Famous Harold I Poems by Famous Poets

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...Hallelujah!
It works.
We blew the **** out of them.

We blew the **** right back up their own ass
And out their fucking ears.

It works.
We blew the **** out of them.
They suffocated in their own ****!

Hallelujah.
Praise the Lord for all good things.

We blew them into fucking ****.
They are eating it.

Praise the Lord for all good things.

We blew their ...Read more of this...

...When Blunkett starts to talk like Enoch Powell

I think of Harold Wilson’s statue in Huddersfield Station

Caught striding forward, gripping his pipe in his pocket,

Hair blowing in the wind.

could we but turn that bronze

To flesh I would have asked him to meet the two

Asylum-seekers I met in Huddersfield’s main street

And asked directions from. "We ar...Read more of this...

...I leaned against the mantel, sick, sick,
Thinking of my failure, looking into the abysm,
Weak from the noon-day heat.
A church bell sounded mournfully far away,
I heard the cry of a baby,
And the coughing of John Yarnell,
Bed-ridden, feverish, feverish, dying,
Then the violent voice of my wife:
"Watch out, the potatoes are burning!"
I smelled them ... then...Read more of this...

...Jill. Fred phoned. He can't make tonight.
He said he'd call again, as soon as poss.
I said (on your behalf) OK, no sweat.
He said to tell you he was fine,
Only the crap, he said, you know, it sticks,
The crap you have to fight.
You're sometimes nothing but a walking shithouse.

I was well acquainted with the pong myself,
I told him, and I counselled calm.
...Read more of this...

...
Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?
Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?

Give them me.

No.

Give them me. Give them me.

No.

Then I will howl all night in the reeds. Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water, 
Better than voices of winds that sing, 
Better than any...Read more of this...

...Don't look.
The world's about to break.

Don't look.
The world's about to chuck out all its light
and stuff us in the chokepit of its dark,
That black and fat suffocated place
Where we will kill or die or dance or weep
Or scream of whine or squeak like mice
To renegotiate our starting price....Read more of this...

...I saw Len Hutton in his prime

Another time

 another time...Read more of this...

...See you the ferny ride that steals
Into the oak-woods far?
O that was whence they hewed the keels
That rolled to Trafalgar.

And mark you where the ivy clings
To Bayham's mouldering walls?
 O there we cast the stout railings
 That stand around St. Paul's.

 See you the dimpled track that runs
 All hollow through the wheat?
 O that was where they hauled the...Read more of this...

...No, you're wrong.

Everyone is as beautiful
 as they can possibly be

Particularly at lunch
 in a laughing restaurant

Everyone is as beautiful
 as they can possibly be

And they are moved 
 by their own beauty

And they shed tears for it
 in the back of the taxi home...Read more of this...

...DEDICATION 

Of great limbs gone to chaos,
A great face turned to night--
Why bend above a shapeless shroud
Seeking in such archaic cloud
Sight of strong lords and light?

Where seven sunken Englands
Lie buried one by one,
Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
To smoke and choke the sun?

In cloud of clay so cast to ...Read more of this...

...Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table
Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step,
She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage
To meet him in the doorway with the news
And put him on his guard. 'Silas is back.'
She pushed him outward with her through the door
And shut it after her. "Be kind,' she said.
She took the market things from Warren's arm...Read more of this...

..."Young girls in old Arabia were often buried alive next
to their fathers, apparently as sacrifice to the goddesses
of the tribes..."

--Harold Feldman, "Children of the Desert" Psychoanalysis
and Psychoanalytic Review, Fall 1958

It was only important
to smile and hold still,
to lie down beside him
and to rest awhile,
to be folded up together
as if we were...Read more of this...

...I send my voice into your mouth
You return the compliment

I am the Count of Cannizzaro
You are Her Royal Highness the Princess Augusta

I am the thaumaturgic chain
You hold the opera glass and cards

You become extemporaneous song
I am your tutor

You are my invisible seed
I am Timour the Tartar

You are my curious trick
I your enchanted caddy

I am your ...Read more of this...

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