[tabby title="Poem"] Catholic children learn early - church altars hold relics; shrivelled saints’ bones in boxes, fingers, jaws, toes. When I was a child I believed tight within statues were bodies, bones and flesh rotting, stone figures reclined over marble...

  [tabby title="In Biko's Time"] In Biko's Time The townships all around East London were on fire, and the newspaper left its front page blank, with only a sentence: There is news we are not allowed to bring you This...

[tabby title="Poem"] “I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe,” he says, and they don’t believe him, or anyone else, although they pretend, being well brought up. Under the desks they are fingering their smartphones, speaking to friends not present or...

[tabby title="Poem"] We’ve seen the writing on the wall people say, and they pack up their families, and all their belongings (except for, often, the family pets which are left in overcrowded shelters) and they leave for Australia or Canada...

let me take a sip drink just a little enough to quench this something caught in my throat just a little taste to parch this dry patch soothe this aching scratch with that nectar but there is nothing no roses...