Summer 1940 • Vol. II No. 3 Poetry |

Uneasy Time

Small creatures of the mindNo longer flourish or dieTo the old measure the old kindHesitations of the eye. Particles of dead thoughtStir all day now and findNo means to be used as they oughtOn the floor of the mind. So if a friend comes to lookFor his favor or proudComfort he steps out from the rockAnd stares into a cloud. I pray the tooth’s edge learn soonTo love and offend noneOr of its own anxiety weanMy death before it is grown.

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Quarter Day

By Rayner Heppenstall

Small creatures of the mindNo longer flourish or dieTo the old measure the old kindHesitations of the eye. Particles of dead thoughtStir all day now and findNo means to be […]

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