Poems by Hazel Saville 2018

HAZEL SAVILLE is from Carmarthen, Wales, in the UK. She has been writing poetry since her early teens. She has worked as a social worker and since 2000 as a hypnotherapist/psychotherapist. Amongst other things, she is a visual artist, a songwriter and plays the Celtic harp. Hazel likes exploring ideas in her work. She particularly enjoys the musicality of poetry. Her poems have been published in a number of UK magazines and anthologies.


Your Way to Heal
Prompt: thinking out
loud re a relationship using tri syllabic lines

It’s so hard

having to

step back…step

off the page

and let you

sink deep in

to your own


I tried so

very hard

to help you.

Until I

saw you need

to make your

own changes,

to find your

own way to

heal yourself.

Being alive
Prompt compose a poem as if it is one great exhalation.}

Being alive

I feel the breath

fill my body,

vivifying my love,

reviving my passion…

Then comes the

expelling my fear,


all that’s extraneous,

to earth.

Do You Know I Would Live?

Where do you sit o my

What do you whisper
to me?

Did I suffer such

because deaf to your tone,

because too blind to

I drifted away

from your plan,

shaped for me?

Where do you sit o my soul?

Come and whisper
to me.

Is it true I
may never be

whole as my heart desires?

Yet still you urge me on,

to enter in, to seek for more…

can my deeper
healing come

and can I shine
for all to see?

Making Waves-  A Prose Poem

Making waves…can drive you to overreach. And what if you are beached like a whale with a belly full of plastic? A cost too high for convenience?

The pristine golden sands of my childhood are stark in contrast to this-then the tideline was strewn with bladder wrack, cuttlefish and shells, and I was searching for the perfect conch, to hear the sound of the sea, and playing in waves with the eagerness of a baby seal.

Hazel (Poem on my name)

Fount of knowledge,
wellspring of the muse…
You enchant the salmon to wisdom,
the poet to words,
the diviner to a wealth of water.
You bear fruit
for the healing of nations
and gift your flowers to Spring.

I was birthed in your lunar month.
You draw me out to play
in your element of air.
You stand supple and strong
and bend before storms.

Time tries me
and there still is much to be,
before I fulfil the destiny
of my name.

In A World Of No Time

I live in a world of no time,
where life is fancy free…
Until those from the next dimension
attempt to impinge on me,
to impose their own chronology,
to shape this or that,
Into must or should…
If I could, maybe I would…
but it’s more than preference,
this need to live my destiny
to be.

Renewal Has Not Reached

From this window, for more than 40 years
I saw the ancient tree, now fallen.

Today I see
a row of pots
placed higgledy-piggledy
along the old stone wall.
All bear the ravages
Of this harsh winter.
See the bleached remnants
of my lost perennials,
intermingled with spring plantings.
Beyond that,
renewal has not reached.

The Sense of This Enigma
“Everything in the universe is connected; nothing happens in isolation and nothing happens by chance.” From Cellular awakening by Barbara Wren p111.

When searing fires of pain ignite,
when the heart is broken yet again,
when tears of sorrow never cease,
we seek the sense of this enigma.

Webs of connection oscillate-
the knell of Donne peals through the years,
we, staunch defenders of our rights,
yet never separate from the main.

Poem 15 Haiku

Attend to love and
fear flies away. It dares not stay
where love is radiant.

Poem 14 – Outsider

Pain creates the alien,
a stranger in strange land.

I choose exile before stress,
before the press of people
striving for The rub of gold.

I cast myself out
with the flocks and pottage.
I chased away shadows
until solitude was a friend.

Now the days of my exile are numbered .
I return to myself
And find joy in the land of the living.

Poem 13 Anticipation (write a poem about anticipation)

I am waiting for the Earth to warm.
Winter has outlived its day.
Return, return o sun.
I hope to know your smile
upon my skin again.

Night Magic

Do you know, you can touch magic
before the gates of sleep?
Enter this sacred place and feel
your heart’s desire leap.

Then you will bridge the other world,
the wellspring of all things.
Voice what you want and let it go,
then trust what night will bring.

Then let sleep come without demur,
and let no thought disturb,
this spell that’s woven while you sleep,
so sweetly unperturbed.

Before you step into the day
remain where dreams are dealt,
place your own dream within the mix

then rise to shape the melt.


“Why are you so busy with this or that?” -Rumi

Always busy so it seems…
Yet what are we hiding from,
when we are doing this or that,
when we’re hustling all day long?

Are we hiding from our pain?
Is it too hurtful to feel
how as a child we endured
a past that’s still so real?

How our pain was so pressed down,
ignored ‘til someone says,
or does something that makes
us feel the same old way.

It’s surprising that most days
events like this arise…
even though we’re still engrossed
in busy enterprise.

Our buttons are all pressed,
our hackles raised as pain,
emerges as we feel, that old
feeling once again.


We are as the flute, and the music in us is from thee;


We are as the flute,
and the music in us is from thee;
Do you know the music swells
within the heart when we are free?

We are as a string
of a harp plucked by thy hand,
when pain causes the heart to close
we lose ourselves, our love, our land.

But we can choose each note that plays.
Let go of what has been.
Let your heart know the music swells,
when love, when love is seen.

Poem 10- Pillow Talk By Sparrows

The shrub outside my window
is raucous with roosting sparrows.
By the tenor of their chirruping,
I imagine what they say:
“Move over! I’m falling off the edge”
and “keep your wings to yourself.
Don’t dig them into me,”
or “Fred, Fred, I’m over here.
Come on, I’ve kept a place for you.
Move up. Make room for a little one.”

Their vivacious chattering
Fills the senses, delights the heart.

An Hour of My Day

From my warm winter bed
a spring tide bids me ride,
bids me accede
to the pull of the new day.
That first hour draws me
back into the flow of life.

Today the sky’s a uniform grey
yet the horizon’s streaked
by a band of pale amber.
My focus lingers there,
then on heavy heads of hyacinth
in the foreground of sight.

they say, “this is our moment of sweetness.”
It’s time to taste the day.
So like a bee, moving from flower to flower,
I move at the periphery of my day,
considering options, tasting
what I may bring to be.


When I was young I had many dreams,
many I wrote o down,
and like a good Jungian,
analysed each word, each theme,
and noticed every shade of meaning.

Now, since I have trained,
to plumb the depths
of my own Inner mind,
I leave night dreams to sleep
and wake to live my dreams.

Something as If For The First Time

Clouds, clouds before my eyes–
I unknowing bear the weight of Shadows.
So many steps unseeing,
a life of light woven through the dark.

Part until I see anew
Vermillion threading Grey
Pushing through veils of night,
blessing day with trails of gold.

amber, feathered angel wings,
Heralding a radiant light,
quickening the day. Love lights my eyes,
faith moves my heart to Mountains.

Clouds, clouds before my eyes–
I unknowing bear the weight of Shadows.
So many steps unseeing,
a life of light woven through the dark.

Part! Part until I see anew
Vermillion threading Grey
Pushing through veils of night,
blessing day with trails of gold.

Liquid amber, feathered angel wings,
Heralding a radiant light,
quickening the day. Love lights my eyes,
faith moves my heart to Mountains.

Poem 6 – The Tree – A True Story

Winter was long this year.
storms, cold and rain,
again, and again
battered our ancient tree.

This first night of March,
harsh Siberian winds
met with Storm Emma:
united to harm.

Then, like a cruel boy with some small creature,
they twist the trunk in wide gyrating whirls,
as if some trifling plaything. I can hardly bear
to look on this assault to majesty.

All day the tree endures this torturous dance,
until just before midnight, a great crash
splits the night. The rare black poplar smashes down,
piercing the roof with its broad branches.

Poem 5 – Opposites

Absence seeks presence,
lack, abundance,
silence seeks one who speaks,

pain seeks for bliss,
hurt seeks for comfort,
for respite, for relief

Empty seeks full,
neglect, attention.
Above all, the heart seeks love.

Poem 4 – Silence

There is no silence here
unless I make it so.
Distant dogs bark and voices carry.
A cock crows, a pheasant honks,
chickens cluck and the birds
sing out their hearts
as if it is the first full day of spring–
and so it seems to me.

The wind now gentled
ruffles in my hair, as if to remind,
of its vast power untamed.

So I have searched,
have named the unnamed,
but found silence
only when the mind
was gently tamed.

Poem 3 – Wordery at play

With head in purple cloud
the body loud complains.
Turning the mind away from her distress,
moving with vacant stare,
but presages collapse….
So many years lost,
so much effort to regain,
the passion of her sacred flame.

Poem 2 – I Move to Keep Things Whole

I move to keep things whole.
It’s no small matter
allowing the reins of control
to fall —
and no attempt to snatch them back,
but to follow
the flow of Life
to catch each nuance in both hands
and so move on.

Poem 1- Whatever My Eyes Fall On

Books, such close friends once,
now stand, lifeless on shelves.
Lined in similar heights,
In a rainbow of colours
along the spine,
and the odd word,
I can read from across the room–
But ‘LOVE’
is all I can see clearly.