Poems by Barry Tebb
Poet-in-residence
... oving and leavingA city for a cottageOn the moors, the Hyaline air, the silenceAnd the distant stars ...
To Four Psychoanalysts
... only a poets quickness, a journalists Ability to speed-read and the clumsiness Of a circus clown ...
Leeds 2002
... close protectionAnd anti-hijack techniques, simply the best See for yourself in mirrored ceilings ...
Winter Blues
... For Penny Abraham I wish I had Audens penchant For going about in carpet slippers Or the late HRH Margarets panache-A chauffered Rolls with six outriders-This late December day with its sparkle of sun on frostId so much rather be in Haworths cobbled streetWith cascades of carols in torchlit processionOr still better with a passionate friend to make love toBy Penistone Crags and then sit in post-coital blissIn the tea-room, reading Claudel in whispers,And not as I was, heading for CamdensDecember Trust Board Meeting, of which Im not a memberBut a regular attender, watching the watchersAt a comfortable distance, hoping to hear democracys arrthymia. ...
My Perfect Rose
... he diamond bomb explodingIn her eyes, the key left Accidentally on my deskAnd the faint surprise ...
School Smell
... tormenting me for myLong words and soft voiceAnd they do stillWhen I sense that stinkIn my nostrils ...
Uncle Bob
... na went first andAt her funeral John,In frustrated fury,Hit him over the headWith an empty fish tank ...
A Meeting With The Princess
... till nobodyNoticed and then the people and the park and even Bradford itselfMelted away in her tears ...
Wyther Park School Leeds Five
... on a bus tapped my shoulder,"What you taught me at nine got me two O'Levels,That was all I ever got ...
Morning Walk
... I hear theSunday strollers in theirMist-making walks, pressing through themlike some voiceless ghost ...
The Innocent Eye
... e,By the steps to the railway whereOnce the station stood that took usEvery year to Flamborough Head ...
Textures
... I see your smileI have missed the long years sinceTouching your fingertipsBefore our exhausted sleep ...
Summer With Margaret
... never tell!"I swore and touched her whereShe put my hand:"One day well get marriedAnd do it for real ...
Huddersfield - The Second Poetry Capital Of England
... OETRY and I remember someone saying,"If Oxford is the soul of England, Huddersfield is its arsehole" ...
The Vandal
... Someone has been tearing up the autumn,Its ripped leaves ripple across the roadFlip liked hinged cards in the moist grass.The rain-varnished houses vanish in smoke,Drift on the air like blown-out breath in gusts:So we forget frog-ponds and nut-gatherers,Remember instead that weathers for usWho know too well its intentions, wind-keen,Intense as the first frost hardeningStubble grass to a tacky ice-blanketListen! In bed we hear the swollen trees totter,Dropsical-limbed, murmuring outside the windowLike Catherines insistent ghost-voice"Let me in, let me in!" ...
