I have five (not so easy) pieces in the most recent edition of Morphrog online magazine, including a prose poem, ‘Birches’. Here’s an excerpt:
‘I found myself in a small copse of young birches: a damp smell of humus and fresh rain, the sky closed and white, the onset of spring heralded in distant, waxy light. At the edges, I recognised crowds, as though I had found my way into the empty ground between two waiting armies. The trees stood barely ten feet tall, the pale bark mottled brown at the seams, fraying, tarnished, the crowns still little more than a collection of reddish reeds. The frailty of birch bark had recently become a fascination for me, its injured skin. From a young age I have experienced an allergy to birch pollen, the drizzling catkins disintegrating into pale green dust, the intolerance spreading as I grew older to trick enzymes into finding toxins in other fruits and vegetables, peach skin and cherries, raw carrot and the white flesh of apples turning to minor poisons.’
Read more from ‘Birches’ on Morphrog here.
Also included on Morphrog is my poem ‘Spring on The Balcony’, a film-poem of which you can see here: