#EnglishWriters
Thinking in terms of one Is easily done— One room, one bed, one chair, One person there, Makes perfect sense; one set
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…
Waiting for breakfast, while she b… I looked down at the empty hotel y… Once meant for coaches. Cobblesto… But sent no light back to the load… Sunk as it was with mist down to t…
To put one brick upon another, Add a third and then a forth, Leaves no time to wonder whether What you do has any worth. But to sit with bricks around you
Beyond the dark cartoons Are darker spaces where Small cloudy nests of stars Seem to float on air. These have no proper names:
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…
My wife and I have asked a crowd… To come and waste their time and o… You’d care to join us? In a pig’s… Day comes to an end. The gas fire breathes, the trees a…
Boys dream of native girls who bri… Whatever they are, As bribes to teach them how to exe… Sixteen sexual positions on the sa… This makes them join (the boys) th…
To step over the low wall that div… Road from concrete walk above the… Brings sharply back something know… The miniature gaiety of seasides. Everything crowds under the low ho…
Higher than the handsomest hotel The lucent comb shows up for miles… All round it close—ribbed streets… Like a great sigh out of the last… The porters are scruffy; what keep…
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…
Cut grass lies frail: Brief is the breath Mown stalks exhale. Long, long the death It dies in the white hours
Side by side, their faces blurred, The earl and countess lie in stone… Their proper habits vaguely shown As jointed armour, stiffened pleat… And that faint hint of the absurd—
Love, we must part now: do not let… Calamitious and bitter. In the pa… There has been too much moonlight… Let us have done with it: for now… Never has sun more boldly paced th…
Lonely in Ireland, since it was n… Strangeness made sense. The salt… Insisting so on difference, made m… Once that was recognised, we were… Their draughty streets, end—on to…