Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
I don't think I am any good. If I thought I was any good, I wouldn't be.
And marbled clouds go scudding byThe many-steepled London sky.
People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.
Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.
Hymns are the poetry of the people.
I ought to warn you that my verse is of no interest to people who can think.
And behind their frail partitions Business women lie and soak, Seeing through the draughty skylight Flying clouds and railway smoke. Rest you there, poor unbelov'd ones, Lap your loneliness in heat, All too soon the tiny breakfast, Trolley-bus and windy street!
He would have liked to say goodbye, Shake hands with many friends. In Highgate now his finger-bones Stick through his finger-ends. You, God, who treat him thus and thus, Say, Save his soul and pray. You ask me to believe You and I only see decay.
Topography is one of my chief themes in my poetry..about the country,the suburbs and the seaside...then there come's love..and increasingly; the fear of death
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough! It isn't fit for humans now, There isn't grass to graze a cow. Swarm over, Death!
In the licorice fields at Pontefract My love and I did meet And many a burdened licorice bush Was blooming round our feet; Red hair she had and golden skin, Her sulky lips were shaped for sin, Her sturdy legs were flannel-slack'd The strongest legs in Pontefract.
Hymn tunes are the nearest we've got to English folk music..
Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans. Spare their women for Thy Sake, And if that is not too easy, We will pardon Thy Mistake. But, gracious Lord, whate'er shall be, Don't let anyone bomb me.
Stony seaboard, far and foreign, Stony hills poured over space, Stony outcrop of the Burren, Stones in every fertile place
We sat in the car park till twenty to one And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
Ghastly Good Taste, or a Depressing Story of the Rise and Fall of English Architecture.