as he considers "the greatest thing we did/was toss an apple core from a car" and ponders the risks of mushroom-picking. There is a rabbit, a nest, a clifftop, and a mole poem that Edmund Blunden might have admired, though Ted Hughes's pike still has its jaws round "Perfect":
Perfect; last night's velvet purse, with clumsy clasps,
carelessly dropped by arms wrapped in arms.
Or, kneeling closer, the barrel-bodied hostess in her fur coat,
her mouth relaxed to a smudge of rouge,
repugnant, sleeping off the garden party in the garden.
While it is mostly the young we encounter in this format, in what are usually their first publications, the "late pamphlet" has become something of a convention too.
from The Times Literary Supplement: Poetry pamphlets: small is beautiful
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