Julie Maclean appears in international journals including POETRY, The Best Australian Poetry, Mslexia, Shearsman, Southerly, BODY and Poetry Salzburg.


She has been winner and highly commended in poetry and short fiction competitions in both Australia and the UK.  


Former teacher of English and Drama in both hemispheres she teaches Creative Writing in community settings.


Julie has two previous publications.




Terry Quinn also has two previous poetry publications and is published widely in the UK.


He is a regular contributor to The North, Acumen, The French Literary Review, South and Orbis and was runner-up in the 2014 BBC Proms Poetry Competition.


Former Medical Engineer with the NHS in the UK he also spent some years in the Middle East.


He now helps organise poetry events in the North-West of England including the National Portrait Gallery’s ‘Picture a Poet’ Exhibition.





36 pages


£6.00 + P&P UK


PUB: 1st JULY 2016













As joint winners of the inaugural Geoff Stevens Memorial Poetry Prize our collections were published by Indigo Dreams Publishing in 2013.


Winning that prize and launching our books together in the Black Country that same year put us on the same page. We come from similar worlds; both born in England in the fifties and both travellers and poetry lovers.


We continued writing to each other, sharing ideas about poetry, publishing and the weather. This seemed important with the world between us – one writing from the north of England and the other from the Antipodes.


In December 2014 we decided to start using each other's poems as triggers. This project is the product of a year's work, born of that original poetry prize. Gratitude and thanks go to Ronnie Goodyer and Dawn Bauling of Indigo Dreams.




Alice is over there (TQ)


Said the woman with a white badge

pointing to row upon row of Wonderland

where some books were short and fat

some long and thin

some looked heavy some looked fun

and one was all of those things


“This isn’t right,” exclaimed the Customer

“There’s only one Alice”


“That is not so” said Alice in a pink dress

“She’s correct” said Alice in a hat

which set off a deafening chorus

of girls’ voices that right had been left

but they were not, absolutely not,

some kind of cheap copy

except for a slim volume on the top shelf

who proudly bristled that that’s exactly what she was

until an old hardback demanded SILENCE then exclaimed

“Do not choose them, I am the original Alice,

these are copywrongs,

so you may pick me as it is my anniversary”

which caused a huge fluttering


“That’s quite enough, Sir,” said the Assistant firmly

“we’ve all been Alice since 1907, so please leave.”


she fussed around the shelves calming them all down

muttering to herself about consequences

before disappearing down a corridor marked

To Science and Natural History.



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Stonehenge in the Ley of the Dark (JM)


From under an old army blanket

we watched the sun rise over Friars Heel

before high wire and solstice porn ruined our Druid fantasy.

We startled every kissing gate after elderberry picking,

a flask of tea and an argument over a short skirt.


And now,

hem grown long without you,

I can’t stop searching

for a marking stone

or tump of trees

on a mound by the weir

to show me the dead-true way

to a sighted track

where the knapper traded

flint and salt,

and a boulder shaped for a man’s back

splayed in sacrifice

was shot by rays on a Midsummer

slaughtering day in a Malvern cave.


So many times I lay upon that sarsen stone

as Tess in full view of the moon’s opinion

desperate to find the beckoning fire on the hill,

only now realising that if I could have

been still, under the bend of that copper lea,

understanding how a grove of beech is light

because it has no light

roots wrapped quiet, curious but clenched for dear or sour life,

that light would have aligned me with the boy

who drowned in the lake,                            

marked by an oak bench and marigolds.


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