#EnglishWriters
Those long uneven lines Standing as patiently As if they were stretched outside The Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sun
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…
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...
If hands could free you, heart, Where would you fly? Far, beyond every part Of earth this running sky Makes desolate? Would you cross
Swerving east, from rich industria… And traffic all night north; swerv… Too thin and thistled to be called… And now and then a harsh—named hal… Workmen at dawn; swerving to solit…
If grief could burn out Like a sunken coal The heart would rest quiet The unrent soul Be as still as a veil
‘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…
Sexual intercourse began In nineteen sixty—three (which was rather late for me) — Between the end of the Chatterley… And the Beatles’ first LP.
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,
Suspended lion face Spilling at the centre Of an unfurnished sky How still you stand, And how unaided
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—
Walking around in the park Should feel better than work: The lake, the sunshine, The grass to lie on, Blurred playground noises
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…
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,
Tightly-folded bud, I have wished you something None of the others would: Not the usual stuff About being beautiful,