Daily Archives: July 22, 2013

Monologue in the Valley of the Kings — an #Egyptian mummy speaks of how he will never be found

Thwaite reads this poem, which he feels is one of his favourites, at the Poetry Archive here. I have hidden something in the inner chamber And sealed the lid of the sarcophagus And levered a granite boulder against the door … Continue reading

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The Bonfire — Thwaite’s great poem about #fire #inspiration #threat #hunger #Gehenna

Day by day, day after day, we fed it With straw, mown grass, shavings, shaken weeds, The huge flat leaves of umbrella plants, old spoil Left by the builders, combustible; yet it Coughed fitfully at the touch of a match, … Continue reading

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Dead Wood — a poem about #environmental disaster #apocalypse #oil men #eons

Worn down to stumps, shredded by the wind, Crushed underfoot in brittle slaty husks, The forest turned from wood to stone to dust. The rind of bark peeled off in slivers, shed Dry spores, mineral resins, scales of scrim, Scattering … Continue reading

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Dust — poem all about #death #indestructibility #beauty #poetry #phoenix

Beautiful only when the light catches it Arrested yet volatile in a shaft of sun, Or under the microscope, like an ancient detritus Of snowflakes: otherwise valueless debris. The ash from my cigarette, the air from my lungs, The soles … Continue reading

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Two Faces

One gets inured to having the wrong face. For years I thought it soft, too pink and young To match that shrewd, mature, and self-possessed Person behind it. In a forced grimace I saw all that I should have been, … Continue reading

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The Cry

I woke to hear a cry that might have been One of the children, ours or a neighbour’s: a cat, It could have been, or a bird, or a dream Woken out of so quickly it took itself into day. … Continue reading

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Child Crying: a reflection on fatherhood from the 1950s which breaks all the stereotypes…

My daughter cries, and I Lift her from where she lies, Carry her here and there, Talk nonsense endlessly. And still she cries and cries In rage, mindlessly. A trivial anguish, found In every baby-book. But, at a fortnight old, … Continue reading

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