#EnglishWriters
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
Green-shadowed people sit, or walk… Their children finger the awakened… Calmly a cloud stands, calmly a bi… And, flashing like a dangled-looki… Sun lights the balls that bounce,…
‘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…
q|"Of course I was drugged, and so heavily I did not regain consciousness until the next morning. I was horrified to discover that I had been ruined, and for some days I was inconsolabl...
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,
Love again: wanking at ten past th… (Surely he’s taken her home by now… The bedroom hot as a bakery, The drink gone dead, without showi… To meet tomorrow, and afterwards,
The trumpet’s voice, loud and auth… Draws me a moment to the lighted g… To watch the dancers —all under tw… Solemnly on the beat of happiness. –Or so I fancy, sensing the smoke…
Standing under the fobbed Impendent belly of Time Tell me the truth, I said, Teach me the way things go. All the other lads there
In this dream that dogs me I am p… Of a silent crowd walking under a… Leaving a football match, perhaps,… All moving the same way. After a… A second wall closes on our right,
Since we agreed to let the road be… Fall to disuse, And bricked our gates up, planted… And turned all time’s eroding agen… Silence, and space, and strangers…
The widest prairies have electric… For though old cattle know they mu… Young steers are always scenting p… Not here but anywhere. Beyond the… Leads them to blunder up against t…
For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones, Small—statured cross—faced tribes And cobble—close families In mill—towns on dark mornings
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;
The eye can hardly pick them out From the cold shade they shelter i… Till wind distresses tail and main… Then one crops grass, and moves ab… —The other seeming to look on—
I feared these present years, The middle twenties, When deftness disappears, And each event is Freighted with a source—encrusting…