wedding

Autumn Gilt

by Valerie Bloom

Autumn Gilt

The late September sunshine
Lime green on the linden leaves
Burns bronze on the slated roof-tops,
Yellow on the farmer's last sheaves.

It flares flame-like on the fire...

Coffin Path Poem

by Helen Farish

My habit of late-light walking
will mirror my life, how in its twilight
I'll rush out saying, how beautiful -
has it been like this all day?

Brathay

by Helen Farish

Brathay

I love to see these symbols on the map -
the cross, the less-than-4-metres-wide road,
the pub (named even). And I love
to see us as symbols and everything
we saw: the two men...

The Caravan

by Clare Pollard

We were alive that evening, on the north Yorkshire moors,
in a valley of scuffed hills and smouldering gorse.
Pheasants strutted, their feathers as richly patterned
as Moroccan rugs, past the old Roma...