Category Archives: Poetry

Two Polish Poems…

Gdansk After gold and suits of armour We find simple unframed posters Bearing empty, bomb-torn ruins In stark and spectral black and white. We know these streets. We wandered them And lunched beneath their stately walls And arches that seemed … Continue reading

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Poem For A Dead Ideologue…

Hindsight, that old master, Helps me size you up and lecture On your faults and on your sins And everything you should have been. I know every mistake: The chances that you didn’t take; The doomed hypotheses; The errors and … Continue reading

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Chojnice

Tip-toeing round the foreign church I take a timid photograph And wander up the aisles in search Of interesting epitaphs. I gaze about the gold and brass Statues of angels, Christ and kings And look around chromatic glass To see … Continue reading

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The Siberian Ice March

Ice, like fire, scorches skin. It stiffens men like ash. We will die clumsily With our sins unredeemed. Spring will melt our graveyard. We will sink like Russia. There will be no summer. These are lands of winter. Did I … Continue reading

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Moral Philosopher

Like Cook or Columbus You discovered virtue. Your civilisation. Your own America. You have built a palace. You have taken slave girls. You have built an empire Across beautiful sands.

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Books

A book is marked: 4.99 (Slightly damaged). I imagine: 4.99 (Total bollocks).

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Two Poems About Brave People…

Poem for Szmulek Goldberg and His Girlfriend Rose In the ruined sports hall you danced Amid the rubble. Darkness falls. Still that spirit lights our struggle. Poem for Rita Atria The truth was not enough. Courage was not enough. Belief … Continue reading

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Words on the Death of Father Jacques Hamel

Screaming in a house of silence. Death before the resurrection. Let the power of their violence Shrink before civilisation.

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Three Poems About Poets…

Language Think of Auden, Calmly weeping. In his Autumn Words did nothing. Observation Sod the paper. Sod the weather. I saw rabbits wearing leather. Sod the paper. Sod the weather. I saw dead hands pressed together. Biography You try, Mr … Continue reading

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Hot Take

It comes naturally to me: Instantaneous expertise. That sense of knowing one plus one Almost, almost adds up to three.

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