“Streetview” published at Ghost City Review

IMG_0919I’m pleased to report that one of my poems, “Streetview”, has been included in the latest issue of the rather magnificent Ghost City Review.

I’m very grateful to editor Justin Karcher for choosing to find a home for my poem amongst lots of fine pieces of writing.


“Little Grey Cloud” published in The Magnolia Review

little grey cloud

I’m very pleased to have had one of my poems published in  The Magnolia Review. My thanks to editor Suzanna Anderson for choosing the poem, and for putting together such a great collection of art, poetry and prose – the largest issue of TMR to date.

You can read the whole issue here, and will find “Little Grey Cloud” hogging the horizon about a fifth of the way in.

Time to Vote for your February 2018 Pick of the Month —

There’s a week left until voting closes for February’s Pick of the Month at Ink, Sweat and Tears, and one of the contenders happens to be my poem “Lobster Tail”. You can read all the poems in the shortlist (and they are all very fine) and cast a vote for your favourite by clicking here and then following the link.

There’s a chill in the air so maybe now’s the time to indulge in the finer things in life. Roll out some ‘Gingham’, add a display of ‘Drunken Roses’, enjoy ‘Lobster tail’ with ‘Milk and Honey’ and be tempted by the ‘gods’ of ‘Gucci, Prada, Michael Kors’. Or maybe you want to do it…

via Time to Vote for your February 2018 Pick of the Month —

The Martian view of Earth

Lichen crop

The Martian view of Earth


No lines are drawn in their way of perceiving things
between seeing, hearing, and everything else, so

we appear as short bursts of frantic energy, obsessed
with purpose and radiation of certain wavelengths.

To them, the Earth is not, of course, ‘The Earth’,
any more than Mars is ‘Mars’. Words; just another

endearing quirk we get so excited about. They are
puzzled by our fixation with the idea of the nation state,

and its attendant border security, flags and anthems,
but also by lawnmowers, and by the peculiar concept

of fish fingers, there being neither fish nor even fingers
as such on their planet, the one we think of as ‘red’.


first published in The High Window, issue 7, 2017


Featured Poet in Northampton Poetry Review, Issue 2

NPR2It’s a real honour to be part of the second issue of the Northampton Poetry Review, and in particular to have been chosen as Featured Poet for this issue.

I’m very grateful to editors Tom and Philippa Harding for finding space to include five of my poems – Winter Fire, October, Sunshine, Holly and Putting back the clocks.

This issue is a fine collection of work from a very talented group of writers, and I’m sure  NPR will become a well-established and admired publication over the next few years.

In the moment

In the moment

In the moment

The kids are in love, and so sweetly
you can see it melting out of them,
see gravity getting smashed into
a million pieces beneath their feet
as they bounce along, occasionally
touching down because they can.

In their free hands, the ones not
holding the other’s, they clutch balloons
painted in colours we can no longer see,
inflated with their restless thoughts of
an unmapped future, raw materials
yet to be processed into anxieties.

Don’t you remember the first days of our
being? The damage we caused to gravity?
Our balloons? How the brilliant shock
of it interrupted time itself, and made
the future evaporate, while we failed to
notice ourselves not breathing properly?


first published in Tales from the Forest, Issue 5, 2017





We did not see the swollen river

overtop its banks, failed by the

modest bow of its channel, its

traffic doubled by the bludgeon

of three consecutive moonrises

under rain, waters earth-brown.


Instead, we passed a day later,

taken by the bleached streamers

of torn-up grass, stretched like

comet-tails from the lowest boughs

of thornbushes, calm swirls of sand

making fish-loops across our path.



first published in Southlight Magazine, issue 22, 2017





Scraping back the steady,

now matted, accumulation of

leaf-fall from three darkening


months, and surfaced today

with a softly-glazed frosting,

reveals the yellow-green


points of galanthus, crocus,

narcissus, in a silent, cloaked

gathering of the faithful,


staking their futures on a

promised spring, still more

than a moon’s cycle away.


first published in Blue Heron Review, issue 7, 2017