Westway is never deserted, even at three-fifteen in the morning. You’ve driven up from Brixham, four hours on empty motorways, but...

  Winter Haiku   High in the damson tree brown leaves curl and crack, Robin sings a solo.   Flashes of cold grey white, stabbi...

    Still Life, With Waders     Susan Gilbert I will be publishing one or two of the poems here in future,  If you'd like to p...