John Wakeman, Abbot of Tewkesbury, Speaks
The naked bone seen through torn web
poetry
The One Stem
In the green and silver chorus of the grass
Sonnet for Anne
Somewhere beyond all music was that place
Three Close Demons
Fill my pipe with a glowing ember
Old Age Seen as Like and As
Those deep-type roots tend toward mineral,
To the Epstein Pigeons in a London Park
White bird, born of a marble genius
Roman Ups and Downs
That might world of Michelangelo:
For a Street and a Street and a Street
You know those districts in the city
An Archaism
The building empty, silent, city lights
The Day's True Shape
To the very young, all days loom round as fruit.
Pages
Current Issue: No. 301
