The trees applaud the finish of the first act The night is excited She stretches arms skywards Spreads her fingers wide like starfish...

In Gillingham Park, nothing is really wrong. There is a slow dance of sycamore leaves in burnt orange and falling greens. Even the dog...

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...

Log Pile oak and silver birch Feet bare Fig Tree unplanted...

This is not the job she dreamt of: boiling lobsters in pots for the loud-mouthed elite - the bigoted champagne strawberry crowd. She...

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...

Three hundred children, brim full of poetry’ are shuffled from the library: a whispered threat to their security (just enough to suggest...

Words, like birds in a bent iron cage, fight for space.

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...

Peć to rhyme with deck of cards, stacked against a hand shaking, stacked against a trembling, laid beside the mountain stone: ruled like...

The black feathers scribble invisible ink letters to long lost lovers across the furthest arcing reaches of the textured off-white sky....

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,...

Hollow ice ghosts skate the causeway to Horrid Hill: long left low lying

Undercurrent echoes of living flesh sing through half-sunken subs: sounds that, leaving Lincolnshire and heading South, bounce around The...