Hasan Abdulla
The Creative Pen Train
Poetry and Fiction Writer

     Welcome to the Creative Pen Train!

Hello and Welcome.  This website now serves both as my author platform regarding fiction writing, as well as a showcase for my poems and some of my photographs.  I look forward to constructive criticism and feedback particularly from editors and publishers, apart from also the general public.


Works in Progress

The following are an excerpt each from my currently available short stories


Excerpt 1

The Rally


By H Abdul


(I certify that this is my original work and that any resemblance to anyone is completely unintended)



In a corner of a pebbled side street in Marseilles, a man aged twenty-five was seated clumsily on a small wooden bench. It was late evening when only a few people were returning to their homes from work. Jock Steed kept slumping forward frequently and his eyes were red, opening and closing frequently. The evening air felt acidic on his tongue with a mixture of the whiskey he was drinking and the odour of the sea weeds at the harbour twenty yards away. He mournfully sang to himself and lifted his bottle of whiskey occasionally at passers-by. His mahogany chinos and sand coloured sweatshirt were stained with his drinking.














Excerpt 2



By Hasan Abdul


(I hereby certify that this is my original work and any resemblance to any person is purely coincidental and unintended)





It was Monday, July 1956. The white shimmering sun cast its warm glow over the grassy lawns of Boston University, and cut through the shades of the few scattered oak trees that reached out to the clear blue canopy of the sky. On the lawn facing the main building the graduation ceremony took place with resounding success. Among the many alumni who had successfully gained their degrees were Robert and Joe Hawk. Some small beads of sweat trickled down the Dean’s forehead as he handed the two brothers their graduation prizes.

Suddenly a gush of wind passed within an inch of Joe, and he blinked sharply, turning his head. Immediately after, a loud squeal was heard which sent a shiver down his side. The hall fell silent, and looking out the large open window, a kite was seen flying off with its prey.  

There followed a pin drop silence, though no one cried at the graduation speeches. No one got drunk either or vandalised any property, whether students or academics. Within minutes the ceremony resumed and Robert and Joe received a particularly rapturous applause for each of their debut speeches, and both began to look forward to a career in Law.



This website is dedicated to a very special person in my life, my mother. She a real martyr against intense prejudice. She is the reason why I exist. 

About my work

My work is inspired by the writings of, among others, Raymond Chandler and F Scott Fitzgerald.  I began my creative work with writing song lyrics. In the 1980's I gained an A Level in English, and then turned my attention to poetry and short stories.  Then I began to read the novels of Raymond Chandler and the short stories of Ellery Queen, and Alfred Hitchcock as well as others such as Hemingway as well as a vast number of Victorian novels.

I won a runner up  prize  for an essay on Peace in the early 1980's and launched  my writing work with the motivation gained by this prize.

I got a favourable comment from a professional writer for a poem on the Virgin Mary and a four star rating for a short story entitled Danger Zone on a website entitled writing.com.  This helped me gain enormous confidence in writing.

About me:


Born in Nairobi, Kenya I had to leave my homeland (my natural mother was a coastal Kenyan) in 1969 at the age of 16. I stayed for a brief period in Nigeria at the time of the civil war. I also stayed in Jamaica for about four years. My father (of Iranian origin) had gained a teaching contract there at a High School. My brief stay in Nigeria was my first close hand experience of civil war.


I came to Reading UK in 1974, and have lived here ever since. I am qualified in AAT Accounts at Technician Level, although my work was in customer service.


Other than accounts, I am also schooled in Literature. This includes course credits in The Bronte’s, Shakespeare as well as in Literary Theory, gained from Oxford University at their Continuing Education department.


I currently write short stories and also have an ongoing project for book length fiction. The novel that is being prepared is a literary novel, and one of the themes is on domestic violence.


I began with writing crime fiction, as a result of reading a lot of this type of genre; my favourites are still Raymond Chandler, Dorothy L Sayers, and the Alfred Hitchcock mysteries. I now write literary fiction as a result of a fondness for the fiction writings of F Scott Fitzgerald, and recently William Faulkner. I also sometimes still write crime fiction.


Furthermore, I write some poetry. My poetry has mainly been “message” poetry concerning social issues, but recently I have broadened my scope to write with three types of poetic structure with a few different genres.


Occasionally I write non-fiction essays. However, the vast majority of these essays are my political views written from a Marxist perspective.


I am currently a member of The Writers Guild.





The above photographs were taken in the city of Cambridge, UK.
The picture above is of one of the Cambridge University Colleges.  
This sculpture was photographed on the Churchill College campus.  It struck me as new and innovative.  Simple in design, it symbolises some interesting geometric concept.  It took some time for me to appreciate the skill behind the statue, not being an artist myself.

From the Briefcase:


The Rent



Damp is returning. I’m frowning

Seeking work, nothing coming

Funds are low, the bank

Threatens more and more

With no one else to help

I’m trembling more and more


I’ve got to do something now


I’ve spent lots on education

To feed my intellect

Make my skills perfect

Spending plenty cash on food

Going here and there for a job

Rejections arrive by the score

Emptiness in my flat, my home

Bitterness cuts me to the bone


I’ve got to do something now


That clock looks shining

Clean, gold plated. Looks new

I ought to sell it. Pawn it

For many a dollar, not few

It’s getting late. I should rush

Almost sold it, face is in a flush


I’ve got to do something now


© “The Rent” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016









A Delicate Being




Why is everybody picking on me? Always

The teacher is hollering, shouting

“Why can’t you learn. Why don’t you see?

The answers are messy, and lacking

In any sense I can imagine”

Could someone please ask him


Why is everybody picking on me?


Going home on a summer stroll

Boy, it could have been fun

Soon the heat, took its toll

I hear a loud shotgun

I run for life, run for shelter

I bump into a police officer

He arrests me on the spot

I tell him, I’m drunk because it’s hot


Why is everybody picking on me


In the prison cells so tough

These jailbirds look rough

I take the medicine I’m given

Then released, and forgiven

Back home in his nest

A robin alone in his nest

To isolate him is a crime

We are two of a kind


Why is everybody picking on me?


© “A Delicate Being” by Hasan Abdulla



This is where I sometimes visit Oxford for lectures.  This is a location of a division of Oxford University for the not so young.

An Evening Rendezvous



Strolling along the river

Blue rippling waters, white swans

Floating downstream, together

In pairs. Warm sun on my cold arms


You were walking with caution

Sombre, attentive for any sign

My heart swelled with emotion

Looking at your solitude, like mine


We walked across each other

Yet managed only a smile

For a moment, I felt warmer

But we drifted apart, for a while


We come and go, with scarce a word

A love affair, few have ever heard


© “An Evening Rendezvous” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016


Dream Girl


I’m floating as in a dream

Scents of rose blossoms, everywhere

She appears, my beauty queen

Like a mirage. Then she will disappear


She haunts my night, my day

I hear her words of love

All along life’s lonesome highway

She remains my golden dove


She stands by me, all along

All through the days, and years

With her, I have no fears

My princess; she does no wrong


Yet all through please understand

She’s an image in a foreign land


© “Dream Girl” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016











The sailor, opening his drink

Sips his bottle of soda, he’s thinking

About a sailboat he had seen sink

Gazing at the sunset, he’s mourning


Remembers the parties on the boat

Always it sailed, always afloat

Pangs of sorrow, that are emerging

The sailor, opening his drink


Looks back at the past

Some things would always last

Tries not to be pitying

Sips his bottle of soda, he’s thinking


Of many an ocean liner

Yet none lovely and finer

Remembers as he takes his drink

About a sailboat, he had seen sink


The coast was warm that day

Strong winds blew its way

The sailboat drowned. Remembers sombrely

Gazing at the sunset, he’s mourning


© “Sailboat” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016






A Day at Work?



On a bright Sunday morning

Opening a door to a garden

The sun is hot, and rising


The flowers bloom everywhere

And church bells are chiming

On a bright Sunday morning


Life is still a burden

Going out today to work

Opening a door to a garden


The morning is long and tiring

With lunch, sipping a cold lemonade

The sun is hot, and rising


© “A Day at Work?” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016






The River Nile



By the waters of the Nile

Quiet, calm and serene

I paused to rest awhile

In an oasis of evergreen


Along the river flowing gentle

Watching the dhows glide

I felt of a stronger mettle

And I felt a peace inside


Watching the ripples of the water

Eating the fruit of dates

Warm and content, and later

Returning to the hotel gates


The sun slowly set, all the same

Nightfall came, a soft spell

The morning after, the time

For the return flight then came


Looking back and I mourn

The loss of that sojourn


© “The River Nile” by Hasan Abdulla, 09/2016

Its Summer

Outside on the meadow

Greenery begins to show

With flowers abundant; its summer


Out upon the lawn

It’s a brand new dawn

Outside on the meadow


Roses are in full bloom

Away goes the frost; the gloom

Greenery begins to show


Grasses have sweet fragrance

Trees reaching high, have radiance

With flowers abundant; its summer


© “Summer” by Hasan Abdulla, 10/2016







The gift of God’s dominion

Snow white swan of the river

Sailing smooth, a heart’s comforter

Graceful, queen in my opinion


Song of my heart; empress of fable

Among many, you are a divinity

Found in canals, rivers in the city

Bringing calm, like no-one else is able


Graceful creature, a work of art

Friend of so many people

My love for you is triple

The glow of a happy heart


Swan, white swan of the water

You make our life sweeter


© “Swan” by Hasan Abdulla, 10/2016


Photo Credit:

&copy; Mukhina1 | Dreamstime.com - <a href="https://www.dreamstime.com/royalty-free-stock-images-white-swan-floats-water-image40119229#res11904572">White swan</a>






Wheat grows high; golden brown

Warm winds on the prairie

Like caresses of nature’s hands

Sunshine glows on the lands


The cotton buds in bloom

Gaiety in each house, each room

Flowers grow bright and colourful

Gone are the gremlins, no more trouble


Skies of blue, clear and light

A canopy of pure delight

Children playing, old men singing

While my banjo is playing


Country roads, quiet and serene

Green grass, trees full of leaves

With birds and nests; like a dream

And the best that’s ever been



© “Summertime” by Hasan Abdulla, 09/2016






A Lone Romeo


No man is an island

We need not walk alone

The sages will often say.

No one is a loser

We need not be forlorn

The poets will sing away


I’m still looking for my love


Don’t put all hopes

On a green willow tree

The sages will often say

Just learn the ropes

And climb to her side

The poets will often sigh

But wishes are like unicorns

So many obstacles, many thorns


I’m still looking for my love


All that glitter is not like gold

Appearances are deceptive

The sages will often say

Be yourself, and be true

Love her if she loves you

The poets will always say


I’m still looking for my love


© “A Romeo” by Hasan Abdulla, 09/2016

Along the river, a view from a bridge in Cambridge, United Kingdom

Works in Progress



Current available story submissions:


The Rally


This short story centres on the theme best depicted in the words of the French philosopher Montesquieu when he referred to lust and its violent consequences as “the silent crime”.


The location is set in Marseilles, France although most of the story is outside the motor rally stadium. (Furthermore, some of the characters are not of French origin.)


This story belongs to the crime fiction genre.


For further details about this short story please contact me at:





This short story is set in 1950's United States.  It is about two University Graduates, both of the same family, who become involved politics due to a careless outburst of speech by the younger brother.  While they are being subjected to a witchunt, a refugee from Europe becomes attracted  to left wing ideology, and is the only witness who can testify in favour of the two brothers.  At the last moment, the refugee, an orphan saves their lives. 

For further details please contact me at


The Scholars


The location setting for this short story is New Haven, USA. This story is about the lack of coming of age rather than becoming more mature. The theme of the story is inspired and contained in the famous quote by Rousseau:


“Man is born free and everywhere he is in chains.”


Lorenzo, a graduate of Italian origin, arrives at a reunion party where he looks forward to some enjoyment. Things go unexpectedly wrong when he attracts the attention of a former female classmate. She is a young widow, but the risk is that she has a weakness for alcohol. To add to his problems, she has a jealous admirer, also a former classmate.


To be followed by:


Danger Zone


Danger Zone was first written in early 2006, and the setting for the story is Londonderry, Ulster (Britain). This story, a semi-thriller, is planned for rewriting and editing due to the many inconsistencies in its initial form.


The story’s theme is centred on the harsh conditions experienced by those in poverty, especially the unemployed. As such there is scarce mention of the sectarian disputes and violence that has plagued Northern Ireland. Thus, in place of the story being a political thriller, the theme is based on the very well-known proverb:


“What you sow you reap” and the antagonist that sows so much hatred and pain faces a bitter end.


Important Update on "Danger Zone":

The location for this story has now been changed to London although the theme of poverty has been kept.  The motive behind this is that I have had the opportunity to visit London and have lived there for short periods in my past.

The Interns


This short story project is due to begin as soon as the rewriting of Danger Zone is completed.

More Poems:

A Flight



Rome, capital of Italy

Flying there on a plane

Away from life so lonely

I’ll go where stops the pain


For I love with strong passion

A dark eyed glamorous girl

I love her with strong devotion

Stronger than stones of pearl


The departure lounge is restive

My heart is light, festive

Flying to Rome, to Italy

So ends a life of drudgery


Away from cloudy skies; persistent rain

To be with the light of my life again


© “Excursion” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016





A condor, flying; cruising across the sky

Gigantic; searching for fertile pasture

Majestic; to vie with, we can only venture



Across the Orinoco, and the Atacama

Over the Andes; Only it knows why

A condor, flying; cruising across the sky



Long is the journey to travel

The mysteries, it can unravel

Gigantic; searching for fertile pasture



At long last, it’s journey’s end

Fertile pasture, as only God can send

Majestic; to vie with, we can only venture


© “Condor” by Hasan Abdulla, 07/2016





Wheat grows high; golden brown

Warm winds on the prairie

Like caresses of nature’s hands

Sunshine glows on the lands


The cotton buds in bloom

Gaiety in each house, each room

Flowers grow bright and colourful

Gone are the gremlins, no more trouble


Skies of blue, clear and light

A canopy of pure delight

Children playing, old men singing

While my banjo is playing


Country roads, quiet and serene

Green grass, trees full of leaves

With birds and nests; like a dream

And the best that’s ever been



© “Summertime” by Hasan Abdulla, 09/2016








There are flowers everywhere

Fresh, milder breezes blow

Spring is here; magic in the air


Bluebells, daffodils and delphiniums

Roses, water lilies and rhododendrons

There are flowers everywhere


Winds are calmer, and warmer

Melting away the ice and snow

Fresh, milder breezes blow


Expressions of delight, and relief

In the hearts of people, the belief

Spring is here; magic in the air



A Catholic Church
"Everyman, I will be thy guide,
In thy most hour of need,
To walk by thy side" (from The Bible)

I took this photograph because of the tranquil and welcoming appearance of the building, one of the main Catholic churches in Reading, UK.  It is located just opposite Prospect Park.

A Tree, Glorious Tree
A Tree in Prospect Park in Reading, UK.
I took this self portrait with my Acer Tablet, at a local town cafe. 

West Side Story



The hustle, bustle of city life

Morning comes along; a hazy sunrise

People commuting, marching in strife


The vehicles roar all day to work

No time to talk, time to take flight

The hustle, bustle of city life


The nights drag on, sleepless

And morning after, none the wise

Morning comes along, a hazy sunrise


Work is hard to get, to keep

In competition, we are all knee deep

People commuting, marching in strife


© “West Side Story” by Hasan Abdulla, 10/2016





Beaches all around; bright yellow sand

Palm trees growing, abundant and serene

So calm, tranquil, this desert island


The sunshine is warm, radiant

Green vegetation, abundant wildlife

Beaches all around; bright yellow sand


A loner all alone, an islander

With few belongings, a wanderer

Palm trees growing, abundant and serene


Away from urban toil, the bustle

No need has he to argue, to tussle

So calm, tranquil, this desert island


© “Solitaire” by Hasan Abdulla, 10/2016

Photo Credit:

&copy; 12ee12 | Dreamstime.com - <a href="https://www.dreamstime.com/stock-photo-desert-island-palm-trees-indian-ocean-indonesia-image57238460#res11904572">Desert island with palm trees</a>