Between 9am And 3pm Is When I

I See The Shape Of The Poem Before I Start Writing, And The Writing Is Just The Process Of Arriving At The Shape.

I Still Read Donne, Particularly His Love Poems

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.

If We Think Of What's Up Ahead, With Climate Change And Wars Over Water, It's Very Frightening.

As Anyone Who Has The Slightest Knowledge Of My Work Knows, I Have Little In Common With Larkin, Who Was Tall, Taciturn And Thin-on-top, And Unlike Him I Laugh, Nay, Sneer, In The Face Of Death. I Will Concede One Point: We Are Both Lesbian Poets.