Over one hundred years have passed since your poem was written I am in Whitstable today with my family The sun is high in the sky and everything is calm Small children are playing with vacant oyster shells Whilst their parents paddle quietly in the sea Above me umber moths hide in the coastal trees […]

You are the first poem in a book of Soldier Poets Your poem was written by a Major in the British Expeditionary Force in France during the First World War He is only known by his initials no more H.D’A. B. Marthe of the lowered eyes This is how the poem opens I wonder who […]

Large blood red roses Decorate The walls Of my room Some say That they were stained By the blood of Christ But I know that the weeping poppies Scarred these walls  

When visiting beaches I often search For emotive pebbles They bring me much comfort No matter their mood As I ignore their emotions  

She steals around the village after dark Weeping for her lost love Many have tried to help her But she was betrayed By the fluid whiteness Of her sea dress     A weeping mermaid visits the small coastal village ok Kingsdown in Kent once a year on the anniversary of her fiancés death He […]

Before moving away from the small coastal village where I spent my childhood and former years I knew a mysterious girl named Dover Anthem She was considered odd by many as she could often be found combing the beach for the lost treasure of pirates or swimming alone in the sea For some reason she […]

The Old Rifle Range Under the towering white cliffs near the coastal village of Kingsdown in Kent one can find a derelict rifle range once used by my marines The years of disuse have taken their toll and the whole area is in a state of advanced decay I initially visited the rifle range in […]

On my left there were a number of men dressed in Great War army uniforms There were in a circle and singing hymns I looked out to sea Neptune and his mermaids Were swimming in the waves I filmed them on my phone A wretched waif dressed in filthy rags Tapped me on the shoulder […]

It seems strange that their pens became silent On the same summers day A great deal of time has now passed But they have not been forgotten In the dereliction of their years     The War Poets Hedd Wyn and Francis Ledwidge were killed on the same day July the 31st 1917   

Dreams of an Alternative Reality I was in my bedroom when my long dead cat Topaz came up to me You have been away for such a long time I said quietly my voice nervous with disguise Topaz gave me a loving look as I stroked her and then left my room forever I waited […]