May 3, 2014, by Eve

Write Two Poems

Today I thought it might be nice to share my attempts at poetry for my third year module Creative Writing in a Contemporary Context. The module was offered to English undergraduates, giving us a chance to try a new medium in our final year, and was divided into poetry and proses.

In our first seminar the tutor said, smiling: ‘so, why the hell are you doing this module? You’re doing something you’ve never been graded on before in your final year. You’ve got guts, that’s why I love this module!’ I think he meant to calm us down – highlight that everyone was on an even footing – but it bloomin’ terrified me! He was right – this was a gamble and I had no idea how it was going to turn out in the end.

So after 5 seminars we were told to buzz off and write two poems to be marked by a professional poet.

Blindly, I cobbled together some colourful words and some rather dull words and sent in my two poems. And, oddly enough, I did alright – but I can’t help thinking that, if someone else had marked them, the result may have been different – I’m not complaining, simply musing over the subjectivity involved in marking poems. I don’t know if I would like my poems if I read them in a book! Well, here they are – the results of a very inexpert novice-poet (please do not judge me too harshly):


Splitting buds with drooping

Mouths pinched shut spread into

Green outskirts, cut at this

Greenness of placid space.

Thread of morning spawns bright

And plunges, subtle red.

The sun is held up like

A rotten globe. Something

Festers in plastic ivy.

Sprawling weeds tangle and

Unravel patterns against

Thick sky, woven with birds;

Ducking dot to dot across

The plain wind, mauve with heat.

Mud and shattered leaves knit

Into the earthy folds

Mending a tattered trail

Of tulip bulbs, white with

Lemon trimming. Something

Frolics in painted ivy.


In that moment when sense

And sound are magnified.

Trodden boots off again,

Toe to toe with stale tights

Like sagging skin. Slanted

Morning saps in through that

Lined and blinded window.

Stagnant ash and well-stubbed

Cigarettes rubbed into

The table top. A sock

Stripped off just one bare foot

Lies single. Only a

Shirt, deflated, armless

And outstretched remains a

Mislaid sign from midnight.

Posted in Eve