#EnglishWriters
If I were called in To construct a religion I should make use of water. Going to church Would entail a fording
Is it for now or for always, The world hangs on a stalk? Is it a trick or a trysting—place, The woods we have found to walk? Is it a mirage or miracle,
Come To Sunny Prestatyn Laughed the girl on the poster, Kneeling up on the sand In tautened white satin. Behind her, a hunk of coast, a
I thought it would last my time— The sense that, beyond the town, There would always be fields and f… Where the village louts could clim… Such trees as were not cut down;
New eyes each year Find old books here, And new books, too, Old eyes renew; So youth and age
Caught in the center of a soundles… While hot inexplicable hours go by What trap is this? Where were its… You seem to ask. I make a sharp reply,
Those long uneven lines Standing as patiently As if they were stretched outside The Oval or Villa Park, The crowns of hats, the sun
They fuck you up, your mum and dad… They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they… And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their t…
Next year we are to bring all the… For lack of money, and it is all r… Places they guarded, or kept order… We want the money for ourselves at… Instead of working. And this is a…
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…
A stationary sense... as, I suppo… I shall have, till my single body… Inaccurate, tired; Then I shall start to feel the ba… Take over, sickening and masterful…
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
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…
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—
On the day of the explosion Shadows pointed towards the pithea… In the sun the slagheap slept. Down the lane came men in pitboots Coughing oath-edged talk and pipe-…