Solitary letters, forming words, give life to poems.
Breathe them in
Connecting and sharing through poetry.

Hello lovers of poetry and fellow poets.

Now you are here I invite you to lose yourself in the Poetry Lair.


Why the Poetry Lair?

The Poetry Lair is an anthology of poems written by me, Wendy Morgan-Gray, spanning tens of years. There are gaps when there was no time to write, though I have been known to scribble lines on the back of the shopping list as an eureka idea came to me. Probably many of you also reach for the ever-present notebook and pencil at the side of the bed, I even have a dim light that goes around my neck so as not to wake my husband.

Result? A wooden box of lines and stanzas all waiting to find their way into the Poetry Lair.

Have I ever finished a poem?

Yes, I have and I decided to take the plunge, create a website, and get them out there. Of course, there will be editing and recrafting of some. Did I really write that? It seems I really did! I even had a few poems published many years ago and have been involved in various thigs that have involved my poetry, but I am very much an amateur and have a lot to learn. At times, my writing time was squeezed as life events took over, but at the same time provided me with snippets for the wooden box.

So why am I doing this?

I love poetry. It is that simple. Both the reading of and the writing of it. The prospect of sharing it to a wider audience excites me, and I challenged myself to be brave.

I realised I did not want that wooden box of scribbles to become a dusty coffin of my words and inspiration.

I am taking the lid off it…. here goes…. I do hope you enjoy it.



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Poems of the day

Seville 2020

Seville 2020

The marble foyer of Hotel Casona is cool in the unseasonable heatwave,
my phrase book free Valentine checks in, I admire the sparkling chandelier, offer up a shy Hola.

our urgent need of tapas is satisfied at El Rinconcillo, since 1670 on Gerona Street, delicious Hamon, waxed paper cones of cheese, cold Estrella beer, sated we retrace the narrow alleyways of our honeymoon city.

heat and shade, heat and shade, the sun blinks, what waits in the shade?

we are captivated by preparations for Semana Santa de Sevilla
practice runs for the procession of pasos.
while in boutique streets alongside flamboyant flamenco dresses destined for the Feria de Abril sit the quietly ominous pointed hoods of the nazerenos.

I buy Feria posters and Frida Kahlo earrings which I wear to dinner
at Paco Pepe, resisting not the black honey drizzled goats’ cheese, creamy avocado prawns, thick salmorecco, crusty breads, we feast accompanied by a mellow red wine, obligatory backgammon,

we are at home here, in this place of fire and animation,

newsstand headlines of a virus in China is not part of our after-dinner conversation. as night falls Spanish guitar quietly plays outside Hotel Casona on the Plaza des San Andreas and breakfast every morning leads us back to Bar el Comercio, where my love fluently orders a heap of fat, golden, curling Churros to dip into piping hot chocolate with our fingers, mugs of Café con leche warm us as the streets slowly wake up. Perfecto!

on top of the City sightseeing bus we listen to multilingual commentary on red earphones before entering the magnificence of San Salvador, am I shamed or awed by such opulence? outside, horses and carriages sun dappled by trees, doze while waiting for passengers and at the best flamenco in town,
the hypnotic guitarist plays
laments to rhythmic hand clapping, passionate, dramatic, controlled movements,
on the edge of your seat stuff
in the dark underground basement
I taste beads of sweat from the dancers.

we are wrapped in the blanket of Seville.

four weeks later Hotel Casona, El Rinconcillo, Paco Pepe, Bar el Comercio closed.
San Salvador eerily quiet, horses in stables stamp idle feet, City buses empty.

no Semana Santa, the pointed hoods of Nazerenos wilt in pain,
no Feria, no flamenco.

Oh Sevilla, I long for your heat.