dragons

// Feeding on borrowed wit. // // Your

voice echoes off my skull. // // Your eyes are plastered onto mine. /

// And whispers things. // // And the

voice grows louder and louder // // And it’s shouting and you can’t h

g. // // You got it. // // [Once your

voice has stopped ringing.] / [If only it would keep you here]. // //

Whales sing because they have a song

// I watched my grandfather die in his

voice . hurry boy, “your light points to the sky”. he says it’s a figur

we’re not in Kansas, anymore

uneven smile, sharp teeth, // // Your

voice , I love the sound— // // I need you. // //

Fall for————

our struggle. // // It’s only a little

voice in the back of your mind, // // Telling you about things you do

will drip // // From the lips of this

voice // // Like saliva onto the paper. // // The words and ink slow

Writing to explore

hem there // // Or whether you want my

voice , my eyes. // // Probably not. // //

I can be a leader, a fighter, // // A

voice of reason, an echo // // Of some thought you once had, // // B

Writing to explore

row, // // One thought, one heart, one

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

// Listen // // to // // His // //

Voice // // Opening like the sky opens round // // -ing a road as yo

w. // // Humming show tunes to test my

voice // // Or lack thereof, because there isn’t anything worse // /

The Notes You Have Left

miserere, doubt // // the notes, your

voice too much your own. believe // // the news. can’t starve the muc

[time rolls up like a woodlouse]

ret, if I used them to save your // //

voice , your image, tried to save your life— // // if only // // word

Sestina to an English Teacher

vantage point on higher ground. // //

Voices far across the valley sound. // // The hills ranged all around

Voices // // On Rushup Edge // //

Voices far across the valley sound // // through still, warm air, //

around // // —they little care. // //

Voices far across the valley sound // // through still, warm air. //

words were sung // // by few, familiar

voices . // // For some reason I remember this, // // Not the torn ti

[In my Grandmother’s homeland]

. // // On the top deck of a 68 // //

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

erein lies some deep philosophy? // //

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

and ether people mutter, shout, // //

voices , ipods, phones speak out. // // So many people talking: can w

Voices // // On Rushup Edge // // Voices far across the valley sound

to the heart, // // And now we let our

voices rise // // And let the music now hold sway // // In harmony,

rs through my dreaming head; // // Dry

voices sift and fall in ash and cinders, // // In acrid conversation

ccordion-song on the waters, // // The

voices straining from the windows of sunken palazzi // // Where mosai

// Dutiful eyes, obedient lips, // //

Voices synchronising in prayer. // // Our devotion will be irrefutabl

/ Our voices warm the space. // // Our

voices , // // Warm. // //

Wild Mountain Thyme

// Wild Mountain Thyme, // // And our

voices warm // // And swell around // // The sunken armchair left //

Wild Mountain Thyme

Just over twelve months now. // // Our

voices warm the space around it, // // Hide it amongst the blooming h

Wild Mountain Thyme

m it, // // Pick around it. // // Our

voices warm the space. // // Our voices, // // Warm. // //

Wild Mountain Thyme

A Void // // The

void between our wishes // // And the reality we face // // Has neve

Void // // The void between our wishes // // And the reality we face

r kneed corduroys, // // Moulded by no

volcanic hand // // Other than his own. // // Horrified by the profa

Frighteningly Inert

to hold you // // over // // a // //

volcano . // //

dness: // // The private put away, the

volumes shelved, // // Her thoughts, like chairs drawn out from table

[The room was plainness and preparedness]

e creamy-white // // Bernard Shaw, the

voluptuous Darwin, the natty Disraeli. // // Youth wins, // // Confi

Bearded Thoughts

k as a man angel hunter. // // I could

vomit // // Blood and water upon my feet // // And say never, never

// Anger // // art // // Lunar // //

vos rêves Roma: // // Erde… // // Sol… // // tod // // elcaro te s

Hercules et Oracle

t to win our rights. // // We have the

vote , // // a royal charter too, // // no need to hide behind anon /

A Room of Her Own

’. // // In limbo here I can no longer

vouch // // for working days, or if my real malaise // // might just

Between Life and Death

of geese // // more travels, journeys,

voyages , expeditions // // more books, more coffee cups // // more t

ater channelling below. // // And you,

voyeur , // // approach the ledge to find // // the girl poised and p

/ // But blotted quickly by a tunnel’s

vulgar arrival. // // Those old eyes are achingly familiar. // // —‘

Shit, we’ve missed our stop.