Albion Dodgy
The City, the Church, Monarchy
appear as valedictory,
the land ruled by idiocy.
Our saviour : Aristocracy.
There is, wounded, Purgatory.
Most media, tom-foolery.
Surrey Bash
All they want is to eat madly
and carry on speaking badly
but never see anyone sadly.
Behind every tree, a baddy.
Million year wait for a caddie !
Put more brandy in the caddy.
You want her for somewhere sandy
with both of you feeling randy.
Quipping For Epstein
Trouble is, women get older
and, rich, you want someone younger.
Time, the enemy of smoulder
and of her alluring shoulder.
(Eliot joked : why does Epstein
rhyme with Bleistein, his Venetian.)
February 28th
On The Rialto
Bleistein palmed a stare cigar
but Burbank, then Sir Ferdinand Klein
taken by Princess Volupine
deep in Venice, not Florida.
In each encounter, behaviour
a perfecting with the sleeker.
*
The prow silvery, in the dawn
as the prow of dawn not forlorn.
The ash in the vast Piazza
overnight, taken by water.
What of the intertextual,
the rhyme forbidden : sexual.
Go, Genoa to Palermo
thereafter, to Agrigento.
On The Grand Tour, all on offer
pre coming back to The Tower
and the mosaic fragmenting
to the sounding of lamenting.
March 1st written at Latin Lauds
Pergamon
Today, one of broad avenue sky
on a pavement approach, the light
vaster, you recall the broad-boned
fleshy face of peasant Maxwell
puffy with money, Sicily
written in him, and that terror.
A Board can need an odd-job man
for a hatchet job ; he, his own.
He felt major watching Football.
Thunder, gargantuan footfall.
Lingua Porta
Bertolt Brecht to Anthony Hecht
to Ezra Pound shrieking : Echt !
Sand Berlin subterranean,
my mustardy train scream vision.
The ascent, from Piranesi :
would I exit from Germany ?
February 27th withheld for prime
Recap Fated
Writing on a sterner Sunday,
people a little more joyful
at The Fall of Iran, I pray
for more time, not to be tearful
at past catastrophe. In Lent,
anger and passion must be pent.
I thank God at further funding
and healing, fate delivering.
In garden, the shrine to Tessa
fearing I may not be with her.
Grass Unbeatable for Ian Caws
How can the octosyllabic
be ghostly, of owl picnic
and a South Down gun emplacement
retracted from war, the dying
and those never to play cricket
again, the bomber high-flying.
March Ist
Arsenio By Montale
There is a staccato fury
at heart in the Italian,
The Idea of Order at Key
West a comparator, singing.
Dry Philip Larkin's To The Sea
local focus funerary.
For Eliot Gerontion,
The Dry Salvages' sea bells ring.
Vita Nuovo
Staggering gains, I let them go
behaving like a dazed wino
with a morning head.
Money gone,
can only drink Vino Rosso
repaying, better text to hone
eating rare chicken to the bone.
Poor, I have betrayed Reginald
Noble Truman, the Trusts rebuild.
His raging greets me each morning.
The City has sanctioned stealing.
Travel Fear for SJ
In Essex, totally lonely
bare sunlight on the whitewash scree
of the minor house or bungalow,
not least for nobody you know.
Essex is unmapped, a strange zone
under giant space on the stone.
It, surely, a foreign country
in which everyone is free.
No Such Thing
Palatium House, on Hill Brow
an essay in the sardonic.
The tawdry emptiness, epic.
Never a female in tow ;
not to hear a sash window click
or to hear anybody row.
Or should I say : barely a crow.
There is not even lawn to mow.
March 3rd strictly en passant
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