A nearly poet's poems - Day 4

Continuing with something a little different this week. 

In the past I have shared my short story poems and my Christmas ones. This week I am sharing poems I have written since starting my creative writing MA. These are called my non-poet's poems. Each day there will be a longer poem, an experimental poem, a haiku and a Cardiff Haiku, 

I don't really call myself a poet, but I am growing in confidence, as you can tell by the ever evolving title of this week's posts. So any feedback, any constructive criticism is welcome. If you are looking for my stories, then click here.

For audio click here 
For day 1 click here, day 2 here, day 3 here and day 5 here.

The sugar bowl on the stairs (Click here for the story version)

The sugar bowl on the stairs,

sits and stares

accusingly at me.

Why it’s there is a mystery.

Some history

between former residents?

A symbol of love

unrequited?

A lover slighted?

Something once full of sweetness,

now empty and alone?

Abandoned

7 steps up,

5 steps down.

A frown

on its face, (if it had one).

My experimental poem today is a reverse Haiku. 

Reverse Haiku  7-5-7
Peaks

Snowcapped peaks against blue sky,

lake glistens like ice.

Sniper shoots young soldier dead.

Old Dancer

ancient bones crick-crack

body bent but nimble feet

dancing a salsa.

Cardiff Haiku (Click here for a story about this place.)

The Hayes

Hayes Island Snack Bar

Oasis for the hungry,

Grease rolls down my face.

Slightly bolder poet's poems - Day 3

Continuing with something a little different this week. 

In the past I have shared my short story poems and my Christmas ones. This week I am sharing poems I have written since starting my creative writing MA. These are called my non-poet's poems. Each day there will be a longer poem, an experimental poem, a haiku and a Cardiff Haiku, 

I don't really call myself a poet, but I am growing in confidence, as you can tell by the ever evolving title of this week's posts. So any feedback, any constructive criticism is welcome. If you are looking for my stories, then click here.

For audio click here 
For day 1 click here, day 2 here, day 4 here and day 5 here

The Wife’s Lover

Twisted bodies on an afternoon

bed. Listening to children

playing, mothers chatting;

the noise of a summer’s afternoon.

Her hand rests on my chest,

my hands behindmy head.

Our lust spent,

our bodies explored,

our mission complete.

She stirs, lazily

leaving the extra-

conjugal bed.

Mine’s a limp smile.

happy / sad.

Satisfied but unfulfilled;

dogs bark, babies scream.

She dresses, kisses and

leaves. Back to life,

from her escape from reality.

Facebook poem. I took 8 lines from people's Facebook status updates  and tried to put it in to poem. It's a but nonsensical, but fun.

A star is born part 1

For those who just shrug

after pride and prejudice,

something for you to chuckle about.

Just finished ‘Alone in Berlin’ I 
came across this beautiful puddle,

all my life choices validated?

Ant Master, your views please.

Mermaid
The river carries

water from mountain to sea,

and my mermaid home.

In Cardiff there are loads of old quaint shopping arcades, when I say loads, I mean 7.

Cardiff Arcades.

Castle, High Street, Duke.

Wyndam, Royal, Morgan, don’t

forget Dominions.

A fledgling poet's poems - Day 2

Something a little different this week. 

In the past I have shared my short story poems and my Christmas ones. This week I am sharing poems I have written since starting my creative writing MA. These are called my  fledgling poet's poems. Each day there will be a longer poem, an experimental poem, a haiku and a Cardiff haiku, 

I got told off yesterday for being down on my poems, so no negativity today. I've even changed the title of this week. Still any constructive criticism is welcome. If you are looking for my stories, then click here.

For audio click here
For day 1 click here, day 3 here, day 4 here and day 5 here

The Ghost

Unseen

I bring the chill

do you hear me? Sense me?

Feel my pain?

I was once you.

You will be me.

I echo the laughter then

silence it.

And behind locked doors,

I make you cry.

An Anagram Poem

The Sugar Mouse

They laid her out

like a sugar mouse

in a sweet shop window.

Pale, translucent, still.

Familiar, but different.

Gone.

The Sugar Mouse

Gone

Pale, translucent, still.

Familiar, but different.

like a sugar mouse 

in a sweet shop window.

They laid her out 

Accidental Haiku

Tried writing Haiku

today, but my Japanese

isn't good enough.

In the channel of water between Cardiff and Bristol are two Islands Flat Holm and Steep Holm.

Steep Holm 

Steep Holm emerges

From a veil of fog, but Flat

Holm is still hidden.

Non-poet's poems - Day 1

Something a little different this week. 

In the past I have shared my short story poems and my Christmas ones. This week I am sharing poems I have written since starting my creative writing MA. These are called my non-poet's poems. Each day there will be a longer poem, an experimental poem, a haiku and a Cardiff Haiku, 

I don't really call myself a poet, but occasionally I write poems. The reason I don't call myself a poet is because I don't really have a way of knowing if the poems I write are any good or not. Or if they are just teenage angst that I should have given up writing years ago. So any feedback, good or bad is welcome. If you are looking for my stories, then click here.

For audio click here
For day 2 click here day 3 here, day 4 here, and day 5 here

Insomnia.

The clatter of hail on the windows,

the rattle of the wind,

the roar of the thunder,

are all somehow cathartic,

knowing that you're awake too.

What's usually a lonely 2.37

is now populated by all

but the heaviest of sleepers.

The challenge was to write a poem 10 words or fewer with all the words beginning with P. 

The P Poem

Pianist plays Porter

perfect posture

perfect pitch

People push past

Sweet Shop Haiku

Sweet shop, rows of jars

Sugar fix. On the counter

dentist's business cards

Cardiff haiku

Castle Coch is a aesthetically pleasing castle built by the Marquis of Bute using the money he could have used to pay his workers more.

Castle Coch

Castle in the clouds.

Fortifications of yore
or rich man’s folly?

The Very short life of Huw Evans

For audio click here 

“Huw,” Huw said. “Huw,” he repeated, trying to get his tongue to make it sound natural. “Huw Evans, please to meet you.” It didn't sound right but it had to; he had no choice now. It was who he was, who he’d become. He opened his case and started unpacking, putting his things in amongst the stuff that was already here. The flat was small and cold and had a musty smell that Huw didn't like at all. The heating was on, but the warmth seemed to disappear through the walls. But it was okay, considering. It wasn’t quite what he was used to but it had everything he needed.

“Huw Evans,” he said again, trying to make it taste right. “Mr Evans.”
He stared out of the window onto the little square below, not a bad view.
Snowflakes swirled in the breeze showing no intention of landing let alone settling. The sun shone from a blue sky blotched by black monsters that threatened a take over. People hurried to and fro, not willing to stand still for fear of freezing to the spot; even those waiting for a bus kept moving, kept blood running to the extremities.
The doorbell rang. Huw froze and listened while still watching the snow dancing on the wind. It rang again. Huw walked slowly towards the front door; the bell rang for a third time. He looked through the spy hole. The distorted figure the other side of the door smiled. Huw carefully opened the door making sure not to stand right in front.
“Hi, couldn't help notice you have just moved in, I'm Mrs John from downstairs. Thought I would welcome you to the building.”
“Thank you” Huw said, and tried to close the door.
“And you are?”
“Oh yes sorry, where’s my manners?” He paused, nervous to use his new name for the first time.
“Evans, Huw Evans.”
“Well I am sure you will be very comfortable here and you don't look the sort to play loud music and stomp around like the last lot.”
“I'll try not to,” Huw said realising this was a nice British way of being told to behave. He thanked Mrs John for popping by and closed the door.
His hands felt dry; everything was so dusty. He went into the bathroom to wash them. What was this, two taps? One hot, one cold? How did that work? The hot ran water far too hot to put his hands under, but the cod was bloody freezing. He was just drying his hands when the doorbell rang again. Once again he froze and listened. Once again he walked slowly through the flat and checked the spy hole. Once again he saw Mrs John standing there smiling. He opened the door.
“Mrs John? Hello again.” He said.
“I forgot to give you this dear.” The little old lady said.
Huw saw the look in Mrs John's eyes and immediately knew who she was, what she was. He’d fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the book.  But he didn't have time to react.
As the bullet ripped through his skin Huw Evans's only thought was - I only got to use my new name once.