May 2013


Sometimes I step out of the wood on to a straw-covered path: a warm wind brushes the hill Sometimes the woodland ways are too steep, and the square, unbedded stones bite into my sole Sometimes I go on and sometimes…

Read: Boneland

Winter morning

Injecting ice into the crack of dawn, the east wind knocks twice on my eyelids, but no-one is in   This short poem was commended in the Norwich Writers’ Circle open competition this year and appears in their anthology