When I was young there was nothing exactly stupid
about the world. In fact, in the good old days

there was the thump and the

The world is great: the birds all fly from me,
The stars are golden fruit upon a tree
All out of reach: my little sister went,

A worm ate words. I thought that wonderfully
Strange – a miracle – when they told me a crawling
Insect had swallowed noble songs,
A

I will be faithful to you, I do vow,
but not until the seas have all run dry
et cetera. Although I mean it now

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain

Do you know what you are?
You are a manuscript of a divine letter.
You are a mirror reflecting a noble face.
This universe is

Nothing is to be written on this side
except the date and signature of the sender.
Sentences not required may be erased.
If anything else

Who played with a Dangerous Toy, and
suffered a Catastrophe of considerable Dimensions

When George’s Grandmamma was told
That George had been

I am Taliesin. I sing perfect metre,
Which will last to the end of the world.
My patron is Elphin…

I know why there

Ask your Mother
if she has seen my phone.

Tell your Father
I have not seen it.

Ask your Mother
to

Dear Mercurians,
You spend half of your time complaining
about excess heat,
and fifty per cent saying you’re too cold.
Please make your minds

Eventually, the nerve impulse is carried
to the apex of the heart
causing ventricles to contract,
and blood to rush
to and from this

Hold me to the mirror light
and make my meaning clear.
The world reverses left to right
when I am there, not

look closely and you’ll find them
everywhere

in fields of patterned grasses
drafted by the hare

embroidered by the bluebells
through

Pop to the butchers for some meat.
Get my feet back on the street.

A magazine and six farm eggs,
Plus the chance to

At first, picture postcards.
Next to my address:
A blank stare

The occasional letter.
Envelope open to reveal:
An empty page

Oranges and lemons,
Say the bells of St. Clement’s.

You owe me five farthings,
Say the bells of St. Martin’s.

When will

I thought that nothing ever happened to me.
To other people, yes, but not to me.
But baby, I was as wrong as I could be.

I remember Stonehenge
in the days where you could still
get close to the stones.
I remember being there, seeing their bulk
and feeling

With B.E.F. Jun 10. Dear Wife,
(Oh blast this pencil. ‘Ere, Bill, lend’s a knife.)
I’m in the pink at present, dear.
I think the

‘Is anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champed the grasses
Of the forest’s ferny floor:

Sssnnnwhuffffll?
Hnwhuffl hhnnwfl hnfl hfl?
Gdroblboblhobngbl gbl gl g g g g glbgl.
Drublhaflablhaflubhafgabhaflhafl fl fl –
gm grawwwww grf grawf awfgm graw gm.

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor

I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox

and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast

To fight aloud, is very brave –
But gallanter, I know
Who charge within the bosom
The Calvary of

This is the spot:—how mildly does the sun
Shine in between the fading leaves! the air
In the habitual silence of this wood
Is more

14: a txt msg pom.
his is r bunsn brnr bl%,
his hair lyk fe filings
W/ac/dc going thru.
I sit by him in

You stand on the edge with your wife,
your balding head a wholesome colour
in the November sunshine. You are
taking a picture of Wolf

I left you a message in the apple tree
‘blossom’ it said
I meant you to be strong and happy
I meant you to grow