I deeply adored my mum. She was an extraordinary person, even for the prejudice I'm likely to have. She was beautiful, amusing, a tremendous elaborator of things into comic proportions and extravagant in her imagination.

Honor the miraculousness of the ordinary.

Poems are a hotline to our hearts, and we forget this emotional power at our peril

I deeply adored my mum. She was an extraordinary person, even for the prejudice I'm likely to have. She was beautiful, amusing, a tremendous elaborator of things into comic proportions and extravagant in her imagination.

I shall try to write a poem that is about the moment but doesn't betray things that are true to me as a poet.

But I can't and don't ever want to write bell-yanking confetti-tossing hat-throwing poems.

Each sudden gust of light explains itself as flames, but neither they, nor even bombs redoubled on the hills tonight can quite include me in their fear.