In dreams, another poem’s formed in a darkand silent room for an anonymous anthology.Poems map the seasons, track winter’s ragingfloods and untarnished summer skies. Stanzasstep like dancers across page or screen butthe audience is voiceless. In the morning,while out walking, seeking inspiration, I finda stubby piece of chalk on the empty road,consider hopscotch, but there’s […]
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writing in north norfolk 