Poetry that remembers what the world forgets.

There’s a moment, when writing a collection, where the work stops being a set of poems and starts becoming a place.

Embers of the Valleys grew out of that moment for me. What began as scattered lines and images slowly gathered into a landscape shaped by memory, myth, and the quiet resilience of the Welsh valleys. I didn’t set out to write a book about belonging, but the valleys have a way of pulling you back to what matters.

As I wrote, I found myself returning to the textures of home: the coal dust that lingers in stories long after the mines have closed, the way mist clings to the hillsides, the unspoken tenderness in the communities that raised me. These embers aren’t just remnants of the past. They’re the sparks that keep us warm, the ones we carry forward even when we don’t realise it.

This collection became a way of honouring those sparks. It asked me to sit with grief and grit, with the beauty that hides in ordinary places, with the echoes of voices that shaped my own. It taught me that poetry can be both a reckoning and a refuge.

Now that the manuscript is complete, I’m struck by how much it taught me about patience, about listening, and about trusting the slow burn of a story. Embers of the Valleys is my attempt to hold a light to the places and people who shaped me, and to offer readers a space to recognise their own embers too.

Poetry across the generations.

Poetry has always had a quiet way of travelling further than we expect. It moves through centuries, crossing borders and shifting languages, yet it still finds its way into the hands of children discovering rhythm for the first time and adults searching for meaning in the small hours. Few art forms stretch so naturally across ages and eras.

What I love most is how poetry creates a shared space for thought. A poem can pause a busy mind, open a door to a feeling we didn’t know we needed to name, or spark a conversation that might never have surfaced in ordinary life. Children approach poems with curiosity and play. Adults bring memory, experience, and sometimes a little armour. Yet both groups meet the poem in the same place, guided by the same invitation to wonder.

In that way, poetry becomes a bridge. It lets us speak across generations, across time, and across the quiet distances between us. It reminds us that language is not only something we use but something we inhabit. And when a poem resonates, it shows us that our thoughts and questions are not as solitary as they sometimes feel.

Children’s Literature Should Be Accessible to Every Child.

The books that shape us when we’re young often arrive at exactly the right moment. A teacher slipping a story into our hands, a parent reading by lamplight, a library copy worn soft at the edges. Those moments shouldn’t depend on whether a family can afford a book. Stories belong to children first, and the world is kinder when we make it easy for them to reach.

When I wrote Enfys and the Golden Treasure, I knew I wanted it to be accessible to every child who might need it. A story about kindness, difference, and quiet courage shouldn’t sit behind a barrier. That’s why the digital edition is free to download, no sign ups, no conditions, just a book for any child who wants to step into the Fireback Mountains and meet a small dragon with soft white curls and a brave heart. For those who prefer the feel of a physical book, a printed copy is available.

Alongside the book, I created a free Parents Guide to support the adults who read with children. It offers gentle prompts, discussion themes, and ways to explore the emotional threads woven through the story, kindness, peer pressure, difference, and the courage to be unapologetically who you are. My hope is that it helps families turn the story into a shared conversation, not just a quiet read.

Children’s literature has always been a doorway. Some children step through it easily. Others need the door held open for them. If my work can hold that door, even a little, then it’s doing what it was meant to do.

I only ask that the book isn’t copied or redistributed elsewhere. Keeping the download on my website ensures the story remains freely accessible while still respecting the work that went into creating it.

From Embers to Echoes

When I finished writing Embers of the Valleys, I thought I had reached the end of a journey. The collection had allowed me to explore memory, folklore, resistance, and the stories that shaped the valleys I call home. Yet as readers began sharing their thoughts with me, I found myself returning to the landscapes behind those stories. I realised there were still echoes waiting to be heard.

Echoes of the Kingdoms grew from that realisation. Where Embers was driven by fire, voice, and remembrance, Echoes asked me to slow down and listen. The poems led me into burial chambers, ancient hillforts, drowned kingdoms, industrial ruins, and forgotten histories. Again and again I found myself drawn to the same idea: that the land remembers far more than we do.

Research became as much a part of the writing process as the poetry itself. Many of my weekends were spent travelling, walking old paths, visiting historic sites, and learning the stories hidden within them. Some poems emerged from myth, some from documented history, and others from the space where the two seem to meet. The deeper I explored, the more I understood that Cymru carries its memories not only in books and archives, but in the landscape itself.

As Echoes neared completion, it became clear to me that the two collections belonged together. One carries the spark. The other carries the sound. Together they form a single journey through myth, memory, language, loss, and cultural inheritance. That understanding ultimately became the foundation for Embers and Echoes, my first hardback collector's anthology.

Creating the anthology felt different from simply combining two books. It was an opportunity to present the complete journey exactly as I had imagined it: from the first ember of remembrance to the echoes carried across centuries. Along the way, I added hidden details to be discovered within the cover artwork, small tributes to the stories contained inside and a way of rewarding readers who enjoy looking a little closer.

Looking back, I see these books not as separate projects but as chapters of the same conversation. They are my way of honouring the myths, histories, landscapes, and people that continue to shape who we are. If readers finish the journey wanting to learn more about Cymru, revisit a story they thought they knew, or simply pause to listen to the places around them, then the poems have left a space for us to remember, listen and share our beautiful Cymru.