Terence Hards
Hell
To most eventual habitat
There is some little left to take,
Some local warmth that need not be
Discarded for the truth's cold sake ;
And they are cherished, those old ghosts
Who lift a constant kindly eye
Upon their own occasioning
Without a life enough to die.
Pure hell is not in any haunt
Of theirs, where flowers romanticise
The very stare of death with roots
Beneath the sockets of dead eyes.
It is to look about in fear,
Retravelling the frozen plain
From nothingness to needful love
And back to nothingness again.
Page(s) 2
magazine list
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- 10th Muse
- 14
- Acumen
- Agenda
- Ambit
- Angel Exhaust
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- Atlas
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- Borderlines
- Brando's hat
- Brittle Star
- Candelabrum
- Cannon's Mouth, The
- Chroma
- Coffee House, The
- Dream Catcher
- Equinox
- Erbacce
- Fabric
- Fire
- Floating Bear, The
- French Literary Review, The
- Frogmore Papers, The
- Global Tapestry
- Grosseteste Review
- Homeless Diamonds
- Interpreter's House, The
- Iota
- Journal, The
- Lamport Court
- London Magazine, The
- Magma
- Matchbox
- Matter
- Modern Poetry in Translation
- Monkey Kettle
- Moodswing
- Neon Highway
- New Welsh Review
- North, The
- Oasis
- Obsessed with pipework
- Orbis
- Oxford Poetry
- Painted, spoken
- Paper, The
- Pen Pusher Magazine
- Poetry Cornwall
- Poetry London
- Poetry London (1951)
- Poetry Nation
- Poetry Review, The
- Poetry Salzburg Review
- Poetry Scotland
- Poetry Wales
- Private Tutor
- Purple Patch
- Quarto
- Rain Dog
- Reach Poetry
- Review, The
- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
- Seventh Quarry, The
- Shearsman
- Smiths Knoll
- Smoke
- South
- Staple
- Strange Faeces
- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
- Tolling Elves
- Ugly Tree, The
- Weyfarers
- Wolf, The
- Yellow Crane, The