Christopher Logue Poems

Come to the edge.
We might fall.
Come to the edge.
It's too high!
...

Down on your knees, Achilles. Farther down.
Now forward on your hands and put your face into the dirt,
And scrub it to and fro.
Grief has you by the hair with one
...

Last night in London Airport
I saw a wooden bin
labelled UNWANTED LITERATURE
IS TO BE PLACED HEREIN.
...

Never in all my life have I seen
as handsome a rat as you.
Thank you for noticing my potatoes.
...

Two limestone plates support the Aegean world.
The greater Anatolian still lies flat,
But half an eon past, through silent eyes:
‘Ave!’
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Friday. Wet dusk.
Three blind men outside an Indian restaurant.
They shout at each other.
They have been drinking.
...

o welcome Hector to his death
God sent a rolling thunderclap across the sky
The city and the sea
And momentarily—
...