George Barker (poet)

"To be so closely caught up in the teeth of things that they kill you, no matter how infinitesimally kill you, is, truly, to be a poet: and to be a poet in fact it is additionally necessary that you should possess the tongues and instruments with which to record this series of infinitesimal deaths."

"I, born in Essex thirty-four Essentially sexual years ago, Stepped down, looked around, and saw I had been cast a little low In the social register For the friends whom I now know. Is a constable a mister? Bob's your uncle, even so."

"Turn on your side and bear the day to me Beloved, sceptre-struck, immured In the glass wall of sleep. Slowly Uncloud the borealis of your eye And show your iceberg secrets, your midnight prizes To the green-eyed world and to me."

"My one, my one, my only love, Hide, hide your face in a leaf, And let the hot tear falling burn The stupid heart that will not learn The everywhere of grief."