JOHN SAYS HE'D DRIVE...
In Gillingham Park, nothing is really wrong. There is a slow dance of sycamore leaves in burnt orange and falling greens. Even the dog...
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THIS IS BAPTISM
Barefoot, with bowl in hand, my fingers find the berries and pick them one by one. This is a ritual I understand. The sacrament: a July...
THE DROWNING OF CHARLOTTE ANSELL
I didn’t know her long - met her first in Chatham Library, pleased to be paid as poets, with ten minutes, supporting John McCullough. The...
GOING OUTSIDE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT
Log Pile oak and silver birch Feet bare Fig Tree unplanted...
LOBSTER SEASON
This is not the job she dreamt of: boiling lobsters in pots for the loud-mouthed elite - the bigoted champagne strawberry crowd. She...
ANGELS OF THE NORTH
Take a slice of cereal box and rust brown paint, sloshed on ridged white. Take clay and slip and a sharpish knife. Blend the Medway sound...
AND STILL IT RAINS
Three hundred children, brim full of poetry’ are shuffled from the library: a whispered threat to their security (just enough to suggest...
TAKE WING
Words, like birds in a bent iron cage, fight for space.
THE MOTHERS-IN-LAW
They come armed with bulbs: it’s not too late they say though the wind blows cold across the Shannon and the ground is frostbitten. I...
ONYX FROM PEJA
Peć to rhyme with deck of cards, stacked against a hand shaking, stacked against a trembling, laid beside the mountain stone: ruled like...
COVE POINT
The black feathers scribble invisible ink letters to long lost lovers across the furthest arcing reaches of the textured off-white sky....
CHEMIN DES DUNES
I park the car off Route de Gravelines – six minutes on Sat Nav from the Port – and head, on foot, along Chemin des Dunes: half road,...
SPOOK
Hollow ice ghosts skate the causeway to Horrid Hill: long left low lying
THE U-BOAT AND THE WHALE
Undercurrent echoes of living flesh sing through half-sunken subs: sounds that, leaving Lincolnshire and heading South, bounce around The...
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