We meet at 7:30pm on

the first Thursday of

each month at

The Biffa Room,

St. Mark’s Church,

Calder Rise

(off Avon Drive),

Bedford, MK41 7UY



Visitors (18 and older) and prospective members are VERY welcome, whether experienced writers, beginners, or just curious.  Simply turn up on the night or contact us by clicking on the 'Get in Touch' icon for an interesting, enjoyable, and possibly instructive evening.

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Alpine by Robert Simmons


The Alpengeist looks on

From his icy perch

In the mountain tops.


There, he lingers,

Keeping a watchful eye

On the valley below.


Casting his gaze over

Jaded forests

And malachite meadows.


He surveys the golden fields

And the tracks leading

To the lake of sapphire.


If anyone ascends my peaks,

They’d better watch out

Lest the mountains bite back!


Around the lake, the villagers

Bask in the summer sun,

Going about their business.


Some go out  

Into the crystal waters

For a dip or a catch.


Others lay in the grass,

Taking in the mountains

Standing tall and proud.


The fresh Alpine winds,

Cool and collected,

Sweep gently through.


The villagers are content.

They continue taking in

The simple delights of summer.


Still, they know that

The Alpengeist is waiting,

Biding his time.


For now, he watches.

He is happy to wait

Until winter comes,


When he’ll be sure to

give the valley

More than a gentle frosting.




Never Slow Down by Joy Wilkinson


She could still feel the breeze on her cheeks, breathe the pine scented air, feel the welcoming ache in her legs of climbing so high.  Always with her father.  

It was his favourite activity, hiking and climbing mountains.  He had started to take her with him as soon as she got her first pair of shoes, the red ones with a bow.  She remembered holding his hand, almost running to keep up with him.  He never slowed down and now it was her friends who were always telling her to “slow down!”

By the time she was ten she had climbed all the Munros and moved on to greater challenges.  They had travelled to Austria, the Black Forest in Germany, the French Alps, and returned time after time to Switzerland with its magical combination of scenic mountains and cool turquoise lakes.

And it was in Switzerland, on the outskirts of the mighty Jungfrau, that her father, now in his eighties, had suffered a fatal heart attack.  

She smiled fondly at the picture that brought back all the memories.  It was just the way she would like to go: not slowing down, and still doing something she loved.




Alpine by Rosemary Ostley


High above the eagle flies

Out of sight of prying eyes,

Watching for some hapless prey,

Made careless by a summer’s day,

Feathers skimming silken air.

Far below, in silent prayer,

Pristine dwellings bend the knee

In pretty red-roofed harmony.


Luscious trees stand idly by,

Lazy clouds creep past the sky,

Fields their ragged patterns form

As if from nature’s garment torn.

Water blue as blue can be

Circles round the monast’ry.

A gentle, soporific view,

Potent as a witch’s brew.


Paths and hillsides tumble down

Upon the sleepy little town.

Not a soul is stirring there

Nor mouse, nor fish for who would dare

Disturb the raging, deafening calm

That offers up its healing balm?

The beauty of tranquility

Is captured here for all to see.


Naked peaks devoid of snow,

Fusions fashioned long ago,

Home of cherished edelweiss,

Shining white in paradise.

This is eagle territ’ry;

Look, but you’ll unlikely see

That one elusive, rare delight:

His eyrie hiding in plain sight.


And so he circles just once more,

No harm in making absolutely sure.

No tell-tale rustle in the grass,

No ripples as the fishes pass

Beneath the surface speeding by.

You can almost hear him sigh:

There’s nothing here for him today;

He lives to hunt another day.



Alpine View by Ray Mayhew


So many people come to this spot and never see its full beauty. Winter visitors only witness a snow duvet punctured by peaks and pines. Hordes of human figures hurtle over its downy slopes, enlivening its monotone with specks of their bright colours. Shouts, laughter and swooshing descents break the silence of the snow. Pursuing the adrenaline rush, many barely notice their surroundings.


For those who visit for other reasons and in other seasons there is a feast for their senses. Town and city dwellers are treated to truly fresh air. Visiting in Spring provides all with the bright coloured spectacle of wild flowers adorning the slopes. Any time other than Winter the perfume of the pines accompanies woodland walks. Eyes and fingertips can appreciate the varied colours and textures of rocks, bark, lichen and moss. Walkers' feet benefit from the cushioning of thick beds of pine needles and of moss.  The lake water's clarity renders it almost invisible. Only the sunlit shimmer on its surface gives it away. At a distance the lake reflects the bright blue summer sky, making the valley a welcoming place. It's where the eye is drawn after admiring the grandeur of the inhospitable peaks.


All so much more than just snow.







For one of our writing exercises we collaborated with Houghton Conquest art society. They kindly provided paintings which Writers' Circle used as inspiration to create stories or poems using a maximum of 200 words. This is a great way to see how the same image stimulates different ideas.


Picture reproduced by the kind permission of Dave Williams who retains all rights. Do not copy without consent of the owner.