Feeling for Snow

Land whumped by white, Silenced and ceased by the last word of snowfall. Swaddled like Lazarus, until finally Quieted. Embosomed in effulgent drefts, Made to lie down, ashen and dead and dressed as a bride.

Gathering Words

I am going through some old notebooks and harvesting scraps of old poetry. Like this: Enormous heart that could crush pythons with its heavy solidity. It might become too onerous and weighty to stay standing much longer. You would need long feet like a clown and a strong stomach to carry such a thing.

Wordsworth popping up all over the place

When I first looked at my newborn son, a few years ago now, I remember being struck by how he did not look brand new. He looked like he already knew something– something of depth; ancient even. There was an article in the Guardian this weekend about poems on the subject of infancy and someone […]