On a freezing cold morning on Rochester Bridge, as one looks across to Frindsbury breathing air that’s crunchy with frost and squinting from the weak sun which illuminates the river’s surface leaving nothing left for the sky to hang on to, deltoids might wonder (as they try in vain to spot an horizon) whether the river or the sky held their dreams. Night time’s perspective will reveal.
A short observation about the atmosphere in The Vines, Rochester early or late (and you can’t really tell which) in an autumn day. Everything is backwards as the grounds seems to drip onto the sky, the avenue of trees lights up the lamps […]
Caught red-handed, having fun. . . Some might say the amount of pleasure I derive from ‘brambling’ is disproportionate. But I’d say they’re wrong.
This short poem marked the start of a slight change in direction for me, being principally about the landscape rather […]
I am struck by themes of ‘blue’ at the moment and want to explore this in a range of poems this weekend at Magna Carta Festival in Faversham. Bluebells still abound, a promise of something more […]
I was lucky enough to be given the opportunity to stay the night on Elmley Nature Reserve in one of the fantastic shepherd’s huts over Easter and […]