Ozymandias Two vast and trunkless legs of stone The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed Ozymandias Wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command The lone and level sands stretch far away

London Mind-forged manacles Runs in blood down palace walls Every black’ning church appalls In every infant’s cry of fear

The Prelude I found a little boat tied to a willow tree My boat went weaving through the water like a swan The Prelude Small circles glittering idly in the moon A huge peak, black and huge

My Last Duchess The white mule she rode with round the terrace That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall Notice Neptune, though, taming a sea-horse… Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt

Charge of the Light Brigade Into the valley of death Cannon to right of them… Rode the six hundred

Exposure Merciless iced east winds that knive us We heart the mad gusts tugging on the wire Exposure Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy

Storm On The Island Spits like a tame cat turned savage We are prepared: we build our houses squat Storm On The Island The sea is company, exploding comfortably

Bayonet Charge Suddenly he awoke and was running Sweating like molten iron from the centre of his chest Bayonet Charge A yellow hare that rolled like a flame He lugged a rifle numb as a smashed arm

Remains His bloody life in my bloody hands We get sent out to tackle looters raiding a bank Remains The drink and the drugs won’t flush him out Some distant, sun-stunned, sand-smothered land

Poppies Poppies have already been placed on individual war graves The world overflowing like a treasure chest Poppies I went into your bedroom, released a song bird from its cage. Leaned against it like a wishbone

War Photographer Fields which don’t explode beneath the feet In his darkroom, he is finally alone War Photographer Tears between the bath and pre-lunch beers A half-formed ghost

Tissue Might fly our lives like paper kites Maps too. The sun shines through their borderlines Tissue The kind you find in well-used books

The Emigree I can’t get it off my tongue. It tastes of sunlight. I have no passport, there’s no way back at all The Emigree My city comes to me in its own white plane It may be sick with tyrants

Checkin’ Out Me History Dem tell me bout de man who discover de balloon Bandage up me eye with me own history Checkin’ Out Me History De cow who jump over de moon But dem never tell me bout Nanny de maroon

Kamikaze With a flask of water, a samurai sword A tuna, the dark prince, muscular, dangerous. My mother never spoke again in his presence The dark shoals of fishes flashing silver