After Sylvia Iona Mandal At St. Thomas A. Beckett Churchyard, Heptonstall Here I lie. On the open heart of Jesus. He is eutrophic to this
From 2019: Five a Day Iona Mandal What is it? Notoriously popular health standards? For optimal health, we need a rainbow of nutrients and colours.
At the Museum Iona Mandal I dwell within the chambers of a euphemism, an almost-palindrome, six-lettered warehouse of plunder. The only somewhat native artefact, the
World of Colours Iona Mandal Child of colour in nursery school learned the colours as she drooled. Yellow sunshine, red rising sun, blue for boys
The Typewriter Iona Mandal My mother kept her typewriter in the back of her clothes wardrobe. She said it was because it reminded her of
Crisis in Civilisation Iona Mandal We have stunted your growth from above and within. Held a knife to your prosperity, moulded your silence as the
I Have a Dream Iona Mandal Mother used to tuck me in bed every night, folding me up into the depths of the duvet like
Five a Day Iona Mandal What is it? Notoriously popular health standards? For optimal health, we need a rainbow of nutrients and colours. Every telly
Anger Iona Mandal Anger is a single red geranium, on an unkempt lawn; beautiful in its wildness. Anger is a burnt red leaf, rubbing against
Blackbird Iona Mandal You always wanted a blackbird Its jetness like the monsoon sky sunny, streamlined beak clouds masked in its eyes a soulful voice
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