the open heart

One of my favourite poems is ee cummings’ may my heart always be open to little may my heart always be open to little birds who are the secrets of living whatever they sing is better than to know and if men should not hear them men are old may my mind stroll about hungry... Continue Reading →

The cell: real and imagined

He closed the heavy wooden door behind him. Five of us were now shut in this small room about ten paces from end to end, and even fewer across. It was late afternoon in early spring; some sun came through the leadlight windows and candles were burning, but we were glad to have the lights... Continue Reading →

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