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



I wrote this poem in 2004 about my Mum who is known as knitting Jean for her multi-coloured sweaters. I never did learn to knit though. every time I tried Mum ended up finishing it off.

Knitting’s a middle-aged sport I’d scoff,
As my mother knitted,
Multi coloured sweaters
That never really fitted,
All grown from scraps of wool,
Passed from other knitting bags
That got too full.

If I start knitting it’ll be a shawl,
To keep my ancient body warm,
I always warned my parent,
And never did relent,
When her gentle persuasion
Failed to coax me to knit
A multi coloured waistcoat,
(I always bet it wouldn’t fit!)

My babies came, Mum knitted bold,
A rainbow baby’s a joy to behold,
I told her I’d no desire to match,
But she got on with knitting the surplus
From a newly donated batch!

The babies grew, went off to school,
I flick through mags on the kitchen stool,
Oh! That’s so pretty in orange and plum,
I grab the phone and ring up Mum.

‘Get round here quick,
I need to learn your knitting tricks,
There’s a pattern in a woman’s weekly,
It can be knitted up quite cheaply,
Yes, you did hear right, I’m picking up those sticks.’

Knit one, purl one, middle age at thirty-six!