Len Webster Poems

Like a blind and half-mad rat
Scurrying from its hole
I appeared one early Sunday morning
In Harvard Square.
...

We fight:
it seems the natural thing to do
in our situation,
to fight.
...

The town of Muchloved is no-man's town.
It lies robust within forgotten dreams
over sandstone lost to past seas.
Split asunder, it left holes in shadows,
...

So still,
A faint humming
And all the people
Gone
...

Tall and slim, hardened by her own insecurities,
Almost a man, with a designer-label iron jaw,
She held the world at bay, clutching a cup of coffee
Like the child she would never have.
...

She pushes pen to paper nightly
says she loves to keep alive her diary
watches television and takes her drinks
with a Norman male
...

The town of Muchloved is no-man's town.
It lies robust within forgotten dreams
over sandstone lost to past seas.
Split asunder, it left holes in shadows,
...

They were silent all,
as if a Temple
had been reached.
...

Like a blind and half-mad rat
Scurrying from its hole
I appeared one early Sunday morning
In Harvard Square.
...

News from home is very scarce
all hell and heaven lie in grains of knowledge
we glean from passing conversations.
...