• Creative Corner – ‘Sonnet’ Showcase

    As it’s February we thought we’d go a bit old school this month and make the theme ‘sonnets’ in time for Valentine’s day. The theme is used in the loosest sense of the word with our poems either using the common form of the sonnet and others the focus...
  • Creative Corner: ‘The Town-Crier’ by Frankie Denton

    If you go down to the woods today, you may find a stranger on a dark and winding path. I did once, when I ventured into the black pines. He stood like a shadow and when he moved, he was the shifting ebony of a dilated pupil. He was...
  • Creative Corner: The Brightest Star

    Snowflakes clung to the windowpane like icing frosted upon a gingerbread house. With a start, Eleanor’s unfocused gaze took in the room around her: bench after bench of hard-working elves hand crafting this year’s presents. No time for slowing down. In her hands was another of the ragdolls, her...
  • Creative Corner: Snow

    I opened the shaking white door and saw a cream white blanket of Snow perched on the cold, shivering ground. I saw a painter, painting the dark sky into a fresh white one. A blanket of snow wanted me to step on it: I imagined it would take me...
  • Creative Corner: Winter Poem

    Frost-crisped grass, a glittering field Of upturned blades, and the distant Muffled swell of a choir singing.   Windows fogged with steam and Lights blurred behind, flashing, Pulsing, twinkling against the eye.   A brisk wind to chap the lips, Noses red, feet stamping, hands Thumping, scarfs wrapped tight....
  • Creative Corner: 31 Days

    Day 1 Overnight, pumpkins festoon supermarket windows. It has begun. Day 2 Boys with conkers, brown and polished as their school shoes, battering rams swung on shoelaces to fight. Day 3 Translucent colours hover in the sky, droplets plop, rainbow above the canal. Day 4 Late. Again. This stop...
  • Creative Corner: What the Robin Saw

    At the end of October-month skeletons dance on the graves of our mothers and fathers. They rise to the call of the night and bring out their buried fiddles to play a jig. Only Red Jack Robin, little Jack they call him who perches on the branches of the...