That first morning, hoping to catch the dawn, we stepped instead into a world of mist and dark green forest, mixed with the softer greys ...

I’m trying to write a love-poem about paint. Well, that isn’t strictly true, the poem’s about you, but how could I stand here, sixty-plus,...

In response to ‘Maralinga’, sculpture, Lin Onus, 1990, The Art Gallery of Western Australia In this quiet room, where the dreamtime hangs...

For those of us on the edge of things, listening to the dopplered panic of distant sirens, and watching 30-second grabs of frenetic ...

Looking for India, Bartholemeu Dias sailed out of Lisbon, turned left, sailed south, found the tip of Africa, and called it the Cape of ...

She says, Dating only leads to breakups or marriage and you’re not fit for either. She says, You’ve never inhaled a novel, s...

You may be forgiven for thinking that love is a butcher's ritual: your body starved and trembling, meat and bone, both temple and sa...

Following a secret path of nature a heaven-touching skyscraper came in to my bedroom one night but surprisingly headless, putting the le...