• A Fisherman Leans On An Old Stone Bridge

    A fisherman leans on an old stone bridge,
    flattened by the sun behind him
    to two dark dimensions. The paths
    on either bank are lost in nettles.... more »

  • Chant

    A chant rises, a chant falls
    under hard red sun
    in the rituals of death.... more »

  • Circus

    Horses and rider diving through the hoop of fire
    without charring a cell, the spangled girl
    cycling on the high wire, the stern face
    which governs tigers with a whisper of a whip,... more »

  • Close

    The clouds close in. A plane
    transcends them, invisibly
    escaping earshot,... more »

  • Dawn On The Thames

    The fragile ribs of mist on the morning river
    have faded to transparency.
    The sun has no time for dreamy eyes
    or the sorrow of dew.... more »

  • Fever

    The doctor measures millilitres into his syringe,
    puts all your lights out and packs his bag.
    'Should be all right, ' he says at the door,
    and 'God bless.'... more »

  • Fishermen

    Two old fishermen squat on the beach
    looking outward at dusk.

    Behind them the din of the harbour,... more »

  • Headstones

    Rows of headstones jostle for air.
    The dead are too many:
    Copton and Neville, Boulton, Letchley,
    the village breathing through the same names... more »

  • Odysseus

    He was scarcely a model for his age:
    Circe, Calypso both had him
    without demur, as did forgotten slave-girls
    who smoothed tensions on the plains round Troy.... more »

  • Palaeontology

    For weeks now we’ve been picking at sandstone
    in hard sun. Our hands are rough
    from too much grit; our brains surfeited
    on this scragend of hillside, its dry monotony... more »

  • Portrait

    Speech is spare as girders. 'G'mornen''
    on a rare day, but like as not
    just a hint of a nod will barely quiver
    his straight lines. His arm extends... more »

  • Retirement

    I tell how I stuttered boo on Eton steps
    when the queen's horses and men
    fetched her maid's sick boy to put him together again.... more »

  • Seascape

    Even at night the sea's innumerable fingers
    stitch and unstitch the shore in white.
    Needles of spray which in high wind would mass
    and twist like daggers in the chalk cliffs... more »

  • Shooting It Out

    Log-walls rot in the ghost-town
    we had thought more than gold-rush shanties.
    No sheriff would waste a minute
    to keep peace where only two old-timers... more »

  • Spring

    My love seemed lost in dark thought,
    unseeing. I stepped away
    softly, not daring to intrude.
    I turned to my love again... more »

  • Sunlight On Sage

    Sunlight on sage.
    When her eyes glow
    what gold does she glimpse?
    Or is time just foreshortened,... more »

  • The Lilacs Have Withered Now

    The lilacs have withered now.
    The rose's petals will only repeat
    the last generation's patterns, go
    the same way. Spring's march... more »

  • The Pool

    Only reflections move
    in the still pool. Trees' mirrored trunks
    stand guard against the light.
    I bring too many thoughts, too many... more »

  • Trees At Kew Gardens

    The trees are centurions,
    upright exemplars of master races.... more »

  • Unfinished Sentences

    Unfinished sentences
    eddy, now loud, nor murmured, as the
    short breath catches her.
    She prefers solitude where memory lies... more »