Somerset In Verse

Around a hundred and thirty lead tablets were dropped into the hot spring at Bath, asking a goddess for justice. She never answered. They survived anyway. The reason why is the most useful thing I know about writing loss. Two thousand years ago, someone stood at the edge of a steaming pool in Somerset, scratched a message into a thin sheet of lead, and dropped it into the water. The message wasn't a prayer of any grandeur. Somebody had taken their cloak from the bath-house. T

Two hundred years ago a farm labourer watched surveyors draw lines across the common ground he loved. What he did next is the most useful thing I know about how to write a place. Here is the idea underneath everything below, and it turns out to be the whole reason I write any of this down. Nothing here is waiting for us. That is exactly what makes it worth the looking. Somerset In Verse — Exmoor To Levels In Poetry opens on that principle, in a poem whose title is deliberatel

Two poems, both ending with a human structure underwater in the dark. Only one of them is still readable. The difference should change how you write. An artistic illustration of Glastonbury Lake Village In 1912, Thomas Hardy wrote about the wreck of the Titanic lying on the seabed — the jewels designed to dazzle now lying lightless, and the fish drifting past them asking what all this vanity could possibly have been for. It is one of the great poems in the language, and the w

Glastonbury Tor is the most mythologised hill in England. I wrote a poem about clay shrinkage instead — and I am still not certain I was right. A realistic wide landscape photograph of Glastonbury Tor in Somerset, England, seen from across the flooded winter levels. Glastonbury Tor has been the Isle of Avalon since at least the twelfth century. It carries Arthur, Guinevere, Joseph of Arimathea, the Holy Grail, the ley lines and a great deal of living spiritual practice. Walk