Tag Archives: Andrew Hunter

Andrew Hunter

A957, The Slug Road What apart from pylons does This broad November field contain? A puddle of flooding at the corner? Isolated weeds, standing better than Dead appearing horses in jackets, Hung like ungame meat on the cusp of the … Continue reading

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Andrew Hunter

Sunday mornings, in gardens 1. EM Forster would have worried that these are days for getting smuts in your eye. Or, more likely, losing dahlias in bloom to the gusting wind. It is terrible, this havoc among the flowers, and, … Continue reading

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Andrew Hunter

One and other This is not a photograph. That is not you sitting with your legs folded up under your long grey skirt pulled far down over your knees and your arm straight down to the ground taking all of … Continue reading

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Andrew Hunter: Two poems

dog rose cows come here now taking hawthorns for shelter come winter come sun the hoof-cut turf impossible to walk on. buttercups turn face to the heat each with a slug spit stem. quarrymen take from the gravel pit their … Continue reading

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Andrew Hunter

prey I hear a kestrel sometimes high above the street its harsh cry insistent victims are easy here easy meat when I search I see the crushing sky fallen to my feet Copyright © Andrew Hunter 2013 “I’ve been writing … Continue reading

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