Creative Works
A bit like Tai Chi
The sea moves rhythmically
Ebbing and flowing
Blackpool Bard
When I read Doty’s Display of Mackerel,
Bishop’s Fish she caught with her lines,
I feel like a fish out of water,
Struggling to find some good rhymes.
I’m not a dab hand at writing,
A Yorkshire Simon ready to leap,
I’m not an Auden or Larkin,
Matthew Arnold On Dover Beach.
I’m not far out waving like Stevie,
Eliot’s persona eating a peach,
I’m not an incredible Heaney,
Digging with a pen in old peat.
I’m not a Hughes or a Hardy,
The Second Coming of Yeats.
I’m not a Rilke or Rumi,
Whose wisdom illuminates.
I write Free Verse and Haiku,
Sonnets with a smidgen of skill,
Tickle your fancy with dialect,
Make you laugh like Donald McGill.
I am a sandgrownan poet,
They call me a Blackpool Bard.
I write poems for all occasions,
Some I keep and some I discard.
If any poem strikes a chord with you, tell me. Only I will see it.
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