And I could see that child's one eye which seemed to laugh, and say with glee: 'what caused my death you'll never know, perhaps my mother murdered me.' - W.H. Davies - 'The Inquest'

That self-same stuff which erst proud empires swayed, of which the conquerers of the world were made. - Hannah More 'Slavery: A Poem'

And die of nothing but a rage to live

It was no dream: I lay broad waking. Thomas Wyatt 'They Flee From Me'

Poetry matters because it is a tool for helping us to discover who we are. As individuals, as Caribbean peoples, as citizens of the world. Olive Senior