Square Peg Stories is flying by. So far we've had workshops on generating ideas with Joanne Limburg, structure with Adam Feinstein and the poetry of prose with Jonathan Totman.

We've been constantly amazed by our participants' talent, skill and enthusiasm. Some wonderful work has already come out of the workshops - it's been a privilege to work with such an incredibly talented group of writers.

In Jonathan Totman's workshop on 19th November our participants explored how poetry techniques can be used in prose. As part of one of the exercises they produced haikus. We were absolutely blown away by the results, and couldn't resist sharing.

Here's a selection of our participants' wonderful haikus:

Ascendant full moon;
sea gently moves, reflecting.
Which brings which to life?

Time has now splintered,
everything mixed up by
the speed of darkness.

They took yesterday,
savagely edited it,
Called it, ‘tomorrow’.

Damian Sawyer

A London graveyard
In a cold, clear November
Is very pretty

Treat me like a child
Though it hurts me I can’t deny
I am like a child

Kate Roy

Astonishingly
the monkey had passed away
in time for Christmas.

Fleeting donkeys with
new iPhones run between the
bare branched Sycamore.

In the Universe
small whispers echo through the
great House of Rumour.

Crisp green shoots erupt
from the duvet of humus
on the forest floor.

Joshua Wiskey

Golden fireflies
twirl through the air with the wind
against their bright wings.

Esther Lowery

London, November
buildings, vehicles, people all
pass time’s consumption.

A train’s injection,
into the skyline we are,
this city’s bleeding.

The breaking of words
like bread, arranging rubble
into neat ideas.

Luke Matthews

Humming tune in head
Leads to an idea about starting
A Rock’n’Roll band

Her eyes closed slowly
Her heartbeat stops, face cloud white
She is still alive

Eyes close, heartbeat stops
Organs close down their businesses
“Compressions” “Clear” Shock

I do not want to
Come out of her warm tummy
Too many faces

Sarah Davis

He sits still It's cold
The dog barks at passing feet
Waiting for breakfast

Cold he wakes blinking
barking blurred at passing feet
waiting for breakfast

Long shadow on dark fields
tilled in spring her earth turning
summer filled by green

Leaves having fallen
trees hibernate bearing gifts
their soul for all feet