Trevor Maynard Poems

John Donne once lived here
Or so it says on the blue plaque
Erected to commemorate
On the house opposite, the other side
...

Even should Lawrence expiate the pity
Describe in metaphor as he will the fig and snake
None of this is as anything to this
Two centuries later exceeding the equal of the take
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Among the lavender sweet where
Sperry and golden buttercup grew
Grass matted with daisy chain
Blanket, wine, cheeks blushing anew
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I didn’t really notice her, to start with,
A girl with too shaped hair and clothes beyond her years

It wasn’t right, clearly not right
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A long slow, excruciatingly so, word in my ear. The market veneer had cracked, they made it clear, they would have to delineate and define the bottom line; they were going to have to let me go
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the carpet was a stringy grass
thick stranded and knotted and of indeterminate brown,
old
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It is as if, before I woke
A great hand reached across the sky
And lightly placed a stencil in the clouds
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I've walked this path
Seen the brambles, heard the geese
Without cognition: just noise
Been through it in my mind
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"Good morning, Mrs Green, is you daughter home? "
She shakes her head and look in gloom at the cloudy vista
One of Man's Aves thunders silently by: so high, you see
"Looks like rain, Mr Milk, "says Mrs Green, to me; I agree
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The tip of my tongue rests against the inside of my teeth
Which for me, means I am thinking, it is what they call
A tell
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