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Author / Jon Woolcott
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Protected: White Horses, Kiwi, Trench by Susannah Walker
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
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Ends the Land Suddenly by Paul Gamble
This was our unfenced existence, among crumbling towers and tunnels; we scampered up, clambered around, and investigated all manner of half-ruins
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Luskentyre by Ian Grosz
I can hear the distant sound of the ocean, smell the ozone in the air and feel the fine mist of salt-spray against my skin.
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Algiz by Nick Hayes
I went picking and sawing fallen, seasoned boughs, that lay scattered on the valley slopes of the river Avon.
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Patterjacks by Benjamin Myers
He cocked his head and listened, and for a moment the cool morning was perfectly still and silent.
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Seen Dead by Mike Parker
I try the church door, and much to my surprise, it creaks open. I can’t remember the last time I found one unlocked.
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Perhaps All Art Is Ritual by Jackie Morris
Is this giving back of the stones ritual; back to the land, to the sea, to the living, to the dead?
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At the Very End of the Road by Phillip Edwards, an extract
…fine nebulae of plovers high above loose weavings of lapwings above tighter sprays of redshanks…
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Milk by Robert Ashton
A hundred years ago, the Evans family were far from alone in keeping a cow in their backyard.
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The Last of Our Green Space by Jalal Abukhater
Ramallah’s residents have a lingering sense of claustrophobia: it’s not hard to see why.
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This is not the Wasteland by Caroline Beck
The dale is full of dreamers, dry-stone wallers, artists, writers, potters, stargazers and poets all quietly soaking up its rich raw elements.
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Shalimar, an extract, by Davina Quinlivan
Hepworth carved a Burmese Baby from the blackest wood, silent and shining. She conjured him with her own hands.
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