Hello

    Kingley Vale Down the chalk track slick as soap. Wade the long grass in the meadow, bludgeon swinging, bag of stoats. Rabbit in my fingers squealing, into the grove of the gods I go. Old gods. Half-dead and never dying. Sucking needles, spitting berries....

      Thumbnail sketches Look how it all goes pale when you pinch, and floods with rose as you let go. That dot is probably not a planet though, too big the curved sky too foggy. Possibly a snowy evening a chalky moon has risen east of a cold mauve...

      Hair Growing up in small towns hairdressers offer crew cuts, curlers, wigs in severe bobs. In cities my fuzz is flat ironed, acid straight, topiary trimmed. In cosy bars, strangers clink pints on our table. Sweep sweaty palms across tips of my...

      Escape of Harold ‘Rubber Bones’ Webb Chaplain asked me if I’d renounced my criminal ways, Depends on my girl, I confessed rattling the concrete flinders in my pocket. I’d sprung by midnight, slipped down my chiselled rabbit hole following hot...

    Dreamer Set the sat-nav for home but drive in the opposite direction without any sense of where or why you are going or where this will end or who you really are or might become each junction passed is a single recalculation of opportunities missed of...

    West Beach, Berneray You want your days to spread along the bay, a coat of gold light wind harvesting machair tuned to a sky littered with geese, sanderlings skittering in every direction a ferry waltzing the low tides of the Sound where you walk on sand...

    Little boy dream  My brother used to burn ants with a magnifying glass. I blamed the sun for tempting his half-talking, grazed knees to kneel on hot tarmac. He’d run his pink-licked fingers through the slab’s trenches, collecting worm eggs beneath...

    Shap Fell In the murk of evening and car-heater fug, a thud. My five-year-old head hits the roof. The sheep is not quite dead. Bloodied on the top of Shap Fell her breath disappears into mist. No cars pass. I pray to see the sheep haul up onto matchstick...

    Spring Song I remember spring and everything a freshly washed clean smell of green. A newborn kind of rain left the parked cars shining like a passed shower. I remember cycling, the tarmac deep black and streaming, past the shoppers queueing the high...

    Wanting Joy Glory be to the changeable wretch I am       condemned to dance within. Spirits thumb a ride       surging synapse and hurling ourselves in directionless tangles. Joy is hard. Joy must. I seek sepulchred secret caves inside guts where sin...

    The Way I Grace the Passes with Jason as my witness Christmas day’s a thieving twice. once my time & next my wishlist: Wustof, steel, all six inches. that’s never him pinching our wages. Jesus! proprietor full of food & promises. can I get more...

    LAZY ABECEDARIAN FOR SUMMER MORNING PRESERVE ROUTINE A pile of kitchen-stove kindling twists Braids with achamma’s kuttichattan hair ribbon Creasing her fingers when she crushes a twig Dew-dropping her brew for new mothers in Early morning rose-light we...

    spiralling during Planet Earth Attenborough’s voice echoes in my head (like God) He says that we need to act now (draws us all in with baby orangutans and birds that look like aliens.) Because otherwise, no one cares. Does he know that? Current levels of...

    Mountain in Winter White ground, and white sky / / / And white trees, and white light. Hiking along the path of a mountain’s ridge. . . Twisted branches hang like misshapen cages; bird-prisoners sing their little laments inside / / / And it is so cold....

    Intruder A rattle spikes through my ear. Tin, tin, tin. Tintinnabulation. Fingers seeking their way in – sneaking, screaking fingers, scratching at the metal, scrambling for the bolt. Ding dong. What a racket! Tin, tin, tin. I’m on the sofa blinking at...