Pencil

I am returning to the pencil. The premise of which remark signifies consciousness that at some point I left the…

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Made of orange card, it’s an outline of my son’s hand. Comprising two sections, one his tiny, spread fingers,…

Being together so much and talking so much and writing poems and showing them to each other so much…

I am delighted to welcome Helena Nelson to continue our series on overlooked poets. Andrew Waterhouse and the Seventh…

In 1991 we moved to a house in Brixton, south London. Of all our welcomes, that of our neighbour,…

Some writers influence you through the pull of their imagination on your work, opening up new worlds as you read…

Continuing the series of guest blog posts on overlooked poets, I am delighted to welcome John Field of Poor Rude…

‘I’ve been at the field.’ This, spoken by one of the teachers on last week’s writing residential at Totleigh…

I think I need the Other Writer much more than they need me. Off the top of my head I…

I am delighted to announce that Ink Sweat & Tears have published a new poem, The Future, today. With thanks…

Last week I gave up writing. For about a day. I had been given a book by one of my…

I met Fairnie somewhere round the back of Richard Nicholson (or was it Rupert Loydell?) sometime in the very early…

I am delighted to welcome Chrissy Williams to enthuse about a poet who may be unfamiliar to UK readers. –…

I have been sorting. I have been chucking. It’s been the recurring theme over the last eighteen months. I cleared…

At the start of each academic year, usually when I have known them for a week or so, I make…

I am not sure why I started wearing deck shoes. I am no sailor -I have been on a sailing…

The book is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by small scraps of paper. Some have whole sentences on them.…

‘What are you doing?’ I say. ‘What does it look like?’ the book says. ‘It looks like you are tearing…