Clear Poetry Anthology 2017

A fine way to end the year would be reading through this year’s Clear Poetry Anthology, put together by CP editor Ben Banyard. It’s a bittersweet feeling this year, mind you, because although one of my poems is included for the second year running (Clapham Junction, which can be found on page 13), it comes with the knowledge that Ben has decided to call time on Clear Poetry.

Total respect, Ben, for all the hard work you’ve put in running such a great online venue for both aspiring and established poets. And best wishes with furthering your own poetry endeavours.


The third and final Clear Poetry Anthology is now available to download and read, free of charge.

via Clear Poetry Anthology 2017 — Clear Poetry

Launch event for issue 41 of Brittle Star Magazine at The Barbican, London

BarbicanIssue 41 of Brittle Star magazine is being launched this coming Wednesday, 1st November, at The Barbican in London.

One of my poems, “Inevitably” is appearing in this issue, and I’m really grateful to Brittle Star’s editors Martin Parker and Jacqueline Gabbitas for choosing to include it.

Unfortunately, London is a little far away for me, otherwise I would love to be there! If you’re interested in going to this free event, there are more details here.

New poems at The Open Mouse and The Poetry Shed

Two poems of mine with capital city settings have been published on separate websites in the last week. Finding a dead Waxwing on Braid Road has Edinburgh as its backdrop, and was posted on Colin Will’s poetry site The Open Mouse.

SW12 – a reflection on a train journey through south London – was published today at The Poetry Shed by Abegail Morley.

Big thanks to Colin and Abegail for their support!



Leaving London


Leaving London


At my time of departure,

London is suitably grey,

is stifling a smile;

beneath the scribbled-on

plaster casts of

East End developments,

poorly set,

the broken bones remain unmended.

But soon these six snooty carriages

will have left such triviality behind;

the Boat Train makes no calls

in its hour of

Harwich-bound semi-sprint.

Those streaks of subdued colour

were – I believe – the English countryside;

our fruity sea air smells of men

painting ships.

Somewhere out at sea the sun is shining. Now,

what was the name

of that city?


First published in Envoi, 1997