Alan writes poems the way some people keep journals—quietly, regularly, and usually with a cup of tea (or something stronger) within reach. Drawn to the small details others pass by, his work drifts between memory, landscape, and the odd sideways thought that refuses to leave him alone.
He has a particular fondness for rivers, old paths, and the sort of weather that makes you reconsider your life choices halfway through a walk. While he takes the craft seriously, he doesn’t always take himself that way, and believes a good poem should leave just enough room for a wry smile alongside the reflection. When he isn’t writing, he’s often thinking about writing—which, as he’ll tell you, is practically the same thing.