The Wrong Forest
Mean aluminium trees – plastic vines circulating analgesic sap – fail to sway in the bare thoracic snap from tired, syncopating lungs. Phoney canopy on geometric bough. Silent, motionless … Continue reading
Well, gosh!
I’m in the London Magazine, again! Two of my poems about Norway, ‘Tromsdalen’ and ‘Losna (Winter)’ appear in the December/January issue which is available via by clicking on this link … Continue reading
Bailey Bank
No Bailey takes us from mainland and over the Faeroes to open seas above Rosemary Seamount Crater that gapes, dormant but screaming, as she is force fed distressed ships and … Continue reading
Two of the reasons I’m doing a PhD
A Confessional Prose Poem of sorts. i) Martin came by to babysit. I was three and had heard Good Vibrations by the Beach Boys on the radio that morning … Continue reading
News, apologies, excitement (slight return)
If I’ve seemed a bit quiet of late, there are a number of good reasons. Firstly, I’ve been chasing up a PhD for myself and after several months, I’ve got … Continue reading
Dungeness – March 9th, 2018.
Brut concrete lines, aged and crinkled, adding ersatz shingles to a saved and solemn beach. Beech gantries lead to stern signposts warning of ripped seas warmed, given unexpected life … Continue reading
Flesh and Feather
Drab brown drag bustling with the snap and jitter of twelve frames a second. Squabble tweedling with dickering kin scrabble-flickering for errant grain. The farmers sons with .22 strength … Continue reading
Not Gold
A rucksack, mugger torn, spills a life to the floor. Gathering the remnants; wallet, money, destination gone; no choice but a park bench; enamelled metal and stale beer sticky; … Continue reading
A Dream
To see the sky with no tangent vapours marking its jetted limits… To see the land unboxed, its concertina scars flooded and weeping… To see the mirror-straits deepest … Continue reading
Tromsdalen
There was a time when a small shack, – unused in decades – stood here, shaking under a barrage of wind and hail; door barely hanging on by it’s friable rust devoured hinges; charged … Continue reading
Will Vigar 
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