Poems created in Coventry

At the end of a 5-month programme of Professional Development workshops delivered in Coventry in partnership with Underground Lights and Coventry, we helped deliver a workshops on getting your work published. 6 talented writers in the group agreed to share their work here on our website.

Thanks to all those involved and to Hayley for facilitating the writing exercise.

 

The sound of silence 

Composed my writing hand 

Concentrated my mind 

In the bright lit room 

Ink inflating my nostrils 

Focusses my senses 

To my poems 

Of a happy heart 

Marie Protheroe 

 

The rustle of paper, a breath on the wind 

A clatter of pencils, an idea begins 

A small derelict cottage set against the morning sky 

Nature melds with coffee, scented candles burn  

The collection of inspiration sounds through my head turn  

Exhausted, I start and fractural lines abound upon the page 

Pictures dance and colours splash from within my mental cage 

Steve 

 

I grab a cup of tea and make a cigarette

The smell of pencils stimulate the pictures in my head

I skip through the music, trying to find the right song

As my budgie either chirps along or squawks to the ones he doesn’t like

As I write the words, the pictures flow until I’m stuck with spelling and ask Alexa for help

I clear a space for myself to create. I cut, I sew, I glue but I still haven’t mastered not sticking my fingers together or burning them with hot glue but it always comes together and I’m pleased with what I do

Cecelia Stower

 

I wait backstage 

It’s quiet, no noise 

I’m listening  

As the audience  

Shuffle into their seats 

Excitement 

I walk out and see the  

Audience faces. Sipping 

at their drinks 

All eyes on me 

Break a leg 

Michael Green 

 

I awake to the sound of bird song 

Every morning, I can hear them  

Up and out into the fresh air 

I walk through the park, the swings clank  

People like me walk past 

I smell chips on the wind 

Take note 

James McFarlane 

 

I must write something today 

I gather my pens and open my pad 

The blank page – the SILENCE 

A cold pen in my hand 

Scratches the paper 

The smell of ink evaporates 

As the poem appears 

I wrote something today  

Hayley Harman 

 

I abandon the life I knew by going out and traveling  

Near the chatter of the drills and speeding cars 

While the tapping of the computer frees my soul to write as I feel the smooth grip of the pen with my imagination turned to high.  

I believe I can ask people who can give me good advice with the slight of hand and head trauma  

Bengy Speer 

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