poetry space workshop eleven

The idea for this workshop came from a Second Light workshop I attended last weekend with Hannah Lowe. After giving us an example of a poem written as a personal ad which you can read here:

Personals by CD Wright Anna Asked us to write our own personal ads and to make them interesting the instruction was to begin with a night time confession.

This is really fun to do.  Try thinking about your routines, quirky or mundane, your .dreams and your .your longings and include them in this poem

For further inspiration here is the poem  I wrote at the workshop:

Personal Ad

Sometimes I sleep naked;

I like the feel of cool linen sheets on my skin.

I don’t like total blackness,

I leave the skylight uncurtained and the blind in the window open

to let in the moonlight and the slow rays of morning.

I have water by my bed in a china mug. And my books.

A whole toppling pile of them for those moments in the night

when I cannot sleep. On walks

I like my hand held.

And I long to be rowed to the centre of a vast lake,

to lay back on cushions and watch the clouds shift.


Susan Jane Sims

The deadline for this was June 4th


About me at night there is little to be said (me being asleep mostly)

Still, there are things about me at other times to be said.

I used to cut and shape steel into all kinds of things

Now I make all kinds of things with words

And sometimes forget to tend my garden for days.

When I’m not here (which is often) I tend to be

On some mountain (in my head) looking

At all the different routes down.

Once I climbed a mountain.

If I were to climb it again (perhaps with someone else)

I would go down by a different route.


 Michael Docker

Love the ending Michael, suggesting you might like an adventure.It reminds me of Frost’s poem The Road Not Taken.

My Ad -The Rain

I like it when it rains at night,
Times when mundane tasks absorb the day,
When the hose hangs dry
and the garden thirsts and droops.
I lie beneath my summer quilt,
knowing nature will ,what I hadn’t.
Not a drizzle ,a mere caress that
leaves a dampness on the ground,
It’s  the light and sound of nature
that I like,
as the  skies zip open
to pour its goodness on the earth.
I like rain that twists and turns
in the reckless wind,
deadheading flowers and branches
past  their prime,
Cleansing as it moves away.
I wait for the pause after .
The deep silence of peace,
When the mind and heart slows
and merges with the soul.

Leela Gautam

Dazzling imagery Leela. I love ‘the garden thirsts and droops’ and ‘Flash, bang, crash/ as the skies zip open’. A thoughtful poem.




maybe not, but maybe I am a twilight person,

though that’s nothing to do with Yeats’ Celtic twilight—

sure, I should be so lucky to write the way that he did!—


and the old cliché goes that sitting on the fence

can give you splinters where it hurts

maybe it’s true, yet


(here I go again!) I can’t imagine living

totally in light,

utterly in night…


not only that: twilight is also seeing

(always) both sides of the issue,

hushed by the enormity of the question


although everyone around me stands shouting out

with the infinite clarity, the diamond certainty

of day or night or night or day…


while I like the contemplative quiet, the silence

of the loud sun’s dimming & dipping



of stars igniting while ideas & dreams come streaming

like flickering bats or early meteor showers

across the silver spaces of my mind


looking backwards into the warm of summer’s light

and onwards into the calm of night,

enjoying the hush, the stillness


of that huge fruit-bowl of sky at twilight

with its twinkling & sprinkling

of raspberry stars & blueberry stars


Lizzie Ballagher

Very philospohical, Lizzie.Some lovely images. I particularly like @silver spaces of my mind’.


 A hundred miles             .


I always sleep on the same side

My head is turned

with my right hand under my pillow.

My left arm must not touch it

but may go where it chooses.

My mornings are early

and fast and slow.


I cover a hundred miles

in words.

Sprinting through my life

and the lives of others.

I rest in between

and stretch my toes to recover

from the journey


and lean against my pile of pillows.


Angie Butler

A comforting poem.