“Open Thou Our Lips”: a poem by Michael Symmons Roberts
Because there is a word we must not say, of course we hear it everywhere. The dog left in a…
ByNew Times,
New Thinking.
Because there is a word we must not say, of course we hear it everywhere. The dog left in a…
ByThinking of the war – a city mist silver, sodden, blown, the glow of streetlights, all the buildings shown…
BySnails might shout crawling from mint to balm “I burn” or call from lovage and hosta “I’m burning dry” while…
ByW H Auden, who died 40 years ago this month, is one of the most humane, loving, direct and affecting…
ByLeo Robson reviews two new novels about the not-so-golden ages of Hollywood history.
ByIn deep old age I plan to potter in a garden flat just down the road, to stumble from room…
ByAt length we learned what it meant to “come to” grief. As if grief lay in wait for us all…
BySitting on a dormant train at Leagrave I am at eye level with a sign asking if I’m “IN DESPAIR?”.…
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