Between 9am And 3pm Is

Where I Lived - Winter And Hard Earth.i Sat In My Cold Stone Roomchoosing Tough Words, Granite, Flint,to Break The Ice. My Broken Heart -i Tried That, But It Skimmed,flat, Over The Frozen Lake.she Came From A Long, Long Way,but I Saw Her At Last, Walking,my Daughter, My Girl, Across The Fields,in Bare Feet, Bringing All Spring's Flowersto Her Mother's House. I Swearthe Air Softened And Warmed As She Moved,the Blue Sky Smiling, None Too Soon,with The Small Shy Mouth Of A New Moon.

I Grew Up In A Bookless House - My Parents Didn't Read Poetry, So If I Hadn't Had The Chance To Experience It At School I'd Never Have Experienced It. But I Loved English, And I Was Very Lucky In That I Had Inspirational English Teachers, Miss Scriven And Mr. Walker, And They Liked Us To Learn Poems By Heart, Which I Found I Loved Doing.

My Prose Is Turgid, It Just Hasn't Got Any Energy

Poetry, Above All Is A Series Of Intense Moments ­ Its Power Is Not In Narrative. I'm Not Dealing With Facts, I'm Dealing With Emotion.

When You Have A Child, Your Previous Life Seems Like Someone Else's. It's Like Living In A House And Suddenly Finding A Room You Didn't Know Was There, Full Of Treasure And Light.