Catherine Eisner

I haven’t thought about the Skylon for decades. That is until a picture postcard depicting the Sussex village of my infancy fell from a sta...

                  Bathwater drawn, her hair in disarray,                   glass slipper worn, she sighs with no reproach.                  ...

                    The tree yet fettered though irons break free                     grows, cage embedded in the living bark.              ...

(In Praise of William Blake   despite the odd detractor.)     For he’s a jolly good fellow   and so say all of us which Nobodaddy can deny. ...

                                 That cry in the night                                  can be a train whistle,                             ...

Bullion Dross Since Death these days is on everyone’s lips, we pledge ourselves to His buyers’ market; a mortal spark will trade a lo...

Capital murder? Yes. In two senses.  I refer to the notorious forgery of an Emily Dickinson poem fabricated by the homicidal fraud ster and...