Cliff Yates is fresh like the very first crack of dawn is fresh: unique, unrepeatable, full of promise.' – Ian McMillan Cliff Yates follows his successful first full collection Henry's Clock with this new set of poems – often surreal, inconseqential, never boring, always a delight.LEAVES ARE JUST THIN WOODNo, I don’t read French.Do you have a translation?I’m from Birmingham.Let’s go for a walk in the woods. It’s raining.Bring the billiard table.I have the balls in my trouser pockets.Can you manage?Here, let me hold the door.Yes I agree, the rain. Did I mentionthe importance of parks in the black country?It’s not that interesting. Mindthe rosa rugosas, their thorns,and the climber with the orange hips.All the other woods are memoriespreparing us for this one.If I tell anyone she’ll kill me.No, really – a dart through the forehead.Look at my hands – people call it stigmatabut really it’s darts.We quarrelled in the autumn.We quarrelled about the milk.In the morning she left, took the bed with her.
Cliff Yates was my English Teacher too, great guy and a fantastic school.
Kit Harding
Haha this guy's my English teacher. This poem's good.
ruby lees
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