PoetryMy younger sister’s just now sent me a maxim that our mother used, mostly in regard to others; then, each day as eyesight failed her, more often of herself. First you are a memory; then you are a photograph; then you’re just a name and then you’re...

PoetryI asked her to draw her home for me Ben Quilty   Using the old cryptographs Heba, at the age of six, has managed it in minutes only,   eloquent and minimal, starting from above – the helicopter gunship,   its larger and its smaller rotor seen as simple crosses. The aircraft...

PoetryThe gathering with placards is, give or take, the normal size. The speech is not unlike the last but tweaked for the occasion, a five-year anniversary for which the government – and, yes, its cheerful opposition – show not the least concern. The long, unbearable unfairness continues unredeemed. Car horns...

PoetryMoney is a kind of poetry – Wallace Stevens It sounds oracular but really no one knows what Wallace meant. Conversely then, we're bound to ask 'Is poetry a kind of money?' It circulates and has a value; is often to be found on paper tattered at the...

PoetryTwenty years ago last Augustthey had me running down the platform,howling in that flannel dress,those two from the ‘Protection' Board,the woman with the narrow mouth,the bloke there with his suit and glasseswho wished that he was somewhere elseand Jeanie...