Book Launch of “Roots” by Tam Allen

Congratulations to new HWC member, Tam Allen, on the recent launch of her poetry book, “Roots”, published by The Conrad Press. Tam’s poems celebrate the strength found in vulnerability and the courage to face the challenges life brings.  They are heartfelt and deeply moving. Her poems deal with her own experiences of loss, grief, healing and the profound acceptance which comes from adversity. Each piece is beautifully illustrated by Sion Rees.

Roots by Tam Allen, published by The Conrad Press ISBN 978-1917673822 – is available to buy via online bookstores, including Amazon, Waterstones and Bookswagon #rootsbytam 

Hay Writers’ Circle Starters by Corinne Harris

In our regular meetings, we use a ‘starter’ and then write together and share our work. We take it in turns to produce a starter and they are therefore very varied. Its always interesting to see how different out writing is and it is an opportunity to give and receive constructive criticism. We thought that it would be interesting to share some of these, and our writing. This is from a meeting on the16th September. It’s adapted from a writing prompt in Kate Clancy’s, How to Grow Your Own Poem. (https://amzn.eu/d/ckdLL6J). This is a great book for kick-starting your writing.

“My Blue Hen” by Ann Gray

I sing to my blue hen. I fold her wings
against my body. The fox has had her lover,
stealing through the rough grass,
the washed sky. I tell her, I am the blue heron
the hyacinth macaw. We have
a whispered conversation in French, I tell her
the horse, the ox, the lion, are all in the stars
at different times in our lives. I tell her there are
things even the sea can’t do, like come in when
it’s going out. I tell her my heart is a kayak
on wild water, a coffin, and a ship in full sail.
I tell her there is no present time,
an entire field of dandelions will give her
a thousand different answers. I tell her
a dog can be a lighthouse, zebra finch can
dream its song, vibrate its throat while sleeping,
I tell her how the Mayan midwife sings each child
into its own safe song. Tonight, the moon holds back
the dark. I snag my hair on the plum trees. I tell her
I could have been a tree, if you’d held me here long enough.
I stroke her neck. She makes a bubbling sound,
her song of eggs and feathers. I tell her you were
a high note, a summer lightning storm of a man.

This starter gives Ann Gray’s beautiful poem as an example of talking to someone or something that can’t answer back.

Talking to someone or something who can’t talk back – Writing Starter

Children talk to their stuffed toys or their pet dog. Most pet owners speak to their pets. It’s often extended and, in my case, frequently nonsensical. But some of us also confide our deepest thoughts, our grief, our hopes and fears – to a pet or to an inanimate object. We may say things we wish we could say to someone who is significant in our lives. The poem by Ann Gray is an example of this.

For this exercise write either a poem or piece of prose addressing someone or something that cannot answer back. It can be a person, an animal, a stuffed toy or piece of furniture. Say who are what you are talking to. Let your imaginations run riot, have fun with outlandish similes and metaphors and use voluptuous descriptions. Include a description of the addressee’s reaction or lack of it. Tell it a secret perhaps.

Here are some examples of the responses to this writing exercise.

Mutt by Jean

You dribble, you piddle
Slobber and snuffle

Your hair is like wire 
and often you stink

You shat in the hall
Took Kenny’s ball

You always are hungry
Stole a roast chicken

Terrorised the kitten
But once in my lap

You never stop licking
I fall once again 

for your winning ways
I love you

My shameless mutt.
You don’t care

You lick your balls casually
and search for dinner avidly.

Not Talking Back by Martine

I am the sole volunteer gardener In our local Community Park. For several years I have cleared Brambles, Bracken and weeds to form flower beds around the Park’s perimeter whilst also maintaining existing plantings of shrubs and trees..

I am usually on my own so there are no humans to speak with. Children play on the equipment. The swings and Zip wire are favourites. They remind me of my time seventy- five years ago when I enjoyed playing in a local park in Cardiff. I still see the fluttering of myriad butterflies on the Buddleia on a summer’s morning and whilst this is my memory I hope today’s children will have their memories in the park I now maintain.

Picking Raspberries and blackberries. Making daisy chains. Kicking a ball into the brand new football nets. Watching the Red Kites gliding gracefully on the wind. Hearing the Buzzards call to their chicks in the early summer as they start to fly from tree to tree. Seeing new colours as bulbs emerge from their winter sleep as more light returns. The different autumn colours from Hazel, Rowan, Cherry, Maple, and Beech

I chatter to the plants and trees as I work in the Park.

“I am really pissed off. I am at my wits end. Is it me or is it you? If you don’t flower this year then good riddance. Up you come never to grow here ever again.”

 A final warning to five hydrangea plants, that for several years have failed to produce a single flower. They produce just leaves. A friend advised that someone they know has the finest flowers on their hydrangeas and they cut them right down just towards the end of spring. I have moved all these wretched plants to a nice location in good soil and they have all had a good talking to whilst being severely pruned. I live in hope for them.

“Now, I have spent many hours clearing the brambles with sharp thorns from around your trunk. I have cut away willow trees stealing your light. Now, lovely Maple, enjoy the freedom. Feel the symbiotic movements around your roots. Become the beauty nature intended.”

Poor Maple planted as a small sapling seven years ago in the corner. Gradually invaded by nettle, brambles and bracken around its bark and robbed of light. A rescue job two years ago. I delight to see it flourishing.

“You know the lovely Rosa Regosa under your canopy. Yes, well this winter I shall prune your lower limbs to allow more light onto them next year. You will be asleep when I do it. Hopefully, you won’t feel a thing. I am really proud of how you are shaping up.”

As I weed in a flower bed around Lupins, Fox Gloves and Oxalis Robin Red Breast lands just beyond my fork. His eyes look at me with a “Thanks for that” look. He darts a few inches away and swallows a morsel.

“Hello Rob,“ I whisper, “Nice to see you this morning.” He takes another morsel from my wheelbarrow and flutters into the hazel tree. From a high branch he chirps away. Is he talking to me?  Probably not. More likely defending his territory.

 We all know that King Charles is a spontaneous talker to his plants. Probably like me he enjoys the sound of his own voice and that there is no one answering back to pollute the silence in the garden except for the bird song.

In springtime I hear geese flying overhead making for Llangorse lake. If it is a squadron led by a talkative leader I will just take off my garden hat and wave to them and shout welcome back. They carry on chatting to themselves flying in their v shape. Occasionally there will be just two flying low and chatting and sometimes I have to wave my arms to tell them they are going in the wrong direction. It is a privilege to see the Canada Geese zooming over the fields.

Helicopters pass and they also might get a wave from me with advice that they are too loud and too low. They never take any heed of my advices. The worst are the jet fighters that scream up so quietly until they have passed. They get my gardeners two fingers but they can’t see because they go so fast.

The plants never answer back but they do appreciate close quarter chats. I think because my outward breath is carbon dioxide, which they love, and in return they push out pure oxygen.

A picture can be worth a thousand words sometimes.

Talking to something that can’t answer back by Nick

As a man known until quite recently as someone who didn’t speak to people, this exercise should be quite easy.

But it’s not.

What did I used to do when not speaking to people? I must’ve thought things I suppose. Of course I still do that, but talking to inanimate objects?

Well there’s the tree on the opposite bank at Llanelwedd that looks like a giant striding along the bank heading downstream towards the sea.

And there’s the rock that I stand on when it’s not submerged by rushing water. Then there’s the otter who I mistook for a clump of dry grass floating down the river until it turned its head and looked at me. But do I actually pass the time of day with tree, rock and otter? If so how?

Well with otter it’s easy, he or she is animate, you admire the swimming ability and playfulness.

The tree always seems to be in such a hurry striding by, the last time I saw him he’d broken a leg, (a branch), so that will slow him down.

So green giant what do you reckon? I think you could tell me a thing or two, well at least when the salmon are running.

And rock, crikey you’ve been here for ever. Every thousand years perhaps 2 mm are worn from your surface.

You probably even saw Llewellyn when he left his cave at Aberedw and travels to Builth, where he was turned away, then on to his death at Cilmery.

Well what did he look like? What was he wearing? How many men did he have with him?

Come on, speak up, I can’t hear you above the roar of the water.

Radio hoo-ha by Catherine

I slide at speed across the kitchen floor and hit the radio ‘off’ button with a flourish,
cutting dead the lying, stupid monologues of Trump, Musk, Farage and their pals,
the Westminster bubble bath, political soap, hyper hypocrisy, anodyne analysts…….
Along with the gesture I shout;
“Shut the f… up!”
The radio sits mutely on the counter top.
I have the power and control
to guard the silence for as long as I like,
as long as I need it,
interrupted only by the whistling kettle, the clatter of saucepan lids and the whoo-op of a wine cork.
Then, graciously, I give the radio back its voice
and allow the theme tune to The Archers
to fill the airwaves.

Hay Festival 2026

Join Hay Festival 2026, 21st–31st May. The full programme is now out!

CLICK HERE for details.

The Hay Writers Live!

Hay Writers’ Circle – Event number 394

Sunday 31 May 2026, 12.35pm – 12.55pm –  Bookshop Garden Marquee

“Come and hear the writers share and discuss some of their recent work. The Hay Writers’ Circle is a dynamic group, active in Hay for more than 40 years. It offers three competitions annually for poetry, fiction and non-fiction, each of which is open to both members and non-members. There is an active work in progress group for those working on longer projects. The Circle has an ongoing, productive relationship with a local primary school.”

And Finally – HWC Poetry Competition – Deadline 7th April 2026

There’s still time to enter our 2026 Poetry Competition. The theme this year is entirely open and we hope to receive a wide variety of poems and poetry styles. The first prize winner will receive £100 prize money, with cash prizes for 2nd and 3rd placed poems.

2026 HWC Poetry Competition Entry FormDownload

Remember, anyone can enter this poetry competition, all details on our Competitions page, and we can’t wait to read your amazing poems.

Good luck!

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