mea·sure 135


mind on the line, ear to the note’s

approach, the hand must needs be

steady, body too―eye blind,

to all but time’s inscribing




mea·sure 557


one slip of the tongue, the world’s awry,

away over the hill she went,

the words said, and the damage done,

the cry too slight, too lame, too late




7/seven 43


someone somewhere’s talking


call them, tell them to come,

one day, when no-one’s home


say, the walls will listen

well enough


to what there is, or was

or will be still, to tell




7/seven 49


to be seen here

from where the poem is


the pale way, to the sense

that something is


that some place, in sight, might

be lying in wait


to be spelt out




nine 53


the sound of your feet    then

there in the street

that time    night-time


step on step on the stone


it has not stopped




the lone way home    goes on

the same feet    sounding

stone by stone



Ray Malone


Ray Malone is currently living and working as an artist, writer and translator in Berlin. He has published in so-called small magazines in the U.K. in the 60s, and occasionally since. In recent years he has dedicated himself to working with minimal forms. 

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