Poetry and prose by Alex Hickman
1913 All November artillery arcs unseen into Salisbury Plain, Noise like someone furiously slamming the door, again and again. Shell smoke squatting, gobbed above the crushed grassland, then feathering into air. … In the village, December narrows to the corridor of days leading a dark ending into moods of glitter and promise. Wet boots, paired […]
Read More…If you’re a cricket fan you’ll know that England have just lost the Second Test in Australia, and that their batsmen have – once again – failed to overcome a disciplined Australian pace attack. Like any sporting series, this one is accompanied by a cacophony of media comment. The Australian press, which feels that it […]
Read More…We are in the year’s dark narrows. In the churchyard the yew – green-black and skittish with robins – is ruling the short days, the long nights. Wonderful seasons! I am still young and foolish enough to long for snow. I hope I always will be. In the meantime, the last leaves on the field […]
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