Author Archives: grahamswords1962

For the first time this year, I spent the weekend away in a field with friends. It was the first one since last summer, when I only managed four times away duing the whole year, when I would normally be doing it three or four times a month, and on into the autumn and evenContinue reading “A hint of promise”

April 19th Today must be moaning Monday, as we were asked to write a humorous rant about pet hates. I figured that limericks are the perfect format for a good old chunter, so I give you this to chew over. There’s an ancient old vegan from Stoke, Who seems like a half decent bloke, ButContinue reading “Moaning Minnies”

April 18th Although I was inspired by the title of Susan G. Wooldridge’s book Poemcrazy: Freeing Your Life with Words, (a copy of which I’ve now ordered) I went slightly off prompt. I’m currently reading The 20th Century in Poetry, which I highly recommend, and have reached the post-war period where poets where questioning theContinue reading “Having coffee with Dylan Thomas and others”

NaPoWriMo prompt for April 17th, write about the moon. Each line length is indicating the phases of the moon. NothingThen a sliverA silver sliver filling a black cupA jet black, star backed milk filled cupAsteroid achne mutilated smiling faceMaddening power keep seas in placeIt starts to drain, like lunar rainIn the day the sameIt remains,Continue reading “Lunasea”

April 16th Today we were tasked to write a Skeltonic, or tumbling, verse. In this form, there’s no specific number of syllables per line, but each line should be short, and should aim to have two or three stressed syllables. The lines should rhyme consistently until the rhyme is exhausted before moving on to anotherContinue reading “Jamp”

Prompt of the day: think about a small habit you picked up from one of your parents, and then write a piece that explores an early memory of your parent engaged in that habit, before shifting into writing about yourself engaging in the same habit. Coal flames in the hearth stage lit father and son,Continue reading “Foxxed”

April 14th “What’s your name boy?” Demanded the tweed-clad, German-speaking, paunch-bellied Deputy Headmaster into whom I had just collided on my first day at Grammar School. His voice echoed around my head and the polished wooden corridors of the faux Elizabethan academe I would come to call jail. I served five years of a life-sentenceContinue reading “What’s your name boy?”