Thom Gunn Poems

I wake up cold, I who
Prospered through dreams of heat
Wake to their residue,
Sweat, and a clinging sheet.
...

The blue jay scuffling in the bushes follows
Some hidden purpose, and the gush of birds
That spurts across the field, the wheeling swallows,
Have nested in the trees and undergrowth.
...

Two dumpy women with buns were drinking coffee
In a narrow kitchen—at least I think a kitchen
And I think it was whitewashed, in spite of all the shade.
They were flat brown, they were as brown as coffee.
...

He died, and I admired
the crisp vehemence
of a lifetime reduced to
half a foot of shelf space.
...

Though night is always close, complete negation
Ready to drop on wisdom and emotion,
Night from the air or the carnivorous breath,
Still it is right to know the force of death,
...

The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
...

Cats met us at
the landing-place
reclining in the sun
to check us in
...

One by one they appear in
the darkness: a few friends, and
a few with historical
names. How late they start to shine!
...

It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
Half of the night with our old friend
Who'd showed us in the end
To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
...

I shall not soon forget
The greyish-yellow skin
To which the face had set:
Lids tights: nothing of his,
...