Category Archives: Poetry

Poem: Moonrise

Moonrise moonrise1

Sunset

Day-part

Weekend

Day-clear

Starlight

Day-clean

Sunrise

Leaf-fall

Candle-mass

Mayday

Rainfall

Moonset

Windfall

–Cynthia Haggard writes poetry, novels and short pieces.  During the day, she is a medical writer.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.   (c) 2009. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: House Full of Secrets

In the House Full of Secrets there was:134
A Conspiracy of Silence

A Broken Home

Dark Corners

Mysterious happenings

Things that didn’t make sense.

People
Repressed their Emotions
Lived on the Surface
Lived in the Waters of Forgetfulness
Had Superficial Relationships.

There was:
Disassociation
Pain
Grief135
Anxiety
Silence
Walls
Anger
Rage
Guilt

I
Tried to find out what was going on.
I
Was fobbed off.
No-one said it, but
I
Was “told” my feelings were not important.
I
Experienced:
Slatted Stairs Phobia
Escalator Phobia
Elevator Phobia
Castle Stairs Phobia136
Claustrophobia
Agoraphobia.
I
Acted Out
Became Depressed
Developed a Low Tolerance for Frustration
And
Disappeared.

Where is my place?
Who am I?

–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2008. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: Tying Up Loose Threads

I never said “goodbye” to him. Now, thirty years after he passed I find myself thinking about him more and more.  He was a favorite person when I was growing up. Such conversations we had, about everything! Then he disappeared.
I fell into a depression.  My grades suffered the year following, the year I took public exams, a university requirement.  I should have been able to get at least an A and two Bs.  Instead I got two Cs and a bare pass.  I did not go to university.1131
As I look more closely at this person whom I sat on a pedestal when young, I find, of course, that he was a fallible human being.  For one thing, he did not take me seriously. I remember once I made some remark, and inadvertently embarrassed him.  When I asked him what I’d done, he blew it off.  But I knew something was wrong.  I thought over what had occurred and was genuinely puzzled.  What had I said to upset? I asked him again. He told me not to worry.  And that kindness hurt.
But he came from a culture that valued politeness above all else.  Sometimes it seems to me that this value set on civility prevented people from engaging with each other.  We passed each other as ships in the night in a sea of civility…and loneliness.

–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and owns her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2009. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: As Rigid As Glass

I feel like glass.
As if at the slightest touch, I will shatter.
The light is bright, too bright.
I am dressed stylishly, and feel frozen.
The glass in my hand is chilled.118
My eyes are glazed.
Everyone around me chatters brightly.
But I am silent.
I feel frozen, unable to start.
Where do I begin?
Everyone has formed into groups?
So where do I belong?
How do I break in?

–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and owns her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2009. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: The Appassionata Sonata

The music curled out of the half-open door of the music shop.  It fell gently down and then rose quietly.
“That’s the Appassionata sonata,” remarked my mother.
The quiet opening closed and exploded in jazzy syncopated chords.  Suddenly it became quiet with a running note underneath like an underground stream.
It forced me to stop and listen to every note.
I felt caught, transported by emotion.
The music was pure. Grand. Magnificent. Rocky.
It took me out of my daily life.
It took me above myself.
It took me and held me.

–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and owns her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2009. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: Moods

His conversation
Rambles
Down a path
Between the trees
Into a sunny glade
Where it spreads its fingers…

His conversation
Rumbles
Down a path
Between bare rock
DSCF1475.JPGInto the boulder field
Where lightning sparks icy trails.

His conversation
Turns
And spins out of control
Or
Turns and spins
Through various
And many
Before coming to a
Stop.
–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and owns her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2009. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poetry: Clouds Like Colophons…

The clouds were colophons above Longs Peak.
White and fluffy, they made clear emblems,
Signs that stood out against a background of deepest azure.

Two of them stood together,
Hanging in the still air above the mountain
The morning was fresh and bright
No harbinger of things to come.

That was at nine in the morning.
By twelve, the clouds moved in.151
By one, the storm rolled off the mountain
Striking sparks of lightening upon the unwary,
Who, enjoying their climb, went above the timberline
To the boulder field to the Diamond face.

No! No! Don’t go there.
Said the hikers as they scampered down the mountainside.
There’s lightning there. It’s dangerous.  You could get hit!
They ran down the hill for the cover of trees.

So my husband and I turned reluctantly,
Away from the beauties of Alpine plants, high air,
A platform view of the surrounding mountains.
We trudged downhill as the hail struck
Fierce pellets of ice hit us hard
After twenty minutes it turned to rain
The dusty track became viscous and squishy
Churning mud onto legs and trouser bottoms.
At length we arrived at the Ranger’s hut
That was the worst hike I’ve experienced
Said my husband,
Ever.
–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2008. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: And Half a hedge…

“I’ve been really busy cleaning up,”
Said she in response to my question.
“I use the summer as time to gain control …”

The other nine months
Melanie teaches piano
To seven, eight, or nine year-olds.
She gets “playground recommendations”.

Melanie lives in a house that is a hundred.
Near the seaside, she watches storms roll in, scattering birds high above,
And inhales the salty breeze.

The front lawn belongs to the cat,
Who defends her turf with determination.
Early mornings are a time for indignant squawks
As Pixie fights it out with the Toms next door.

Melanie tends the large back garden182
With its patio, terrace, koi carp pond.
A haven for wildlife,
With shrubs and trees that she allows to get comfortable.

But sometimes the plants get too comfortable,
And then it is time to clean up.
“I took my car to the dump,” said she.
In response to a recent question,
“I had:
A large assortment of grass clippings,
A pile of dead leaves,
Nick’s TV that’d blown up
Two dead computers
And half a hedge…”
I laughed.

–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2008. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: City in the Rain

The silver rain slid down in sleek arrows
That puddled briefly on the pavement
Before washing away in the gutter

Through the thick haze of rain
I could see the grey buildings
Austere in their greyness121
Grey stone, grey rooves, grey windows,
Like old ladies with good bone structure
Their greyness enhances their beauty.

It was a cold April day
I was standing on a street corner,
Holding an umbrella,
With a pack on my back,
About to step inside one of the grey buildings
To take a French class
In Paris.

–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2008. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry

Poem: The Tree

Rooted in the earth,
Its roots as thick as my wrist,
The tree Tree001nevertheless
Rises gracefully above
Me.

Its truck is straight for many feet
As it thrusts itself above ground
Then spreads itself in green arches
High above.

A light breeze ripples through
Making the leaves shimmer and glisten
Scattering water droplets of recent rain
Down on me.

I stand there, neck craned and take it in,
This lovely majestic thing
That is much older than I
And likely to die after
Me.
–Cynthia Haggard writes short stories, novels and poetry.  During the day, she is a medical writer and has recently opened her own business.  For more on her creative writing, go to spunstories.  For more about her medical writing services, go to clarifyingconcepts.  (c) 2009. All rights reserved.

Leave a Comment

Filed under Poetry