#EnglishWriters
When first we faced, and touching… How well we knew the early moves, Behind the moonlight and the frost… The excitement and the gratitude, There stood how much our meeting o…
Quarterly, is it, money reproaches… ‘Why do you let me lie here wastef… I am all you never had of goods an… You could get them still by writin… So I look at others, what they do…
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
This empty street, this sky to bla… This air, a little indistinct with… Like a reflection, constitute the… A time traditionally soured, A time unrecommended by event.
That Whitsun, I was late getting… Not till about One—twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three—quarters—empty train… All windows down, all cushions hot…
Day comes to an end. The gas fire breathes, the trees a… Funny how hard it is to be alone. I could spend half my evenings, if… Holding a glass of washing sherry,…
My age fallen away like white swad… Floats in the middle distance, bec… An inhabited cloud. I bend closer… A lighted tenement scuttling with… O you tall game I tired myself wi…
Tired of a landscape known too wel… The deliberate shallow hills, the… Flying past rocks; tired of rememb… The village children and their nau… He abandoned his small holding and…
Closed like confessionals, they th… Loud noons of cities, giving back None of the glances they absorb. Light glossy grey, arms on a plaqu… They come to rest at any kerb:
Tightly-folded bud, I have wished you something None of the others would: Not the usual stuff About being beautiful,
They fuck you up, your mum and dad… They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they… And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their t…
Always too eager for the future, w… Pick up bad habits of expectancy. Something is always approaching; e… Till then we say, Watching from a bluff the tiny, cl…
Why should I let the toad work Squat on my life? Can’t I use my wit as a pitchfork And drive the brute off? Six days of the week it soils
Choice of you shuts up that peacoc… The future was, in which temptingl… All that elaborative nature can. Matchless potential! but unlimited Only so long as I elected nothing…
Talking in bed ought to be easiest… Lying together there goes back so… An emblem of two people being hone… Yet more and more time passes sile… Outside the wind’s incomplete unre…