Fleur Adcock
The Belly Dancer by Fleur Adcock

The Belly Dancer by Fleur Adcock

Across the road the decorators have finished; your flat has net curtains again after all these weeks, and a ‘To Let' sign. I can only think of it as a tomb, excavated, in the end, ...

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Happy Ending by Fleur Adcock

Happy Ending by Fleur Adcock

After they had not made loveshe pulled the sheet up over her eyesuntil he was buttoning his shirt: not shyness for their bodies- thosethey had willingly displayed- but a ...

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The Man Who X-Rayed An Orange by Fleur Adcock

The Man Who X-Rayed An Orange by Fleur Adcock

Viewed from the top, he said, it was like a wheel, the paper-thin spokes raying out from the hubto the half-transparent circumference of rind, with small dark ellipses suspended ...

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Robert Harington1558 by Fleur Adcock

Robert Harington1558 by Fleur Adcock

Get you, with your almain rivetts (latestfad from Germany), and your corselet,and your two coats of plate! How much harnessdoes a man need? None, when he's in his grave.Your sons ...

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Blow Flies by Fleur Adcock

Blow Flies by Fleur Adcock

If you liked them, how your heart might have lifted to see their neat trapezium shapes studding the wall like a newly landed flight of jet ornaments, the intensity of their black ...

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Bat Soup by Fleur Adcock

Bat Soup by Fleur Adcock

But it's diluted with sky, not water, the aerial plankton on which they sup. Our solitary pipistrelle flickers over her chosen suburban quarter, echo-locating, to siphon it up. It ...

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Mrs Baldwin by Fleur Adcock

Mrs Baldwin by Fleur Adcock

And then there's the one about the old womanwho very apologetically asks the wayto Church Lane, adding 'I ought to know:I've lived there since the war'. So you go with her.This ...

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Spuggies by Fleur Adcock

Spuggies by Fleur Adcock

The spuggies are back - a word I lifted from Basil Bunting and was never entirely sure how to pronounce, having only seen it in print, in Briggflatts, and at the time had little ...

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Leaving the Tate by Fleur Adcock

Leaving the Tate by Fleur Adcock

Coming out with your clutch of postcardsin a Tate gallery bag and another clutchof images packed into your head you pauseon the steps to look across the riverand there's a new ...

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At The Crossing by Fleur Adcock

At The Crossing by Fleur Adcock

The tall guy in a green T-shirt, vanishing past me as I cross in the opposite direction, has fairy wings on his shoulders: toy ones, children's fancy-dress wings, cartoonish ...

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