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Hash 501 – Potting Shed @ Crudwell

It was John’s fault. I love the way Swindonians say about someone: “Ah Bless” when what they really mean is “Bloody Eejit” which has a more grounded sound to it. Yes, definitely John’s fault. Now John wasn’t the hare. Oh no, he had tried to cut his leg off a few weeks back and should…

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Poetry Swindon

Most people stop reading poems when they leave school. At best, they look up well-known poems for funerals and weddings, but that’s about it. If you ask them for the names of poets they list poets who are dead or nearly there! And yet, in a small way, poetry is alive and well in Swindon…

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The Eve Appeal

The Eve Appeal

When Peter Vagn-Jensen asked me to compose a poem for the charity he founded, The Eve Appeal, I felt very honoured. I was already aware of the statistics about gynaecological cancers. 55 women are diagnosed every day in the UK and 21 will die. 40% will not survive. That is horrific. The Eve Appeal is…

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How’s the Jeep progressing?

Hi Mark Funny you should ask! Fiona came home last night around 11pm and told me there was a sizzling noise coming from the Jeep. It sounded like a cat frying on the battery but I couldn’t see anything. I got the keys and unlocked it with the fob at which moment the alarm went…

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A Pilgrimage to Belaghy

A Pilgrimage to Belaghy

I stopped off in Belaghy to visit Seamus Heaney’s grave. I say it was a pilgrimage as it was a way to say thanks for how much he gave me through his poetry. His work will endure for me, a hand reach away on a respectful shelf, each book known and placed in order, each…

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Poems in a Stairwell

Poems in a Stairwell

I took Hilda Sheehan’s book “When My Sister Went to Hollywood” on a trip to Dublin. She had given it to me the previous weekend so I was very excited about reading it. On the way back, after showing passport and boarding card, the Ryanair staff herded us into the stairwell, as they do, while…

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Only a few times in a lifetime

Only a few times in a lifetime

You only sow asparagus a few times in your life, but such pleasure. This is Heaney territory, digging a deep drill, then cupping a small mound within by hand, covering it with the sweet well-broken manure I got earlier from a farmer. We didn’t talk about it but both instinctively took off our gloves to…

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