Walking along Anglesey’s coastal path I found the rhythm of walking and the freshness of the air encouraged all sorts of words to join me, to come strolling along besides me and I suppose I found a flow! Coastal path poetry grew and grew and even the simple act
Katherine was reading a small book waiting for her visitor whose wet hair she could not live without. Behind her the girl in the wall was giggling again and if the book had not been so old and fragile, then things would have happened in the old way. But each short page endeared itself
it takes me to slate shale and corroded boat bottom bolts, rolling gentle, this way and that, as rhythmic lovers in lost rockpools where the broken strength of iron fills the nostrils and shows ‘death’ as escape and re-make.