#EnglishWriters
How distant, the departure of youn… Down valleys, or watching The green shore past the salt—whit… Rising and falling. Cattlemen, or carpenters, or keen
Suspended lion face Spilling at the centre Of an unfurnished sky How still you stand, And how unaided
‘This was Mr Bleaney’s room. He… The whole time he was at the Bodi… They moved him.’ Flowered curtain… Fall to within five inches of the… Whose window shows a strip of buil…
When I see a couple of kids And guess he’s fucking her and she… Taking pills or wearing a diaphrag… I know this is paradise Everyone old has dreamed of all th…
On shallow straw, in shadeless gla… Huddled by empty bowls, they sleep… No dark, no dam, no earth, no gras… Mam, get us one of them to keep. Living toys are something novel,
Delay, well, travellers must expec… Delay. For how long? No one seems… With all the luggage weighed, the… It can’t be long... We amble too… Sit in steel chairs, buy cigarette…
Morning, a glass door, flashes Gold names off the new city, Whose white shelves and domes trav… The slow sky all day. I land to stay here;
My readers... sometimes I wonder whether they really exist. Truly they arer remarkably tolerant, manifesting themselves only by the occasional query as to where they can buy records: ju...
Caught in the center of a soundles… While hot inexplicable hours go by What trap is this? Where were its… You seem to ask. I make a sharp reply,
Down stucco sidestreets, Where light is pewter And afternoon mist Brings lights on in shops Above race—guides and rosaries,
Those long uneven lines Standing as patiently As if they were stretched outside The Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sun
I feared these present years, The middle twenties, When deftness disappears, And each event is Freighted with a source—encrusting…
At once whatever happened starts r… Panting, and back on board, we lin… With trousers ripped, light wallet… Yes, gone, thank God! Remembering… We toss for half the night, but fi…
What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. They are to be happy in:
Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty—three (which was rather late for me) — Between the end of the Chatterley… And the Beatles’ first LP.