Depth of Field (Field)
Tessar Lens: The Cheap Alternative
The Land Rises
Seend: A Village of High Walls
Mid June
Naish Hill Fingerpost (Looking North)
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The Lansdowne Monument
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Woods Near Bowden Park B&W Edit
The Light Behind the Lattice
Pylonesque
Pylons Between Pewsey and Devizes
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Post at Hackpen Hill
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Wiltshire Landscape, Summer, 2018
Avebury Stone Circle, October (B&W)
Avebury Stone Circle, October
St. Giles' Church Windows, Kellaways
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The Courts Garden Temple
My World Is Blue
Fallen Apples Under an Iron Bench
Autumn is Orange
Wheelbarrow
Teardrops
Sundial
Caen Hill in the Dawn during July
Edington Priory
View Through Trees
A36 Viaduct at Limpley Stoke
Edington Priory Church
A Wiltshire Field, June, 2019
Kellaways Railings (Depth of Field)
Seend, Wiltshire: Traffic
Velo Club Walcot Rushing Through Kellaways
Missing Person
Big House on the Site of the Old Mill
Kellaways Weir
Waiting for the Train
Railings at Kellaways
Red Leaf at Kellaways
A Primark Dress Caught on Brambles
The Running Lady
A Prayer For Those Who've Gone Before
River Avon at Kellaways (1)
River Avon at Kellaways (2)
The Road Through Kellaways
Letterbox, Tytherton Kellaways
Train Passing Kellaways
The Land
Rural Wiltshire
Cloudy Sky Over St. Giles's Churchyard
Maud Heath's Causeway, June, 2019
Life Steals Away This Hour
Transport in Rural Areas
St. Giles's Church, Tytherton Kellaways
Approaching Storm Over Kellaways
Teffont Evias
Reybridge Cottages
St. Anne's Church, Bowden Hill
Three O'Clock
Double Breasted Coat
Whiteheads Lane
Recycling
Trees on Bowden Hill
Somewhere in a Small Country Town
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Do you know this one? A National Poetry Competition winner from 2014.
Corkscrew Hill Photo
by Roger Philip Dennis
All afternoon she counts the sounds
until the fly-specked room crackles with silence.
Even the song thrush noteless. A thick drizzle
trickles rivulets down the window pane,
smears distance on fields, curtains-off hills
and greens the sagged thatch,
aches in the creaking gate and screws
watering eye to misting glass:
a hearse skids slowly up the muddy lane,
blurs in droplets on a spider-web,
spins sideways into darkness…
…rattling cough of cattle, rusty tractor,
hinge of paint-peeled door, gears
of cars forced to back in one-track lanes,
buzz of pylons spanning the hum
of outboards in the yachtsmen’s creek,
yelp of kids in the converted Mill,
the soft click-click of a camera-shutter
up Corkscrew Hill…
The casement steams with sunset. She picks herself
up off the floor, mouth dry as mourner’s grin.
Her arm reaches, shakes, reaches again,
gathers the clattering jar from the shelf.
“Cider?”
The landlord frowns, sniffing cat,
moth-ball, mould. She squares her back
on his fine view – the duck bob,
seagull clutter, gape of lime kiln.
“And a nip of lovage,”
before he can point her
the off-licence hatch in the yard,
“to keep out the damp!”
and smiles spittle.
Her flagon scrapes a scroll of varnish
the length of the bar’s stripped pine,
past bleating townies, past the regular’s chair
and the corner where the photographer
sits draining her valley
through a tilted lens.
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