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DESOLATEMY SPIRIT is a pestilential city,With misery triumphant everywhere,Glutted with baffled hopes and lost to pity;Strange agonies make quiet lodgment there.Its bursting sewers ooze up from below,...

We ask for peace. We, at the bound / O life, are weary of the round

In this episode, one of poetry's greatest leading lights, Malika Booker, talks with us about the poem that's been a friend to her: 'The Domestic Science of Sunday Dinner' by Lorna Goodison.

Comments & analysis: Some clichty folks / don't know the facts,

Comments & analysis: Some clichty folks / don't know the facts,

I want to drink

The sass’fras tea is red and clear In my white china cup, So pretty I keep peeping in Before I drink it up. I stir it with a silver spoon,