Craig Raine

City Gent

On my desk, a set of labels Or a synopsis of leeks, Blanched by the sun And trailing their roots Like a watering can. Beyond and below, Diminished by distance, A taxi shivers at

Divorced, but friends again at last, We walk old ground together In bright blue uncomplicated weather. We laugh and pause To hack to bits these tiny dinosaurs, Prehistoric, crenelated, cast Between the tractor ruts

In The Kalahari Desert

The sun rose like a tarnished Looking-glass to catch the sun And flash His hot message At the missionaries below Isabella and the Rev. Roger Price, And the Helmores with a broken axle Left,

In Modern Dress

A pair of blackbirds Warring in the roses, One or two poppies Losing their heads, The trampled lawn A battlefield of dolls. Branch by pruned branch, A child has climbed The family tree To

Nature Study

(for Rona, Jeremy, Sam & Grace) All the lizards are asleep Perched pagodas with tiny triangular tiles, Each milky lid a steamed-up window. Inside, the heart repeats itself like a sleepy gong, Summoning nothing

A Martian Sends A Postcard Home

Caxtons are mechanical birds with many wings And some are treasured for their markings They cause the eyes to melt Or the body to shriek without pain. I have never seen one fly, but

Dandelions

‘and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence’ George Eliot, Middlemarch Dead dandelions, bald as drumsticks, Swaying by the roadside Like Hare Krishna pilgrims Bowing to the

An Attempt At Jealousy

So how is life with your new bloke? Simpler, I bet. Just one stroke Of his quivering oar and the skin Of the Thames goes into a spin, Eh? How is life with an