Barely any bird-life since the gales. A robin’s song this morning, from behind the curtains. And yesterday one tiny blue…
Archive
January notebook
Two successes I can claim as a parent: they both love music and football (even if one of them supports…
A new nativity monologue -An Angel
An Angel His people spoke to our people, contracts were exchanged, and the gig was on. Hush hush,…
What you read in 2017
Dear Friends Here are the blog posts which you read most often in 2017, according to my WordPress stats: …
Not a ‘thin’ year for poetry
It was one of those throwaway remarks made by one writer, male, to another, ditto, in one of those books…
The year of not blogging
There’s a problem with that title, isn’t there? While I have not been completely silent (fifteen blog posts at most?…
Discovering Geoffrey Summerfield’s Worlds
In support of crowdfunding our new anthology of poems, No One You Know, with Unbound, Sue Dymoke and I are…
No One You Know -a new anthology with Unbound
With my friend and colleague Sue Dymoke I am delighted to announce the launch of No One You Know a new project…
The Power and Potential of Poetry
This is The Power and Potential of Poetry , the talk I gave today at the Somerset Literacy Network annual conference.…
Back to school
Every September is the same. I pack a bag for work, set off into the still warm sunshine, and wonder…
What really matters?
I was on the phone to a writer friend the other week. In itself this is a rare occurrence: normally…
On cancer as a ‘fight’
Yesterday former US President Barack Obama tweeted his support of Senator John McCain who has just been diagnosed with brain…
Lost
There I was, minding my own business, trying to sort something out via email when it would have been easier…
Ken
His real name was Crispin. Bespectacled, quiffed, bandy legged, Ken wore the aloof expression of the terminally lonely, a tilt of…
On giving feedback
I found myself in the position of giving feedback to some writers recently. The writers were teachers who had signed…
Cured
A Tuesday, appropriately. (Tuesday being the day I was formally diagnosed.) Poetic, it strikes me now. But at the time,…
On Not Being Anthony Wilson
On Not Being Anthony Wilson I haven’t always been Anthony Wilson. For a long time I wasn’t even Anthony.…
Writing in the cracks
I was having a coffee with a new writer friend the other day. Not having known each other for very…
Lifesaving Poems 