Raymond Crump Poems

Beyond the bullrush screen
unheard melodious strain
brushed softly in the breeze
plays upon the efter
...

The song you sang some years past
all the moonlit night long
rang in that still space, made
the garden row too mind bright
...

Wednesday, and the tide of the week turns to ebb
On the morrow. A prospect of mudflats will be exposed,
The longitude of another listless weekend where, wader-like
You pick among pebbles, turning stones to feed on the helpless,
...