Releasing postcards into the wild

So, why have I started a new page entitled ‘Verse in Unexpected Places’ on this blog?  I’m glad you asked.  I have been having a bit of fun with one of my poems recently.  This one, in fact:

  • Unwed Welsh Boyo
  • So much depends
  • upon
  • The unwed Welsh
  • boyo
  • At the station
  • waiting
  • Inside my pulse
  • quickens

Those of you who know the work of William Carlos Williams will recognise this as being a tribute to his poem ‘The Red Wheelbarrow’, which we studied in class sometime last year. As with the foot poem in my previous post, I initially wrote ‘Unwed Welsh Boyo’ as a bit of nonsense.  Once again, I was surprised at the positive comments it received.  So, when an slightly daft scheme involving postcards popped into my head, this poem was an obvious choice.

I took it and printed it on a postcard along with the picture of the steam train which I am using as the new header for my blog.  I then had one hundred copies made, and subsequently started the process of release.  Free the postcard hundred!  So far; trains, station waiting rooms, platforms and even the loos at one station (by the hand drier) have become temporary homes for these creations.  Only a few cards abound in the wild at present, but this will change over time.

There is some blurb on the back of each postcard which exhorts the finder to keep or send it as they see fit.  The web address for this blog is also there for people to follow, fnd the ‘Verse in Unexpected Places’ page and leave comment if they so wish.  So far, no-one seems to have taken the bait.  I live in hope, though…

Incidentally, for those of you who may be wondering, the ‘boyo’ in question is now my husband.  The poem relates to the first time we met. 🙂


Making another exhibition of myself.


I must confess, I have been showing off again recently.  This time, I’ve had a poem displayed at Creative Bubble in Swansea, as part of the 15 Hundred Lives exhibition.  I initially wrote this free verse as a bit of nonsense but was pleasantly surprised when it received some positive feedback.  So, in the spirit of not trying too hard, I turned it into the visual piece pictured above.

I have also trascribed it below in case you have trouble reading my writing, which wouldn’t surprise me.

  • What’s afoot?
  • What’s a foot?
  • A metrical, poetical unit;
  • iamb comparing to a summer’s day
  • or
  • Trochee! Trochee! Burning bright
  • perhaps.
  • What’s a foot?
  • A five-toed,
  • fleshy appendage
  • attached to my ankle
  • that keeps my leg from
  • fraying
  • at the
  • end.
  • What’s a foot?
  • Twelve inches,
  • but I don’t use it as a rule.


As of now, the Telling Stories blog is going to be a place where I don’t try quite so hard. Instead, I hope to find some kind of unforced rhythm, and speak in a more authentic voice.

In light of this, here is something I prepared earlier. More specifically, by popular(!) request, my poem published in PAN (ooh, inadvertant alliteration).

My Welsh Roots

My name is Parry
And I lives in the Valleys
Where the houses huddle close
Clinging to the chill clay ground.
In these weather-beaten places
You will find such care-worn faces
Which belie their wry, dry humour;
Profane merging with profound.

My name is Parry
And I lives in this, my Valley
The place from where I journey
Yet which always calls me home.
I know hwyl deep in my heart
For the land that taught me hiraeth
And the soil in which I’m rooted
That has claimed me as its own.

For ‘though my name is Parry
And I loves it in my Valley,
This was not always the case
For I’m English through and through.
Yet, since Cymru bade me ‘Croeso’
I have never once looked back
It’s amazing what the love
of a good land – and man – will do.

My Story 2.0

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I plead guilty.

Guilty of the charge of ‘Trying too hard.’

A new blog is the chance to make a new start, a good impression, invite people to join me in a fresh and interesting way…and all that.

The trouble is, I am not sure my voice has been all that authentic as a result.

I will try again soon…but I won’t necessarily try harder.