Thursday, 15 March 2018


wild poem 

one morning the mist came up from the dark dark
forist. The wind growled. The forest was wild. the  creachers   busting down from the trees. The moon was full. The wolfs wore howling from the mountains. The was rumbling from the wolfs. The surf was punching  on the rocks.               

Friday, 2 March 2018


I wrote a book review about the story Clipped