A real-life story based on my first experience of a rugby league game in September 1978 I had waited so long! Years of watching my dad and uncle, nan and grandad disappear every Sunday afternoon—climbing into my grandad's old Triumph and driving down the road, scarves trailing from the rear windows, taunting me. I used to stand miserably, with my chin on the window ledge, refusing to move until the car was out of sight, the last of the exhaust fumes carried away on the wind

The Red Admiral does not wait inside a sealed chrysalis for spring to find it. Instead, it folds its bright wings beneath bark, inside ivy, in the quiet corners of sheds and hollow trees; becoming still, not gone. When winter loosens its cold hand for a single sunny day, it wakes, testing the air, drinking sweetness where it can find it, before returning to silence. Months pass. Then one morning, light lingers, the earth warms, and the butterfly opens its weathered wings to t

As with all good things - and Pilgrim walks in particular - The Golden Valley Pilgrim Way was longer in the talking and planning stage than in the actual doing; but despite that, it eventually turned out to be a lovely walk, taken in fortuitous spring sunshine amongst wonderful company. We had been talking about this walk with Tony's brother Jeff, and his wife Sue, for a couple of years and had loosely planned to take it on in April 2025. However, as is often the case, life g

Mist drifts in like fragrant gossamer veil on a breeze that's frail takes flight in silence a whispering vagrant with searching fingers and breath that lingers in resolute defiance Threads of pearl exposed as fleeting kiss what trick is this each timid frond embraced mountain edges in repose no apex seen no folds of green not even shadowy trace Ancient laurels remenisce boughs weighed down to skim the ground and then those strung out pearls become chains and hiss a brief down

They stood on the cliffs above Madeira eyes fixed on the horizon waiting for the brief white breath that broke the skin of the Atlantic A whale did not announce itself it appeared then disappeared leaving only silence and a widening circle on the water The word was sent The boats were lowered Oars entered the sea without ceremony Men rowed toward something larger than certainty larger than courage larger than the stories they told before leaving shore The whale was not an ene

Down the hill Along the lane The road is steep Quadriceps strain Traverse levada Water trickles Path is narrow Grasses tickle Descending steps Five hundred plus Our footsteps light No repercuss Mountain trail A darkened tunnel Rocks prevail Untethered rubble Summer blooms The sea in sight The crashing booms of Neptune's might And then we lunch beside the waves Forget about the rocks and caves Until when sun begins to dip It's time to take the uphill trip Neptune's might His c

The smell of sawdust and Danish oil hit first, a heavy, comforting musk trapped in creaking timber. My father's memory lives here forever, sealed away in jars of mismatched screws and rusty nails. I remember the workbench, scarred with deep rings from old coffee mugs, and the sharp burns of a soldering iron. A yellowed cassette radio sat in the corner, hissing static between country classics, the soundtrack to our quiet weekend afternoons. To me, it was never just a workspace

I walk along the mountain path My mind unleashed my thoughts are free I wonder what I'll come across What sounds I'll hear, what sights I'll see I like to wander here alone With no demands imposed on me Where trees and grasses sway at will And flowers nod complicity To rising hum of insect song I amble slow and listen hard The wonders of the world are fleeting The corners of my eyes on guard Ahead a feather beckons me A message from another world My feet move on without instr

Sun shining Breeze blowing Path plodding Tree hugging Flower gazing Day dreaming Wood-larking bound Teasel teasing Berry feasting Nest building Web weaving Brook babbling Reed rustling Wood-larking around Bee buzzing Finch fighting Frog croaking Owl hooting Chick cheeping Willow warbling Wood-larking sounds Den digging Bug hunting Sky diving Nut shunting Branch bobbing Nectar drinking Wood-larking around Sun dipping Cloud gazing Dusk coming Stress erasing Face glowing Wellnes

Today the ocean growls it's undercurrent a malevolent force Deep teal rifts rise from blackened depths which jagged boulder intercepts Sends white steeds to race ashore to crash in muddied pool Whilst displaced pebbles are cast aside Driftwood floats serene Has played this game so many times Ignores these petty childish crimes Ocean's roar of discontent Bombards unlistening ears And then a glint through clouded sky A sunny interlude The teal now jade with sparkling jewels A

Tim dropped his spoon, and his porridge splattered all over the cloth. "Bloody hell!" He heard the words come out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Language!" His mum was not impressed. "...and at the breakfast table as well." She tutted as she scrubbed at the mess with a cloth, "What prompted that outburst?" "Erm nothing," replied Tim sheepishly, "I've had enough anyway. I'm going to be late." Before she could argue, he grabbed his rucksack and phone and ran out of

Its dusk I sit here watching birds Not bird-watching No App Just watching the birds Listening to the birds A blackbird, a blackcap, canaries, a firecrest I watch a kestrel dive, and wonder...what does that feel like? I sit here watching birds Not bird-watching No App Then I can't help myself I pick up my phone And write a bloody poem I can't help myself I was just watching birds

It's all by design this garden of mine Spring, bringing bluebells and sweet celandine Forget-me-nots nod and wild daffodils bow Hyacinths put on a celestial show It's all by design this garden of mine Aroma of summer herbs, parsley and thyme Bird's-foot-trefoil sits with innocent daisy Midst fragrance of honeysuckle drifting and lazy It's all by design this garden of mine Autumn-ladies-tresses defying decline Encouraged by neighbours of hawkbit and teasel, Whilst scabious and

I occupy the in-between Exist in neither sleep nor dream Not life, not death, no colour scheme Adrift inert on languid stream Then cobalt ozone floods my mind And tingling neurons steal my peace. As glinting teal of breakers grind

Collected and felled and piled up to the sky A tumbledown ruin, next year’s wood supply It’s fly-sheeted canopy billows and falls Wind whistling through ivy that clings to its walls Next winter’s firewood, this summer’s hotel Where industrious residents eat, toil and dwell Efficient recyclers enabling decay Both shelter and restaurant, its purpose today Insects and beetles and solitary bees Springtails and woodlice and black millipedes Feeding on slugs that stay close to

“Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” I do what I do Lay my egg in an old nest, or one that's quite new High up or low down I'm not very fussy Just need a good sitter As I’m always so busy “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” I know what I'll do! I’ll secret my egg with the Dunnock eggs, blue Safe in the hedgerow From bold prying eyes Whilst I busy myself Hunting beetles and flies “Cuckoo! Cuckoo!” Where to lay number two? Tucked in with the Pipits, where my ancestors grew My baby will grow And devour all the food

Date: 2030 I was nervous throughout the interview. Any relevant experience I’d had seemed so long ago, but I really wanted this. I took another deep breath as the interviewer looked down at his notes. “Final question…” I held my breath. “…tell me why you want a job after all this time.” I exhaled slowly. “I want my life back.” His eyes narrowed and he looked as though he was going to ask me to clarify, but he didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t been the right thing to say, but it had b

March blows in and March blows out It paves the way from flood to drought From out of darkness, brings us light A hint of warmth, a sky more bright It strengthens patience now worn thin As March blows out and March blows in March blows out the winter chill And melts the snow upon the hill It banishes the winter gales Returns to winter, sleet and hale Yes March becomes the referee Till spring and winter can agree March blows in and clears the paths For crocuses and nodding daf