Anthony Simon Thwaite Poems

In this high field strewn with stones
I walk by a green mound,
Its edges sheared by the plough.
Crumbs of animal bone
...

I shall make it simple so you will understand.
Making it simple will make it clear for me.
When you have read it, take me by the hand
As children do, loving simplicity.
...

Why was he here
Filling the room
With light, and fear
Filling her womb?
...