Poetic Medicine

By Carol Ann Duffy Not a red rose or a satin heart. I give you an onion. It is a moon wrapped in brown paper. It promises light like...

By Carol Ann Duffy  Tha gaol agam ort * A thistle can draw blood,                                             so can a rose, grow...

By Carol Ann Duffy If we were shades who walked here once over the heather, over the shining stones, fresh in our skin and bones with...

By Carol Ann Duffy  The  crown translates a woman to a Queen – endless gold, circling itself, an O like a well, fathomless, for the yea...

By Carol Ann Duffy How it makes of your face a stone that aches to weep, of your heart a fist, clenched or thumping, sweating blood, of ...