Poems by Barry Tebb
The Play House
... he canvases heaped in the studio,And the faces in our childrens photographs strangerThan strangers ...
The Philosophers
... take when all was lost,Together until the last breath had flownInto the blue empyrean with her soul ...
Hughes Voice In My Head
... , alive or dead, my eyesJerking to the roadside magpie,Its white tail-bar doing a hop, skip and jump ...
Entanglements
... in his cave,Contemplating Plato and envisioning that caveOf his where shadows move against the wall ...
Leeds
... s demise, I take aLacquered tram to the Bois de Boulogne, hopingTo catch Mistinguettes last song ...
To Brenda Williams On Her Fiftieth Birthday
... blossomYou sat under, plucked and ploughed, a dissenting voice,And Balliol, Balliol in the rain ...
Hymn
... How I love the working-class girls of Leeds,Their mile-wide smiles, eyes bright as beads,Their young breasts bobbing as they run,Hands quick as darting fish, lithe legsBare as they scramble over the HollowsWith brown-soled feet and dimpled bumsHalf-covered with knickers, and short frocksFull of flowers and their delicate ears,Perfect teeth and flickering tongues, theFragile bones of their cheeks, the softSweetness of their soprano voices dyingAway into the unforgotten magenta andYellow-ochre of innumerable twilights. ...
Lament
... nd rageOver the springing turf and heatherCalms as the song of a motherAnd the last lights glimmer ...
The Road To Haworth Moor
... les on the hem: there is no beauty like that girlsWhos naked feet touched heaven in their swirls ...
A Hope For Poetry: Remembering The Sixties
... Avernus and burning white chrysanthemums, teasing meWith her long legs and gold salmon-flecked eyes ...
The Last Day Of Another Home Holiday
... d on the moor topWhere the tracks crossThe fellside greenThe fellside ochre,Shifting reflectionsOf C ...
The Singing School
... tonguesIncluding Vietnamese ...
An Evening Of Poetry
... event the only happening was a turbanned SikhHaving a go at an Arts Council guru leaning in a stick ...
Bride Of The Wind
... I had myself expressed them in weariness,Like the last drop of milk from your tired breast ...
Constructions/reconstructions
... of Keighley girlsGoing clubbing in Leeds put her armsRound my neck and sang Wont you be my lover ...
