The older I get, the more I want to dwell within my inner world. It is such a colourful and exotic landscape! The doorway to it is like Narnia’s. There is no knowing what the weather will be like. My poems are like postcards sent from within. I had no map until I started this latest assignment for my MA in Creative Writing. I worked out the main routes through my creative self. With each pathway, I drew the contours to show the highs and lows, described the scenery either side and marked the small roads that link to the next way. I remembered the final essay I did for my BA in English Literature in the mid 70s on Popular Culture and the Oral Tradition. That is why I still want authentic voices speaking in my poems. Yet these voices embody a place Рthey are inextricably linked in my memory and imagination. Nelly Basher, who I knew as a child, is the sharp westerly wind flattening the gorse on the Cornish cliff top. So I am writing word maps of my life. I can begin to see where I have been and why. Yet memory is not linear. My inner world knows no time or sequencing. My assignment is written in lines and paragraphs but just as the words are set down they fade or reform or float off in my inner land. If I am lucky the next poem might just capture the scent.