New Poetry, Fiction, Essays

4 poems by featured poet, Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon

Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon: Ceinwen lives in Newcastle upon Tyne, UK, and writes short stories and poetry. She has been published in web magazines and in print anthologies. She graduated with an MA in Creative Writing from Newcastle University in 2017.
With your tongue, like that.
Starlings chattered in the yard,
gentle pulses lipped the warm air
and bouillabaisse boiled over
downstairs. I came so soon.
You hardly touched me.


Light floods and folds,
and parts the shadows,
reveals the functional flasks
laced by beams. Bottles,
chaste, charcoal edged vessels,
are tight-bound through dark strokes
or scythed apart
by bright and slender spaces.
Your flame seeks pits and cracks,
shifts and shapes proportions,
moulds kindred, friends or foes,
Alliance or misalliance 
Extinguished by dawn, your squat stub
falls and lies on frozen clay.
Ice, they say, preserves lost forms. 




From dizzy Big Top heights
she topples from the tightrope
and falls freestyle to the floor.
The crowd roars furnace words,
breath and fear buffet her
to hover on lift air
and save her seconds before –
I wake in strangled sheets
wet with sweat and reach out
to touch your empty place
the space from which you fell
without warning.

[Lift is the force that directly opposes the weight of an aeroplane and holds the plane in the air]


Strange Bed-fellows                                                       

after Olive in ‘Olive Kitteridge’ by Elizabeth Strout

They lie together, immobile. 

Eyes shut, alone, private
yet holding hands.
She and him, near-strangers,
in this life that baffles her.
Years since, pathways
may have crossed. No
second glance. Today
eyes meet, attract,
old campaigners with
much to learn.
Life has cut holes leaving
frayed places, that need
tender touches.
Spun cobwebs, glint
in sun’s rays; catch loose
threads of hope strung
across the gapes of
loss. Low sun-rays shine,
mellow the room’s hard lines,
and the old bayberry 
autumn-fruits sweet flesh.

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