Too many people in the modern world view poetry as a luxury, not a necessity like petrol. But to me it's the oil of life.

I ought to warn you that my verse is of no interest to people who can think.

Oh Wasn't it naughty of Smudges? Oh, Mummy, I'm sick with disgust. She threww me in front of the judges, And my silly old collar-bone's bust.

One mark of good verse is surprise

Imprisoned in a cage of sound, even the trivial seems profound

I have a Vision of the Future, chum. The workers flats in fields of soya beans tower up like silver pencils, score on score.

People's backyards are much more interesting than their front gardens, and houses that back on to railways are public benefactors.