Author: Turning the Stones

Have you ever heard strange noises in the middle of the night? Maybe it was just the windows rattling in the wind, or perhaps it was something more…

… Continue readingSUPERNATURAL FLINTSHIRE

Hello Win. Hello love. She doesn’t remember me, but still she smiles. She is frail and tiny, flimsy in her woolly cardi, corded veins in folded hands. She no longer dreams of dancing with Dad. The girl bring us cups of tea and we sit … Continue readingWAVING THROUGH GLASS

A wistful look back to the lost days of childhood. Words: Sonia Goulding, composed and performed by @ElfinBow. AND THEN, THE DAWN Do you remember when The day came young and bright To greet us, with a promise in her hands? When we ran out … Continue readingAND THEN, THE DAWN

My fingers tremble as I lift her, just a whisper of shell-bone and feather. Her wings are warm and soft, folded and still in the cup of my hands, her eyes, half closed, hide their shine. I look to the sky filled with wingbeats and … Continue readingAFTERSHOCK

Here is the latest of my Welsh language poems about the River Dee (English version below). Many thanks to my brother-in-law, Brian Bishop, for permission to use his stunning image as my cover photo. Y FFIN AFLONYDD Goruwch Llanuwchllyn Yng ngwyllt Eryri, Mae Afon Dyfrdwy’n … Continue readingY FFIN AFLONYDD – THE RESTLESS BORDER

I have decided to write a small collection of poems in the Welsh language, inspired by my favourite river, the Dee, which rises in the mountains of Snowdonia and reaches the estuary between the Wirral and north Wales after a journey of 100 km.. I … Continue readingAR DYWODAU’R DDYFRDWY (ON THE SANDS OF DEE)

The captivating and insistent song of a bird draws me out into the garden at around 7.30 pm.  It is unseasonably warm, the evening light diffused and soft.  I follow the sound, and discover the little bird, a robin, singing his heart out at the … Continue readingSEPTEMBER SKETCH AT TWILIGHT

I come from a house in the air with no garden, but railings we’d climb without fear, near the clanging shipyard and the sound of the hooter, where sometimes we’d wait by the gates for my dad.  I come from streets where the rag and … Continue readingTHE TIME BEFORE

Anxious, and trying to make sense of the situation late one night in the middle of the second UK lockdown, I was searching through the news headlines on AOL, and started playing around with them to see what I could come up with. These are … Continue readingNOT NECESSARILY IN THE RIGHT ORDER

“Stones dream of shapes they might become. The sculptor has but to listen.” Thurin-Jon
… Continue readingTHE SCULPTOR