LUPUS IN FLIGHT

There are trees everywhere,  on my shelves.  You could call them books,  or leaves.  Ada Limón says, ‘It begins with trees’ and although som...

Like Leila Chatti, I remember the 6pm brewing of tea for Dad, for me,  to get through the long winter  evening  that stretched ahead into an...

Gaza is a door into two worlds -  one that keeps us alive, and one that kills us. We die, either way, at the door. Death is a door we knock ...

I originally wrote this poem in response to turning down the opportunity to join my mother and her darling friend Victoria for a walk. I was...

Bisan, your cat came to me in my dream. White, yet not entirely - she was real - not as a cloud, she was eating lime. Yes, I was holding a r...

When kites fly  across blue skies and border divides, Gaza and Israel unite. We make the kites, we fly the kites,  over the wells of hate. W...

I write my experience in sand this time, wanting it forgotten. Not like last time, every day recorded in verse and flower, a memory scriptur...

I am surrounded by churches in the village where I live. Samwise and I turned right today, and walked down to the church past the railway li...