Sounds like a place that once was torched by the breath of a god, but more likely it was built on a field of corn, this building with high red walls where you’ve finally been netted, my mutant butterfly. When I come to visit they search my mouth.
Before my voice disappeared like a rabbit up a sleeve I wanted to be a singer in the Folies Bergère. The doctor is a kind man he keeps me warm, he feeds me seed cake and Assam tea. But sometimes he makes me crawl. […]
(in memory of The Little Box by Vasko Popa) Dear Mr Popa Since you are dead I am writing with news of The Little Box. When we first met (as a preface to a book on how to cobble up a poem) it was like looking into the face of a smile. […]
British poet Maggie Sawkins talks about the genesis of her poem “The Birds.”
British poet Maggie Sawkins talks about the first poet she ever read, Robert Louis Stevenson.
British poet Maggie Sawkins recalls the first poem she ever wrote, called “Roses.”