Sometimes at New Street

A prose poem about Birmingham’s biggest train station.     Sometimes at New Street it’s a Monday morning. Peak time. Crisp sunlight and a rush of lukewarm air, soaking her skin as she passes through the automatic doors. In the continuous and urgent bustle of the commute she is enveloped, inaudible chatter fluttering around her…

Party of the Year

A poem I wrote about social introversion, and the way it’s often parallel with the seasons. Party of the Year Promising January Pushed me through the door, After a long winter, praying for warmth. Cold drinks and the sweeping of wind For a while made me linger, But the fermented scent of strangers Or friends…