Lemurian Gypsy Camp

In the heat and sweat of the forge, words are hammered out until they shine, until they bend and take the shape the poet has envisaged. Faces glow in the firelight as they drink in the words along with the ale from the barrel, savor the imagery with as much relish as the chestnuts roasting on the brazier.
Laughter fills the night, and the anvil rings with the poet’s mighty strokes. Join us, and share with us the sweat of your poet’s brow.