Tag Archives: Love

A Surprise Trip

A Surprise Trip

This is a poem I wrote for a writing group.  The prompt was the annual summer holidays, which sadly, it doesn’t look like I’m getting this year…  Still, I’ve had a couple of lovely sunny days at home (when the British weather decides to be summery for 24 hours) and I’ve also had a few productive days hiding from the rain and writing.  So it’s all good.  Now it’s coming towards the end, I hope you have all enjoyed your summer, with or without holidays at home or abroad!

Here’s to blue skies and sunshine and, most importantly, lovely summery cocktails!

A Surprise Trip

One surprise trip
For our anniversary
Thirty minutes to pack
Everything I’ll need
Three rainclouds outside
Will be lovely to get some sun
Four maxi dresses
Should be enough for days out
Eight different bikinis
String, strapless, bandeau
Two strappy pairs of heels
For cocktails on balmy evenings
Five bottles of sun lotion
And one of fake tan, just for, you know
Two passports grabbed
One front door locked
Two ears covered on the plane
One big surprise
Two people land
One big smile
One step out of the plane
Into -2 degrees, in Stockholm
One big row

Copyright, D M Day, 2016



This is a poem inspired by the life, and death, of David Oluwale.  This is one of the darkest parts of Leeds’ history and, sadly, it is largely forgotten.  Many people read the story today and are shocked that such events could have taken place.  But today our society is seeing a shocking rise in hate crime.

This is a poem inspired by the life, and death, of David Oluwale.  It is dedicated to all victims of hate crime.  It is a poem of hope that some day we will wake up in a better world.

The story of David Oluwale can be read about in The Hounding of David Oluwale by  Kester Aspden.  Information about Amnesty International’s #againsthate campaign can be found here.


I had hoped to see my home again
My mother
But is it home?
So long I’ve been here now

Stowaway they called me
Hidden in the cargo hold
Even when they tried to smoke us out
I was young and strong
Young and strong and full of hope

I was not the last to come
Or the only one unwelcome
The streets echo with cries
Cries of hate
Cries of fear

Hope is silent

Take away language
Take away colour
Can’t you see we are all the same?
We all have the same hopes

Hopes of a good life
Hopes of a happy life
That’s all

Hope that can’t be killed
No matter how deep the water you throw us into

Copyright, D M Day, 2016

We Should Talk

We Should Talk

This is a poem I wrote for a writing group.  The prompt was a picture of a frozen windscreen with the words “We Should Talk” written in the ice.


We Should Talk

We should talk
It used to be cute
We should talk
In our first house
We should talk
Traced into the steam
We should talk
In the bathroom mirror
We should talk
Or into the ice
We should talk
Coating my windscreen
We should talk
It isn’t cute any more though
We should talk
Because we never did
We should talk
Maybe we could have fixed it
We should talk
Maybe we weren’t broken after all
We should talk
But we are now
We should talk
Beyond all repair
We should talk
I lock the door behind me
We should talk
Post the keys and walk away
We should have talked

Copyright, D M Day, 2016



This is a piece of flash fiction based on something I wrote for a writing group.  The prompt was a picture of an elderly couple walking along a street with their arms wrapped around each other.


Margaret shuffled along, her arm tightly wrapped around Harry’s waist. His arm was draped over her shoulders, protecting her from the winter chill. In his other hand he held a brightly polished cane which tapped the pavement, counting their steps along the chilly street. The sound made Margaret think of the passing of time, how things had been throughout their lives, how things were now, and what the future would hold for them. Fifty years together. Fifty years today.

‘I love you’, Margaret said, tightening her hold around Harry’s waist.

‘I love you too’, he said. ‘I always have, you know that.’

As they continued in silence, he knew she was crying. They reached the cafe that they had gone to every Tuesday at this time for the last fifty years. They walked in, sat at their usual table and their usual waitress walked over to them to take their usual order.

Margaret dabbed the tears from her eyes with the embroidered handkerchief he’d given her for her birthday thirty years ago. She laughed, the sound short and sharp. ‘Oh Harry’, she said. ‘How did we get so old?’

‘Meg’, he replied, pulling both of her withered hands to his lips and kissing them gently. ‘You are as beautiful as the day I met you.’

She cried again, silent tears streaming down her face. ‘Say it once more Harry’, she begged. ‘Just once more for old time’s sake.’ Harry sighed, looking up at the ceiling. ‘I know it isn’t true’, she continued, pleadingly, ‘but, well.’

He lowered his gaze and looked into her eyes. The same eyes that had stared at him with such hope in them every Tuesday for the last fifty years. He stroked her wrinkled cheek with the back of his hand. ‘Soon Meg. I promise. I’ll tell her our marriage is over. I’ll leave her, for you. Soon.’

Copyright D M Day 2016

NaPoWriMo – Day 30

NaPoWriMo – Day 30

I’m posting this late (obviously, it being May), but it’s been a mad few days of house hunting and such!  I hope I’m forgiven!  The final prompt was to try my hand at translating a poem either using my existing knowledge of a foreign language, and translating a poem by a poet writing in that language or trying a homophonic translation simply finding a poem (or other text) in a language I don’t know, and then “translating” it based on the look or sound of the words.  Now I could have translated a poem from German into English, but as I already spend a fair amount of time translating German to English, it seemed too much like the day job for my liking.  I also didn’t really feel like trying out a homophonic translation was something for me.  So instead I decided to make one last NaPoWriMo tribute to Shakespeare in his 400th anniversary year and translate the lyrics of the Yorkshire folk song On Ilkley Moor Baht ‘At into Shakespearean English.  And that is the end of this NaPoWriMo.  There are a couple of very important deadlines this month, so the blog may be a little quieter (thought I promise not to try and neglect it completely again), but in June I will be doing another thirty day writing challenge, which this time will be focussed on prose, leaning towards autobiographical extracts on most days.  Hope you can join me for that, and a huge well done to everyone else who successfully completed this year’s NaPoWriMo.

On Ilkey Moor, with head bare


Wither has thee been since I last laid eyes on you
Swaggering about, without clear purpose
On that vast and green moor in Ilkley
Without a hat on thy head!

For I dost know thy secret villain!
The game is up!
Thou hast been wanderin
On Ilkley Moor, with head bare
With Mary-Jane, my one true love!
That it should come to this!

However victory is in my grasp
For though my heart be in a thousand pieces
The Yorkshire chill be coursing through thy veins
And the morrow shalt find thee a grave man

In the cold wet earth of Ilkley Moor
With hats pressed to breast, not head
We shalt bury thee
Never to return among mortals

Thou hast made worms meat of yourself
The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on
And slithering through earth
Shalt devour thee and thy black heart
Until not a trace of thy villainy remains
Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t

For though a man can die but once
The worms shall hold thy life within
And being residents of that vast moor in Ilkley
Where it raineth every day
They shall surface onto the moor
Bare headed, being worms as they are
To be consumed by ducks

And I shall the head the hunting party
For the feast next se’nnight
The common curse of mankind – folly and ignorance
And not one of my guests shalt the truth see
But, what’s done is done
We hath eaten thee

The course of true love never did run smooth

Copyright D M Day 2016


More information about NaPoWriMo can be found at http://www.napowrimo.net/

NaPoWriMo – Day 25

NaPoWriMo – Day 25

The day 25 prompt was to write a poem that began with a line from a another poem (not necessarily the first one), but then went elsewhere with it, the idea being for the original to furnish a sort of backdrop for my work, but without influencing me so much that I felt stuck just rewriting the original.  For example, I could begin, “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day,” or “I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,” or “I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster,” or “they persevere in swimming where they like”.  Any poem would do to provide my starter line – just so long as it gave me scope to explore.  I decided to write a poem beginning with the last line of one of my favourite poems, The Chances by Wilfred Owen, and carry on Owen’s story where he left off, going back to England and the life Jim has left behind.

Jim’s Mad

The ruddy lot all rolled in one. Jim’s mad.
What were the chances?
My poor poor Jimmy
I screamed when they brought the telegram
Thought he was knocked out for sure
But no
Much much worse

They told me not to go see him
But course I did
I’ll never forget that sight long as I live
Wide eyes, shaking, froth round those lips
which used to kiss me deep and slow

I must have looked the same
staggering out of that hospital
That hell hole for the lost men
Crying, shaking, threw up on the steps

I screamed once more
pulled at my hair
and wrenched that damn diamond off my finger

Copyright D M Day 2016


More information about NaPoWriMo can be found at http://www.napowrimo.net/

NaPoWriMo – Day 23

NaPoWriMo – Day 23

The day 23 prompt was to write a sonnet. Traditionally, sonnets are 14-line poems, with ten syllables per line, written in iambs (i.e., with a meter in which an unstressed syllable is followed by one stressed syllable, and so on). There are several traditional rhyme schemes, including the Petrarchan, Spenserian, and Shakespearean sonnets.  But beyond the strictures of form, sonnets usually pose a question of a sort, explore the ideas raised by the question, and then come to a conclusion. In a way, they are essays written in verse.  This meant I could write a “sonnet” that didn’t meet all of the traditional formal elements, but still functioned as a mini-essay of a sort. The main point was to keep my poem tight, not rangy, and to use the shorter confines of the form to fuel the poem’s energy. I thought this was a very nice prompt for Shakespeare day.  Many of Shakespeare’s sonnets are about romantic love, and recently I’ve noticed a change in which relationships end in our modern world.  I’ve recently dried the tears of many friends who have been in relationships which have ended on social media.  This sonnet is dedicated to them.

When a Man Leaves a Woman Broken Up

When a man leaves a woman broken up
Her breath short, and tears coming thick and fast
And heart in a thousand pieces, shattered
Does he think for a second of her pain?
Or does he only think of himself and
His freedom, his ease of mind, his comfort
Hidden in his cowardice says no word
To her to whom he promised love always
To her to whom he promised the sunlight
Perhaps he thinks it easer this way
When he disappears into thin air and
Save everyone the pain, the wretchedness
Perhaps he thinks of no-one but himself
When he vanishes, quick, without a word

Copyright D M Day 2016


More information about NaPoWriMo can be found at http://www.napowrimo.net/