June Poetry Showcase for Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon

Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon (MA, Creative Writing, Newcastle University, 2017)
Ceinwen lives near Newcastle upon Tyne, UK and writes short stories and poetry. She is widely published in online magazines and in print anthologies. Her first chapbook is ‘Cerddi Bach’ [Little Poems], Hedgehog Press, July 2019. Post-retirement from social work, she is developing practice as participatory arts facilitator. She believes everyone’s voice counts.

On Different Pages

She took hours, no days,
searching for the perfect
tome, for him. Her gift 
to her love, for Christmas. 

After Bucks Fizz, croissants
and coffee, they exchange
their presents. He whoops
with delight. She tears

the cheap wrapping paper
to reveal a hairdryer,
(she already has two).
I thought you might,

he says, smarten up.
Now I’ve got promotion.
She excuses herself, leaves
him deep in his book.

The End.

Going Back

Exhausted, she lies down on the forest floor
careless of pricks from pine needles.
Her laboured breathing calms. In sleep
she smiles, restored into her lover’s arms.
Her dreams carry them both through stratospheres,
mercifully freed from her flawed mistake, 
melded back and unified. Here, her betrayal 
is forgiven, laid to rest, at last. Trust’s fed, 
and step by step regrown. Nestled 

on winter’s iron ground, grass-frost 
freezes her from head to toe. Rime 
glazes her clothes. Hypothermic, 
she cannot move, cannot hear 
her darling’s calls to her
as they ricochet around 
the steep valley walls.


After the Storm

Downcast eyes track trudged-up mud paths,
precipitation’s aftermath. Gaze up, 
sunshine’s fresh rays jewel rain into sparklers.

Dreary vistas, dun and mizzled, are bathed 
in crystal light, reborn and dazzling.
Sunshine’s fresh rays jewel rain into sparklers.

Downpours soak those who brave outdoors,
winds blow clouds apart in circles. Rainbows arc,
sunshine’s fresh rays jewel rain into sparklers.

Empty Kennel

Lone Ranger, a proud Alsatian,
we got him as pup. He was always
yours, even though I fed him,
bagged up his shit on long walks.
If I shut my eyes, I hear your voice,
Rangie, Rangie, here boy. Usually
he came back quickly, thankfully.
He wasn’t chipped like dogs today.
When you left me, I lost him too. 

I still dreamt of Ranger, not so much
of you. Tonight, your number flashed
up on my mobile phone, I prepared 
to hear his friendly growl. He’s dead,
you said, a growth. She doesn’t get it,
I know you will. Can you forgive me?

Shifting Sands

On soft sands, footprints soon fill with salt water,

clear marks soon squidge and disappear.
Sundown’s light plays across the beach, 
torches memories, renewed into brief flares.
Clear marks soon squidge and disappear.
Faint eyes shine smiles then trail into mists,
warm memories renew in brief, bright flares.

On soft sands, footprints soon fill with salt water.

Brain Gym Workout in Old Age

I only do hard sudokus,
run by Guardian-Observer newspapers
Thursday through to Sundays.
Monday to Wednesday’s easier grids leave me cold,
so I welcome every Thursday, eager 
to be challenged, once again. Then, gravely
I remember I’m another week
nearer to death 
and I’m wishing my days away.

choices

sculling with both oars
relentless activity
on work’s rough-watered river

or skiving inert through lockdown days
perchance to dream 
and find another way to be

unprecedented times
I never thought I’d have this option
space to write 
break free

can I land my battered craft   
by a sloping bank
lie back and muse

find words to hymn the sky 

Longing for Ross Sands, Northumberland

Landlocked by another lockdown,
I fret for sand between my toes.
Landlocked by another lockdown.

In dreams, waves billow, spray and blow
saltwater on my wrinkled skin.
I fret for sand between my toes.

Sanderlings paddle, lure me in
to freeze my feet in North Sea joy,
saltwater on my wrinkled skin.

Seaside ramblings will never cloy,
I’ll wade and dance in rippling surf,
to freeze my feet in North Sea joy.

I pray before I leave this earth,
landlocked by another lockdown,
I’ll wade and dance in rippling surf,
freed up from my final lockdown.
        
                                                        [terzanelle]










By davidlonan1

David writes poetry, short stories, and writings that'll make you think or laugh, provoking you to examine images in your mind. To submit poetry, photography, art, please send to feversofthemind@gmail.com. Twitter: @davidLOnan1 + @feversof Facebook: DavidLONan1

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