Richard George

Imperceptible
at first, sunlight changing; then
dusky, or faded,
...

Their breath was clean, or harsh and sour
according to her moods:
and when they sensed a coming storm
they crept into corners.
...

The Euston Road. April. Night.
Of all these London numberless
I love one:
my old shoes pound her name,
...

I am a clever enemy.
I am always one step up on you:
when you say two, I am three, and four.
I always have the right excuse,
...

Finished! So has she,
With ages left to go:
We sweep our desks, and chase each other
...

Not a cream saucer
to top to the tightrope-
brim or a bowl for Supameat.
...

Now I may never see you again
I can think of no one else:
I wait on platforms, hair in the wind
But trains all leave the past
...

Lilac clouds, a wash of green
At daylight's end:
When west is dark, to northward
A heat-haze aurora
...

Three mature students
in decrepit Barbour jackets;
Judes obscure, each with an
implausible route to Oxford.
...

It was May or June, I met you:


Business, something or other.
...

My mother hung out seeds
for the endangered sparrow...
and whatever eats its chickballs.
Pluckings, in a semi-circle.
...

Awake hours before Mum and Dad,
I'd tip-toe down to see him:
Early riser, old man.
I sat in his snug, watching his hands,
...

First Aphrodites have a raw deal.

The Angevin blonde in my village Sirened
every yeoman with a pitchfork: lush and lithe seventeen,
...

My favourite photo of Wales:
shepherd leading dog
on the drovers' path above Glascwm,
the man's face a life-mask
...

Then, I never loved you
But Memory does now;
A Muse, you see, creative
And I long for you too late
...

It was every zoologist's dream.
In this fjord-Iceland
the other side of the New World,
Sirenians, sea cows
...

Dawn-mist in laurel:
a hen blackbird tilts her head
dowsing for earthworms
while indoors my PaperMate
...

My father lives in my dreams now:
In death he is half a stranger,
Professional, like my doctor.
He has left me behind, moved on.
...

1 Opportunists

What we throw away
is their feast: a slice of bread,
...

Gaudy abstracts do nothing for me.
It's that backpack girl, head
between her knees. She must be trying to duck
a seizure, stem an earthquake
...