Tag Archives: creative writing

Celebrate National Poetry Day

Today (3 October) is National Poetry Day here in the United Kingdom. This years theme is truth, although you can write about anything, https://nationalpoetryday.co.uk/celebrate-national-poetry-day/.

To celebrate National Poetry Day I am publishing my poem “Shadows On The Wall”:

“Shadows on the wall,

I recall.

One cannot catch a shade,

For it is made

Of moonbeams

And passing dreams”.

“Shadows On The Wall” can be found in “The Selected Poems of K Morris”, which is available in paperback and Kindle formats here, https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07WW8WXPP/.

If you wish to share a poem you can use the hashtag #NationalPoetryDay.

Bingo Wings by Emily Roberts

My thanks to Emily Roberts for her kind permission to reproduce her poem “Bingo Wings”. This poem is copyright and may not be reproduced without the explicit written permission of Emily Roberts:

Bingo Wings

People with Bingo Wings are of low birth.

Am I looking for a job or am I just looking for a safe space?
Is my coffee routine the only routine I’ve got left?
I want a new look, …I dream of a…re-style, or shall I just shave
My hair off, like I’m being pruned.
We pull our hair out in wads…but we cannot get divorced from our haircuts…
Unique haircuts… Unique heads.
Sideburns to die for.
Groomed to within an inch of our lives.
But we don’t get paid for our style, or lack of it.
And it’s better not to be trapped in a room chasing a carrot,
I’ve grown into a curtain twitcher because people annoy me so much…
I’d recycle my brain if I could.
But we don’t want implants…
We don’t have implants we have great looking hair.
Even if we’re having a bad hair day.

I’m too old to recognized by anyone now…
People learn to get out of my gaze.
You must have special skills to face ‘us’
I cry on my own shoulder…armpit tears…slow release…
Maybe we’re only safe in the Bingo Hall.

Work was my place of worship, I could go home and be important if I was on a payroll…
And it’s nice to be conscious of being paid.
But now I’m looking for a new sort of confinement…
I want to be recognised as a rat in my own rat race…
I’m a product of the locker-room..
But the hairdryers there aren’t built for humans.
And running yourself ragged is not a therapeutic space
IT is not friendly to me,
I can’t keep up with my diary, or appointments.
I’m victimised by voluntary organisations
There are paid heads and unpaid heads
I’ll lose mine looking for the phone.
Vanished by social media.

Living or emailing, that is the question?
I’m better off staying in my own community…Anything to make me feel less upside-down.
After we’ve been sick we get to fill in a questionnaire.
I walk on the sick side…always.
I am more suited to knitting than work.
Knitting is a rebirthing project.
It also ties me up in knots.
Too jerky to work.
Too jerky to live.
Unfit to knit.
Knitting patterns give me the flight or fight syndrome.
And I’ll lose my head looking for the phone…
I’m unfit for that as well.
An unfit phone holder.
We are brutalised people.
We need support in the Wilderness.
We’re not good at shoes…
No, we’re on our hooves….
Our feet are on shifting sands and
Broken horses can’t sing or play ukuleles.
We’re too loud, we put people off.
We’re going to stay loud until the end…
We can raise our status by being sick.
Let’s do a Sick Walk
It helps to throw things out.
But then again, we can all have muscle imbalances.
And dodgy knees.
And the coffee shop can be an office too.
We are all in the desert.
There are very few safe spaces for us to be.

I’m a shadow of my former self, a male silhouette.
I’ve learnt not to look to closely at people or they run away.
I walk on the sick side.
I need a break from the toilet…
And dealing with my derrier…
I’m a strong purveyor of trapped wind and
I’d recycle my arse if I could.
But It’s bigger than a recycling box.
I’ve a cleaner like a cattle prodd and sitting is not a pleasure,
A page cannot be faced unless it’s in fright.
I spend a lot of time being head shy.
But now I’ve found support in the wilderness with ‘People Like Us’
I just dust the sick from my Bingo Wings and smile.

Cauliflower Ears

I cannot move jobs or gyms because I’ll leave a bad odour.
But I’ve got allies, and I can choose which allies I want…
O.C.D rings lots of bells with me.
I work out too much but I don’t deserve the dirty looks,
At least I’m not locked in the locker room.
Though it feels like I m wearing a ‘do not disturb sign.
Though I like the décor, it makes it feel more like an office.
And I’m not going to be sick in it today.
The doctor has disowned me.
Disowned my cauliflower ears..
I only go I want to play a health lottery.
It’s a waste of my energy going to a social groups…
On the other hand, I live my life for groups,
Groups of baked potatoes.
Because I heave around detritus like carrying my office on my back.
I can chart my life with detritus.
I live most of my life in exile or madness, but I’m funny, not angry and it’s not a good idea to open the windows round here.
Being heard encourages me a lot and it’s nice to know that I’ve got rid of the curry I had yesterday.
Proximity to the toilet encourages me to make new plans.
I’ve got news pants that can cover a lot of bases,
I can even wear them straight to the gym for a life of fixation and being sick…
I won’t question you about why you’re here on the Bank Holiday, if you don’t question me…
It’s just good that another person is here, to keep the place open…
Shall we go to the recovery café next
And learn to be a meaningful fly on the wall…
Summer is not good for my brain,
It gets furred up like a kettle..
Just call me ‘FurryKettleFace
And all kinds of people have made a contribution to my head.
What’s goose for the gander is goose for the head.
And I’m not alone,
I have allies,
But still my life is sewn up by the locker-room.
I’m only fit for elementary occupations.
And the cleaner is my ‘Overlord’.
All my leave is unpaid.
But I’m funny, not angry,
As I carry my tattiness around in this Dogtown

Advice from poet Wendy Cope on poetry writing

A Guardian article in which poet Wendy Cope offers some excellent advice on writing poetry, https://www.theguardian.com/books/2008/sep/21/poetry.writing.wendycope.

Wendy stresses the importance of the poet being well read (in the sense of having read a wide variety of poetry, in different styles, by a diversity of poets). She also says that poets should practice writing all variaties of poetry in order to hone their craft. For example a poet who feels most comfortable using free verse, should also practice writing in rhyme.

I shook my head when I read of the man who presented Cope with a copy of his own poetry and stated that he didn’t read other poets as he didn’t wish to be influenced by them. What can one say to such a person? …

Is there any benefit in studying creative writing?

Let me be blunt (a thing foreign to my character)! I do not believe that one can learn to be a writer by studying creative writing or by participating in creative writing events. I must, in fairness caveat the forgoing statement by making it clear that I have no background in creative writing (I neither studied the subject nor have I taken part in creative writing groups so, on this basis some may decide to take my opinion with a very large pinch of salt).

So what is my objection to creative writing courses and/or creative writing groups? I have no beef with like-minded people who wish to meet together either online or in the real world to discuss writing and bounce ideas off one another. I am sure such discussions can be highly stimulating and I know of people who have greatly enjoyed participating in them. No doubt ideas spawned in creative writing discussions have led to the composition of great literature. However observing a country scene, a conversation with a friend and many other experiences can (and have) led to the production of great art (I.E. there is, in my view nothing uniquely special about the creative writing process (by which I mean that which occurs in academic institutions)that ought to cause us to accord it particular privilege.

I stand to be corrected but, to my knowledge very few (if any) of the literary greats studied creative writing. Dickens, Tolstoy, Shakespeare and Blake (to name but a few) certainly did not. They perfected their craft through hard slog, trial and error which is, in my experience how the vast majority of writers improve their writing craft.

There are, in this world a multiplicity of individuals and organisations who promise (usually, but not always for financial recompense) to make us more beautiful, richer or yes (you guessed it) great writers. Some of these people do, no doubt mean well and are convinced that they can teach the art of writing. Perhaps, in some instances they kindle within the budding writer that spark which leds on to the production of a literary masterpiece. Perhaps? perhaps Not?

In conclusion, one can not (in my view) learn to write by studying creative writing. One perfects the ability to write by hard slog and burning the midnight oil. Beware of snake oil salesmen who say “sign up to this course” “, “buy my book on creative writing” etc “and you will learn how to write. I welcome comments from anyone irrespective of your point of view. If you have gained from attending a creative writing course do please comment. Likewise, if your experience has been mixed or negative do, please also input.


Our dearest friends,

We have initiated an online magazine ( ezine ) with the name ” Pax Et Dolor
” meaning ” Peace and Pain.”

We would like you to be a part of our good work, an help us unite all the
creative minds and souls all over the blogosphere.

We dream to weave a thread that connects the creative minds and artists
throughout this space.

We have different categories like Prose’ and Poetry, Travel and tourism,
Photography and creative writings, and Cuisines.

We would like to hear your views, ideas, plans, aids, contributions and any

We seek for any of your better and bitter words.

Let us know what you feel and how you would like to contribute to the ezine!

Furthermore, we also are trying to motivate and give platforms to
creativity and artistry and create a paradise of imaginations and arts.

Please drop your views in the comment section, or visit the magazines site,
or mail us, because without you , we are nothing !

We would also like to take this opportunity to thank you our dearest friend
Kevin for this opportunity !

And all our friends who have always been positive , supportive and
enthusiastic towards our work. Especially, our regular contributors, authors
and readers.

Visit the Magazine’s site HERE

Mail us for any queries and contributions at:



Find us on Twitter  and  Facebook

We thank you so much!

@ Pax Et Dolor Magazine

Jonathan Noble and Isolated_girl

Thank you sooooooooooo much Kevin, take care and stay connected.

with love


One Night Stand

The passage of time muddles the brain, I don’t recall your name.

Perhaps Marie or Melisa, no matter its all the same.

Though some would consider it shocking, it meant absolutely nothing,

You kept on your stockings,

I feared my neighbours knocking.

It signified everything and nothing,

A girl in suspenders and stockings.



Reread, Reread And Reread Again

You have spent eons polishing that poem. Read it through until the words swim like spectres before your eyes and, finally, being satisfied with the results of your labour pressed publish. What a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done flows through one when one’s perfectly crafted words our out there for the great reading public to pour over. A few days later you sit down and reread your pearls of wisdom. Oops your writing which seemed to constitute perfection personified suddenly reveals imperfections.
To take an example from my own work. Below is my poem “Fire” rendered twice. The first rendering appeared on this blog, newauthoronline.com and the second (polished) rewrite can be found in “Dalliance; A Collection of Poetry and Prose”.

Fire As It Appeared On Newauthoronline:

“I have felt the fire at midnight’s hour

It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.

I have gazed at embers dying fast

Looked into the future and gazed into the past

I have raked the ashes cold, felt the bleakness in my soul”.

Fire As Published in “Dalliance: A Collection of Poetry and Prose”:

“I have felt the fire’s power;
It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.
I have watched the embers dying fast;
Looked into the future and gazed into the past.
I have raked the ashes cold, felt the bleakness in my soul”.

In the first rendering the word “hour appears in the first and second lines while, in the second (rewrite)it is replaced by “power” in the first line. Again, in the original version the word “gazed” appears in lines 3 and 4 while, in the poem as published in “Dalliance” it is changed (in line 3 to “watched”, with “gazed” shown in line 4 only. Word repetition has a place in poetry. However in “Fire” the utilisation of “hour” and “gazed” so close together served to render my poem less than perfect, hence the rewrite.
Most of my writing takes place during daylight when my brain is firing on all cylinders. “Fire” was, if memory serves written during late evening which may explain in part at least the excessive repetition employed in the poem. The lesson I draw from all this is the importance of writing when one’s brain is at it’s sharpest or, if writing does take place when sleep is calling put one’s creation to one side and revisit it when the mind is fresh. Finally reread, reread and reread again.

For “Fire” as it appeared on my blog please go to (http://newauthoronline.com/2015/03/14/fire/). For “Dalliance; A Collection of Poetry and Prose” please visit (http://www.amazon.com/Dalliance-collection-poetry-prose-Morris-ebook/dp/B00QQVJC7E).



I have felt the fire at midnight’s hour

It kindles brightly and sinks within the hour.

I have gazed at embers dying fast

Looked into the future and gazed into the past

I have raked the ashes cold, felt the bleakness in my soul.