Yew

In search of yew in Borrowdale that shared the sun with Judas, I walk a rutted path, aware of twinges, snares, rocks, carrying your paints and easel along with this bowl of words, no longer fit for consumption, mold festering in knots from sour touching fruit within. And if these words were berries, gardeners would…

Kendal Mountain Literature Festival 2018

Happening in two weeks time: poems from This Place I Know (anthology of Cumbrian poetry published by Handstand Press) read by notable poets plus meeee at the Kendal Mountain Literature Festival in the Malt Room at the Brewery Arts Centre (Saturday 17th November 11:30 am).

Is that the time already?

Good grief, we’re half-way through September; this soapbox go cart careers uncontrollably toward the cliff edge of oblivion, while the steering wheel comes off in my hands and I begin to regret that I didn’t incorporate a brake as a design feature. Ah well … At least Kendal Poetry Festival was good. I enjoyed listening…

Swings and Swirly Things

This has happened before, this poetical déjà vu thing, where one bit of submission news (either good or bad) is almost immediately followed by a further bit of submission news of the opposite hue (either bad or good). About ten minutes after finding out that Strix had passed over a poem, I receive another e-mail telling…