We are delighted to be working with and aiding the League Against Cruel Sports with the publication of this anthology.

'For The Silent' will contain poems which celebrate the natural world, condemn the cruelty of blood sports and speak out for the silent creatures in our countryside. Funds raised from the sale of this book will help the League in its work.

Read more about the League  by clicking here:  




‘For The Silent’ offers two ways to support the League :

1) Purchase a copy of the book for £10 plus p&p

2) Become a Named Supporter by donating £25. Have a permanent record of your support with your name listed in the book with other named supporters. You will also receive a free copy of the book, postage paid to the UK (extra Europe / Rest of World).  Donations must be received before end March for names to be included.


A5 Anthology      ISBN 978-1-912876-04-4

£10.00 + P&P       PUB: 2nd MAY 2019

Books will be dispatched on or shortly prior to the publication date.

Please choose your option from the links below:





(includes free copy of 'For The Silent')

All authors, photographers, artists and others who have their work included and those who have granted permission for work to be included in this anthology have donated their time, energy and talent for the benefit of League Against Cruel Sports.

We at Indigo Dreams Publishing applaud and thank each of them.

Ronnie Goodyer, Indigo Dreams Publishing and Poet-in-Residence, League Against Cruel Sports

Dawn Bauling, Indigo Dreams Publishing


The Song of Sally Weaver - Zoe Mitchell


When I change from woman to hare, I shrink

but am never diminished. It’s freedom,


I feel it keenly; the close-packed power

of muscles made to run, the speed that feels


like flight and the joy of a barefoot streak

across close-cropped turf and deep green valleys.


Over the downland in my brindled pelt,

I race along the belly of a whale.


Only romance can trap me; my lover

can confiscate my charm if I confess.


All my magic would drain away, the crunch

of spring-loaded rules would shatter my bones.


I am careful not to let any man

love me but even if I dart away


there are other means of capture – hunters

and predators will soon find the scarpfoot


and the moon isn’t always a mother

to us all. She can light a gun sight too,


she’s as much a friend to the stalking hounds

as she is to me. I must keep moving


to be free. If I am shot, I wonder

where the bullet goes, which creature it kills.


As both woman and hare I ask nothing

of the world than that I may run and know


the grassy hills, the sea and sky, the fossils

and bands of flint that sleep beneath my feet.



From Hag; Indigo Dreams




Deer by Loch Tay – Seth Crook


None in the day.

They come down in darkness,

stay until dawn.


With the nibbled kale,

the gnawed turnips,

you'd be baffled.


Unless you stepped out

carrying a lamp,

saw your fields full


of the quiet vagrants

whose lives are distant,

however close they are.


If they culled us,

they'd have every right;

hanging us up in bits,


in freezers,

in sheds,

stomping on all lamps.


Let there be light, we say,

Let there be darkness,

they answer, racing for their hills.

Against the Garden - Oak Ayling


Bodies slumped

Between tires and tarmac

Bless my children, Lord

Boys know badgers

By the colour of their dead

Broken by the weight of progress


See how we have turned against the garden and it’s growth?


How many horses, four? With their

Hundreds of hooves pounding, thunder

Hide! Hide! Hide!

Here come the white, red, black & pale

Horses, Horsemen, Hounds and foaming

Hound’s teeth, 42 daggers bared, baying

Hear the sound of the world ending for one

Hear the sound of us marching to our own


See how we have turned against the garden and it’s growth?


Bless the wings of

Birds which will not carry them to safety

Bow your heads for a hundred thousand

Bodies falling softly to the ground

But the season is the season; feathers & ash will rain down, Oh

Bloodlust is it’s most savage in the civil.


See how we have turned against the garden and it’s growth.






To Those That Defy the International Ban on Whaling - Jane Burn


A space of sea

as big as four million cars,

two million houses,

twelve million men.

Great brained, huge-headed, pottval –

named for a boiled creature.

Oiler of industry. Please, not sperm.

Call her Cachalot, after her teeth,

this wonder, rather than after what we took.

Scrimshaw scratched, to pass the time –  

pictures of ships, portraits of loves ones.

Words. Try Physeter

and bring to mind her blowhole, her breath.

Even her iron-rich shit

grows the creatures that eat

the carbon from our air.

She is magic.


Sixteen months to grow her baby inside her.

It will drink one hundred gallons of milk in a day.

Each will carry tonnes of blood in their veins.

Big enough to sink the Essex.

Big as a bus.

You could fit the weight

of two human beings

inside her heart.



FOR THE SILENT will be launched as a highlight of the Cheltenham Poetry Festival on

THURSDAY MAY 2nd 8.30pm - 10.00pm at The Playhouse Theatre, Cheltenham.


This will be part of an Indigo Dreams double-bill and follows the INDIGO DREAMS SHOWCASE. It would be great if you could join us!






For The Silent A5 Book Cover 72