Annie has just dragged me Into her perfumed bath I am fully clothed It is a spiteful day outside And the mud from my jeans Is staining her bathwater I was going to climb the spire this afternoon But I think I will spend it with Annie

The sleeping days between Christmas and the New Year Seem so very grey and cold to me Please write from wherever you are

On a stormy day in late December I purchased a copy of British Ballads From a charity shop in a coastal town In September 1882 it had belonged To a Frederick Bryant Who had left his inscription Inside the faded blue book I have always preferred limited histories

Last night I dreamt that I was a holiday rep Travelling to and fro between Aegean Islands It was a non stop existence but I enjoyed my time When I woke up it was still raining quite heavily The holly bush was dancing wildly in the high winds I looked at my watch and realised […]

Where is Room 206  You do not want to know  I have experienced this room  Entering and leaving  Through the same door  I will never forget Room 206 As I hated and loved it  At the same time 

We often try to preserve the past But at the same time We do our best To destroy the future

I had a thought about poetry the other day  About whether any of the brave soldiers  Fighting in the continuing wars  Were writing poetry during these terrible times  

Mother I have been writing poetry for some years It is quite ordinary and very personal I write about my village and our country ways And the vicar who I admire so very much But I will not write about this war There are plenty of men better suited To write these painful poems Therefore […]

As Edwin’s coffin was carried from his earthly home It brushed quietly against the privet hedge I remember him once telling me That he liked his garden and especially its privet hedge It felt like the hedge was bidding him farewell

I have a mad dog in my yard It has savaged an innocent child I feel that I should shoot the beast But fear the criticism of my close friends