Peter Reading

The corn-coloured neutral combine - first we see its shadow approaching, swathing hectares. All things in season: steady thresh, the dark swift coming and going, Dow-Jones average, fin., fin. 'Exponential' ('Vendange Tardive', 2010)

Hilbre, winter, high tide. Over the West Hoyle, hurl and white swash, and above, the sky the colour of Blaenau Ffestiniog slate. And the long-ruined sandstone lifeboat station brine-lashed, the slipway thrashing the saline assault into spume. 'Maritime' ('Vendange Tardive')

Landed on Ynys Enlli, island of currents, where we re- garded a number of myxomatosic leporids, mirroring hominid exit (slime-swollen, tumoral) in the next shit-show - which, you with certainty know, will not be very long now. ('Laertidean')

'Pray God send peace,' he groaned at last, 'or else I see that which will come to this land quickly.' Peter Reading reads 'Civil' (2002) soundcloud.com/the-seven-jou…

The pennants, banners, standards, flags, unassailable castles, walls, ramparts, bulwarks, barricades, ditches, refuges... of what use, of what use, of what use, of what use? ('Coplas de Pie Quebrado')

The tricks, strength and agility, physical prowess and power of youth soon die when all turn to the dreariness of Senility's grim suburb and zeal expires. ('Coplas de Pie Quebrado')

Wait now and be ready; the Klaxon will sound off one fateful dawning and you'll run into the street - you know the rest. ('Alert!')

...poetry reading...rare opportunity... one of the leading...whose reputation is... recent collections: Foibles, Frog's Breath... gained international...lyric beauty... ('Flyer')

In last week’s press, X reviewed Y: One of the best poets now writing. In this week’s press, Y reviews X: One of the best poets writing now.

During the Second World War my father-in-law killed a German from whom he stole a pistol. When we collected his stuff after his stroke in the '80s we gave the gun in to Old Bill. But I should have kept it, kept it so that I could have, now, blown my fucking brains out. 'Luger'

Each birthday one knows next year will be worse. ('Axiomatic')

'Look at the fuckin fucker, the fuckin fucker's fuckin fucked.' ('A Shropshire Lad')

Breakwater's bleak heap, Black-crowned Night Heron, hunched, anticipating our moorage. ('Vendange Tardive')

Now we arrive at the front of the ruin; here there are moanings, shrieks, lamentations and dole, here there is naught that illumes.

Better to die ten years early than spend those extra years in penury. ('Axiomatic')

Small-talk will charm a host; straight-talk provokes dislike. ('Axiomatic')

Man, who seldom lives a hundred years, worries himself enough for a thousand. ('Axiomatic')

Those who have precognition suffer sorrow beforehand; bodies are bankrupt, the main Expedition has left us behind it. ('Perduta Gente')

Nothing can ever be done; things are intractably thus; all know the bite of grief... ('Perduta Gente')

Bankrupted, batty, bereft - don't think it couldn't be you. ('Perduta Gente')